Seeing and Hearing and Living
Another Day Along the Way
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Another day,
Seeing and hearing allow us to notice, receive, learn, welcome. While wondering what all I might see and hear in this New Year, I've tried to slow myself - I've hoped to see better, to hear better, to live better.
I recently heard a song from Ken Medema. Though blind, his vision opens doors and passes through closets into Narnia-like land. His lyrics and music invite audiences to see and hear through hearts; he helps us notice and observe, pause and receive, sense and be held.
I've tried to become better at seeing, hearing, and receiving. As this year's first month rushes toward its final few seconds, I look back to recall what I've seen and heard. Join me. Look. Listen. Welcome whatever is nearby or far. Welcome what is there but rarely noticed.
Lee Grady's teaching urged me to receive fresh cups of God's true caffeine. Taylor Maxwell's new music brings honest questions and challenges through ears and into hearts. Keri Wyatt Kent's Rest guides a busy-me toward a balanced-me. Glen Van Ekeren's perspective moved my mind toward positive, hopeful, optimistic dreams.
Lessons about hurt and hope and heaven from various speakers and friends. College students have laughed with me, worshiped with me, cried with me, searched for God with me. Friends proved to be that - friends.
I heard our new President's words. I saw a group of students pray. I heard the sound of a crowd cheering from the stands. I saw our team win. I read Paul's honesty in Colossians and hope his words go through my eyes into a mind, a heart, a life. I looked at a man wanting me to give him hope to live with epilepsy and not give up. I listened to a lady wanting assurance that her husband would come back home from the war. Alive.
Food, basketball, music, books, friends, prayers, confessions, tears, laughter. Sadness, joy, kindness, depression. Dreams and doubts. Prayers and praise. Wind, breath, snow, rain, sunshine. Life.
What we see and what we hear come together into our world of edges. Noticing with our eyes. Noticing with our ears. Noticing the edges.
Calvin Miller, in his memoir Life Is Mostly Edges, invites readers to enter the world of his life. He opens our ears to hear conversations and sermons and tears. He opens our eyes to read beyond words on paper so we can observe his childhood and his aging through a journey of surprises, seasons, questions, romance, and confusion. His poetic motion keeps us with him - I feel like I'm swimming in a current of Miller's nouns and verbs. Pages open, allowing us to notice that his life, as ours, is mostly edges.
Bill Mallonee's music continues talking to me. He asks questions through lyrics which reveal not just his own stories, but our stories. His guitar and harmonica and voice all mingle into rhythm of life - that place of edges. His tunes provide sadness beside a celebration, hurt near a feast, sin adjacent to a land of the holy, a friend near a friend, a life so alone.
I started this year with questions. The answers come and nod. They pause. They hesitate. They stare. They smile. The answers invite us to the edges.
This year, let us stay where we belong. Not that place where we feel the best. In those places where we are hearing and seeing the new - and becoming able to walk into our Narnia-like land and love life again. Nearby. On the edges.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: "I guess they loved us more than we thought they did. Will somebody please tell me why God's people, who surfeit under a mighty surge of grace, have so much trouble telling other people they are loved?" Barb wondered.
(Calvin Miller, Life Is Mostly Edges)
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Another day,
Seeing and hearing allow us to notice, receive, learn, welcome. While wondering what all I might see and hear in this New Year, I've tried to slow myself - I've hoped to see better, to hear better, to live better.
I recently heard a song from Ken Medema. Though blind, his vision opens doors and passes through closets into Narnia-like land. His lyrics and music invite audiences to see and hear through hearts; he helps us notice and observe, pause and receive, sense and be held.
I've tried to become better at seeing, hearing, and receiving. As this year's first month rushes toward its final few seconds, I look back to recall what I've seen and heard. Join me. Look. Listen. Welcome whatever is nearby or far. Welcome what is there but rarely noticed.
Lee Grady's teaching urged me to receive fresh cups of God's true caffeine. Taylor Maxwell's new music brings honest questions and challenges through ears and into hearts. Keri Wyatt Kent's Rest guides a busy-me toward a balanced-me. Glen Van Ekeren's perspective moved my mind toward positive, hopeful, optimistic dreams.
Lessons about hurt and hope and heaven from various speakers and friends. College students have laughed with me, worshiped with me, cried with me, searched for God with me. Friends proved to be that - friends.
I heard our new President's words. I saw a group of students pray. I heard the sound of a crowd cheering from the stands. I saw our team win. I read Paul's honesty in Colossians and hope his words go through my eyes into a mind, a heart, a life. I looked at a man wanting me to give him hope to live with epilepsy and not give up. I listened to a lady wanting assurance that her husband would come back home from the war. Alive.
Food, basketball, music, books, friends, prayers, confessions, tears, laughter. Sadness, joy, kindness, depression. Dreams and doubts. Prayers and praise. Wind, breath, snow, rain, sunshine. Life.
What we see and what we hear come together into our world of edges. Noticing with our eyes. Noticing with our ears. Noticing the edges.
Calvin Miller, in his memoir Life Is Mostly Edges, invites readers to enter the world of his life. He opens our ears to hear conversations and sermons and tears. He opens our eyes to read beyond words on paper so we can observe his childhood and his aging through a journey of surprises, seasons, questions, romance, and confusion. His poetic motion keeps us with him - I feel like I'm swimming in a current of Miller's nouns and verbs. Pages open, allowing us to notice that his life, as ours, is mostly edges.
Bill Mallonee's music continues talking to me. He asks questions through lyrics which reveal not just his own stories, but our stories. His guitar and harmonica and voice all mingle into rhythm of life - that place of edges. His tunes provide sadness beside a celebration, hurt near a feast, sin adjacent to a land of the holy, a friend near a friend, a life so alone.
I started this year with questions. The answers come and nod. They pause. They hesitate. They stare. They smile. The answers invite us to the edges.
This year, let us stay where we belong. Not that place where we feel the best. In those places where we are hearing and seeing the new - and becoming able to walk into our Narnia-like land and love life again. Nearby. On the edges.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: "I guess they loved us more than we thought they did. Will somebody please tell me why God's people, who surfeit under a mighty surge of grace, have so much trouble telling other people they are loved?" Barb wondered.
(Calvin Miller, Life Is Mostly Edges)
