Tuesday, December 2, 2014

This Girl

A watershed moment in my Christian life was discovering the writings of Brennan Manning.  I’ve voiced it before, but the most heart-rending moment was reading Manning’s account of the last supper in Abba’s Child, when Manning puts the reader in the shoes of John.

In John 13:23, we read:  There was reclining on Jesus' bosom one of His disciples, whom Jesus loved (ASV).  Manning challenges the reader to imagine resting on the chest of Christ.
Close your eyes.  Can you picture it?

I imagine an earthy smell, the warmth of His body, the rise and fall of His chest, along with the comfort of hearing the rhythmic serenade within his bosom.
Manning’s vivid depiction stirs something deep within my own chest, uncovering a longing for a deeper intimacy with my Savior.

Oftentimes when my head hits the pillow at night, I visualize resting on His chest-- listening to His heartbeat.

Recently, I was restless as I lay in bed with a heart stuffed with sadness over the tension of life.

Sorrow and joy, brokenness and beauty, fear and courage --such a kaleidoscope of opposites splash across the canvas of life.
Hot tears trickled in slow rivers down my cheeks, soaking the cotton pillowcase.  I considered the character of God, which is also such a striking blend of opposites.

Mighty and tender.  Strong and loving.  Jealous and kind.
My mind shifted to C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when Mr. Beaver answers the children’s question about Aslan:  Safe?...Who said anything about safe?  'Course he isn’t safe.  But he’s good.  He’s the King, I tell you.

I envisioned myself as Lucy, nuzzling into the thick mane of Aslan-- our intimate, loving, fierce, comforting, mighty Savior.  Our good, mysterious, wild God.

In the dark quiet of my room, I hopped up, turned on the light and wrote this poem, The King.  He’s always pursuing me and I often push Him away.

But, we can’t run for too long, can we?


Along the hardwoods a soft padding approaches
A breath on my cheek, I push away with strong force
I open one eye and see him as he crouches
The bed shakes as his full weight hits like a horse

Even when I want him to leave, he always stays
My arm runs red, punctured deep by sharp claws
He licks my wounds, I bury hands in his thick mane
Eyes glow golden, as he nuzzles near with huge paws

He frightens me, but there's also a surge of peace
To drift off asleep encircled by power in this place
Gentle as a dove, yet a wild untamed beast
Warmth fills, rest comes, always near his face

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