Musings from a Sleepwalker

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Sleepwalk
So much of life seems like sleepwalking.

Make breakfast. 
Change the sheets. 
Call the doctor. 
Watch TV. 
Buy more stamps. 
Make more plans.
Call the chaplain. 
Pick your coffin. 

Ticking all the boxes, another list appears. A new calendar comes. Time goes ever on. And to what purpose, to what aim?

In the past few days, the past few months, the past few years, have I ever been awake? Mere minutes perhaps?

Time goes so quickly, the end is racing near. Years are but moments. The happy and the sad times, Spring’s new lease on life and Autumn’s dying song. What is their sum?

There has to be more. Dear God, let there be more. Even the sweetest gifts on Earth leave me craving more.

More. More. That’s what I’m after. There must be more. For this world won’t satisfy me, time never fills. I must be made for more- a truer, sweeter place. A time beyond all time. If only someone would wake me from this sleepwalk- so I could get back home.

But you’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker. So I go trudging on.

Rediscovered

Piano
It’s funny how pieces of life point to the greater whole, the core of the story. When life is swirling around you, through you, you don’t always see the central plot. You miss the forest for the trees. But somedays, you look at the trees and suddenly see a mighty forest.

Cello and piano. These two instruments have been the recent metaphor of my life, pointing to the greater story. Five years ago I took up cello, poured hours and energy and money into something I so desperately wanted to do, wanted to be. The cello voice captured in air a sound that mirrored my heart. Aching, haunting, longing, beauty. But when my fingers met the strings, the haunting wasn’t lovely- it was ugly. And frustrating. And painful. And disappointing. And too much like life.

For the next five years, I wrestled the desired result with reality and decided it just wasn’t worth it. While a gutting decision to make, the day I chose to sell my cello was the day I felt I could breathe again- and be me. Not an image of me I had concocted.

And then there is the piano.

Touching piano ivory feels like home to me. Even sharp notes and sour keys make me smile. I can’t explain it, but it just feels right. Six years of childhood lessons, two cross-country moves, decades later- it all comes back in seconds. There is no pressure to perfect- just joy and play. And an old friend rediscovered.

And so it is with God and me. He has always been the piano, but for years I made Him the cello. Something perfect, demanding, other worldly. So beautiful and ethereal- but which I could never reach. And in truth, God is all these things. But He never expected me to be them. He knows I am thoroughly flawed. That’s why He came to save me. It just took me twenty-five years to understand.

God is not my baggage. He is my piano: my joy, my delight, my childhood love restored. When I fumble and trip over keys, He just laughs and smiles and says, “No worries. We get to start over and play that part at the beginning again, the part we like so well.” What a rediscovery- this Love, this Friend. And the best bit is knowing that He will be my life’s companion to the very end.

April

Outside my window, the world is covered with night of the lulling-est kind.
A steady rain drips from the sky, pittering the sidewalks, pattering the rooftops.
I step outside to soak up the night while it soaks me up.

Smoke from the chimney next door tinges the air with the sweetest gift- the scent of fall- of burning wood on a cool, dark night. How odd in spring- while trees are laced with new green leaves. But what a kiss of beauty.

To stand in this night, my face lifted to the sky.
To be alive, to be a part of all this bittersweet beauty-
the passing of time, the comfort of seasons- what joy.

Pure unadulterated joy in spring.

Spring Tree

Light in a Window

Home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In blue twilight you walk,
The cold seeping in.

Walking forever,
Each moment the sky darker.

Quickening your step,
Searching for sanctuary.
For solace.
For something.

Only hill after hill greet you.
Each one steeper.
Lonelier.
Colder than the last.

You climb.
You crawl.
You cave.

On the ground.
Feet too heavy to go on.
Too dark to see anyone.
Are your eyes open or closed?
You can’t tell.
Snow falls down,
Covers your face.
It’s over.

And then.
Then.

You see it- the golden glow:
Light in a window.

Light in your window.

Home.

Swallow

Swallow

“For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” (New International Version, 2 Corinthians 5:4)

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I see You when I shut my eyes. Life most clear with eyes closed tight.

How often this world steals my gaze, steals my heart.
Like dominoes following, worries tumble down.
Burdens like boulders.
Crushing me.

When all I need is You.

The sorrow, the sadness, the haze-

of busy,
empty,
not enough

of ache,
fear,
all alone

When all I need is You.

You are my King.
You are my Hero.
You are the One who saves the day.
My very food and drink.

I’m starving for You, Jesus.

All I need is You.

Swallow me as I drink deep.