Beauty in Chaos – Page 19

We All Fall Down

November 8, 2013 By: Angela Parlin

The last of the maple leaves fell today.

Autumn winds pressed, making red leaves dance, and they all found places to land. Now they scatter across the lawn, at the mercy of children who push them around and stomp them. It feels a lot like poetry.

“Before the leaves can mount again

To fill the trees with another shade,

They must go down past things coming up.

They must go down into the dark decayed.”

—Robert Frost, In Hardwood Groves

There’s a mysterious beauty in all this falling, an embedded reflection in the cycle of seasons.

Jesus talked about seeds falling to the ground to produce more seeds. About death leading to life.

Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. –John 12:24-25, NIV

Jesus was getting ready to produce more seeds, to give life to all. Like the kernel of wheat, He fell down to His death before being raised up to glory. His first disciples also followed Him to physical death, as martyrs. But there’s an important spiritual principle for all of us here.

To truly follow Jesus, we will be fully committed to Him, leaving no room for self-concern. This is what it means to “hate our life” and die to ourselves, in order to live.

Back in January, I asked God for a word for this year, and I immediately knew it was Victory.

I thought this meant that He wanted to bring me victory in some area of my life. When I think about victory, I usually think of winning, triumph, or success. I don’t think of surrender, of falling to the ground, or dying.

But each time Victory came up this year, the message was clear. Victory is found in surrender, in yielding, in dying.

Victory means allowing His strength to shine through my weakness. It’s taking joy in smallness. It’s giving up control, and falling into Jesus.

Doesn’t that seem a little upside-down? It didn’t line up with my idea of victory–as success. But sometimes we have our definitions all mixed up in this world.

So I stood outside this morning, watching trees release leaves at the peak of the season. I thought about how the leaves all fall down and the remaining branches look dead before they fill up with life again. I hope I’ll always remember fall as an illustration of surrender.

Grace~The Plunge {Five-Minute Fridays}

November 1, 2013 By: Angela Parlin

Today I’m linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and the Five-Minute Friday crowd for the prompt, Grace. Feel free to join in!

~GRACE~ pool2

Long ago, I jumped into the pool. The water covered me. All was right with the world, and clear. This pool was not like any other. It didn’t make my hair turn green, or my skin prune, or my teeth chatter. I wanted to stay forever.

I didn’t stay in though. I retreated to the steps. For a while, I remained on the first step, where only my feet sank. Later, I stepped down further, and the water covered more of me. Now and then, a little courage would propel me forward. I would leave the certainty of the steps and swim nearby.

But I never went far, because of my fear, and because of the voices.

Some of the voices shouted from outside the pool–warning me, taunting me, lying to me. They said, Get out, or at least stay there where it’s safe. Other voices came from those sharing the crowded steps. They were afraid, and so was I. Sometimes I shared my fears and became a voice they heard.

Every once in a while, some juvenile swimmer would defy all our feelings, would swim past fear and paddle past doubt out into the heart of that pool. Humbly, triumphantly, even desperately they swam out into the deep end.

And there they’d stay. They grew at home in the deep end, and never returned to crowded steps at the edge of the pool.

We looked at each other, bewildered. How could they swim so far? At least here, on the steps, our feet had something to stand on. What if they got tired of swimming, what then? I didn’t understand.

But I watched their courage afloat. Instead of paddling hard, they were holding out hands to one another, their eyes fixed higher.

How many times I wanted to go! Little flashes of inspiration, big mountain-top moments, a Word that struck something deep within me…I wanted to try the deep end of the pool for myself. But the voices holding me back, they didn’t stop. They shouted loudly when I felt inspired to go. I had developed a voice of my own by then, too. A reasonable voice, which reminded me to be content and live within my abilities.

But then I noticed what all the brave floaters’ eyes were fixed on. I saw the Lifeguard. His eyes caught mine, and I turned away. When I glanced back, He was still watching. Waiting. Yes, you. And then He said my name! Come!

This was more than a little flash of inspiration. This was the moment I stopped cowering and took the plunge. I started living. I barely paddled, but with eyes fixed on the Lifeguard, floated to my new home, at the deep end of the pool, the pool of grace.

After grieving for the years of misunderstanding–time when life was right here, so close, and yet so far away–I learned to move about effortlessly, and full.

It didn’t take long to discover that grace would take a lifetime, or more, to fully grasp. So I would remain. Trusting, at rest, afloat the rest of my days in the infinity pool of grace.

STOP.

Sky-Gazer

October 22, 2013 By: Angela Parlin

Do you feel like we live in the middle of a race? There’s not time for unnecessary pauses. We have to keep moving.

With each new dawn comes an explosion of beauty. But we often miss it, with eyes focused straight ahead. Because we have to.

We have to get to the next appointment. Take the next phone call. Pop into the next meeting. Serve the next meal. Prepare the next assignment. See the next patient. Wash the next load. Drive to the next stop. Do the next thing.

We live under the urgent and miss the most important.

It’s no wonder we fail to see God’s glory in the everyday.

We have goals to accomplish and friends to meet up with and homes to improve and jobs to do. We have shows to watch, “needs” to shop for, technology to get lost in, and new recipes to try. We have lives of our own, and our attention is spread thin. Most of the time, we look around, or ahead, or down.

We rarely look up.

It’s easy, these days, to miss the voices we need to hear, because of the noise of our lives.

Maybe today will be different.

Today could be the day we begin to inhale God’s glory.

Because what we really need in this life is to stop. We need to stop, and look up. We need to get outside, stand under a palette of blue and pink and white and gray, point our eyes heavenward, and stay. We need to consider the heavens.

Do you hear that? From one end of this earth to another….

The heavens declare the glory of God;

The skies proclaim the work of His hands.

Day after day, they pour forth speech;

Night after night, they reveal knowledge.

They have no speech, they use no words;

No sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,

Their words to the end of the world.

{Psalm 19}

Today, I’m asking you to participate. To become a sky-gazer, if only for a few minutes.

Stand under skies and consider them, under the dome where He thunders and dwells. Behold the glory these silent heavens reveal.

The Elephant Cutlet

October 15, 2013 By: Angela Parlin

I was seven when I told a big lie, a lie I would never forget.

I was already in love with words. I started reading at age four and began writing soon after. At that age, writing meant doodling names or copying words for the sheer pleasure of writing them down.

One afternoon, I sat in my room copying a short story from a library book. I filled the page with Ludwig Bemelman’s words, and had a new idea.

Wouldn’t my parents be impressed to think I wrote this whole story myself?

I tweaked little details and took the completed story to Mom. She read it, intrigued.

Before her stood a girl who loved reading and writing, swimming, biking, and playing school. Who adored all things pink and purple, kitty cats and puppy dogs, and spent hours playing Mommy with any little creature who would allow it.

Large, clunky mammals like elephants were right up there with the very last interest in my world. As was eating meat.

Yet I titled “my first story” The Elephant Cutlet, which could also have been called People Eating Slices of Elephant Meat.

While she asked questions, my face warmed. She knew I didn’t write it. Finally, she asked, “Ang, what is a cutlet?”

I’m guessing my Mom knew what a cutlet was. But I didn’t.

Recently, I remembered this moment and realized something. Sometimes people lie because they think they lack something, and the lie will help them get what they want.

What I wanted back then was to be impressive. Like Mr. Bemelmans.

Don’t we all want to be impressive?

We want people to love us. To think we are special. We want to be picked–paid attention to–admired. When people respond unfavorably, we fall apart, at least on the inside.

But the Gospel of Jesus tells us we already have all we need. We have God’s approval. He loves us, as we are, even before we clean up our act.

But sometimes, even when we’re grateful that Jesus paid it all, the horribly honest truth is–His approval isn’t quite enough for us.There are other things we think we must have. If it’s not people’s admiration, it might be money or comfort or power or relationships or accomplishments.

We chase after those other things, believing we will find life, contentment, and happiness in them.

So what’s the cure?

I can tell you what it’s not. The cure is not to will yourself to stop wanting other things. The cure is not to work really hard and try, try, try to obey His commands. The cure is not in your effort or discipline.

What we need is to behold Him, to see His glory, to experience His love.

For a long time, I saw His gift, but not His glory. I knew all about Him, and I believed to the extent that I could. But then something changed. It was easy and came without my hard work.

When we get a glimpse of God, He changes us. Instead of wanting to be regarded, we regard Him. Instead of wanting to be admired, we admire Him.

In my next post, I’d love to stir up some thoughts on seeing His glory. I hope you’ll come back!

Ordinary {Five Minute Friday}

October 11, 2013 By: Angela Parlin

I am linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and the Five-Minute Friday crowd once again, with the one-word prompt: Ordinary. Feel free to join in!

Here are my best words on Ordinary (GO!):

Ordinary. Just a word, but a loaded one.

I wonder how many of us have lived years of ordinary.

Years of being a masterpiece, but not believing. We are living, breathing works of art.

It seems too far to stretch. So we live ordinary, hidden.

The good news is, eventually we learn to see ourselves and the world through wiser eyes. We see the beauty in all types of others, and finally see the beauty in ourselves.

It turns out none of us is ordinary. We are God’s works of art, that’s what. God’s masterpieces!

To be or not to be? That is not the question, but this:

Will we live as the extraordinary art we already are?

Will we put the painting on display?

Follow the nudge to reach out?

Reject the perceived standard of perfection and offer ourselves, who we are, what we have?

Author, Emily Freeman, recently released an amazing book, A Million Little Ways, on this topic. She offered 3 words earlier this year that are still unleashing volumes in me. Go make art.

Go. Make. Art.

Knowing your art will likely not be the best art out there. Make it anyway.

Your art could be singing or dancing or painting or writing or baking or encouraging or teaching or caring or playing or anything else. What did He make you to do?

The way to live extraordinary is to do it. To live it.

To be the friend you want to have.

To love every soul who crosses your path.

To hold the door, and share your umbrella.

To offer a smile that makes somebody’s day.

To keep your heart open and ears listening.

To tell what Jesus has done for you.

To teach with heart and bake with abandon.

To load dishes prayerfully, clean messes patiently, and fold laundry thankfully.

Sometimes our art–who we are–is buried, hidden, withdrawn. Sometimes we miss golden opportunities to love and give ourselves to the world around us. Sometimes we talk about our life like it’s just so ordinary.

But we are masterpieces, friends. Nothing in who we are is ever ordinary.

STOP.

« Previous Page

We All Fall Down

Like this:

Grace~The Plunge {Five-Minute Fridays}

Like this:

Sky-Gazer

Like this:

The Elephant Cutlet

Like this:

Ordinary {Five Minute Friday}

Like this:

Compassion International

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Compassion International