Last night’s Scripture reading reinforced what I knew in my heart I needed to do. This is my last Waymark’s posting. I have yet to figure out how to do this thing without finding the work degenerating into distasteful narcissism that is unbecoming to my Lord. So I’ve decided once and for all to pull the plug. Specific writing projects await my recovery: a guide to one-on-one discipleship, a biblical study with the working title of “The Waiting” and a fictional story of redemption whose Pentecostal heroine finds renewed faith with the Cherokee nation. Now that will be a yarn worth the tellin’ (and it’s not going to be one of those cheesy, poorly written novels found in the Christian bookstores; I’m going mainstream. There I go again, stepping on toes. See what I mean?).

My private challenges will continue to find their way between leather and hand-torn pages. Future attempts at blogging will only take form as specific projects which will not be personal beyond any lessons found there. If and when the time comes, I will provide the necessary links both here and on my facebook wall.

Be well, my readers. Thank you for enjoying the ride with me. May all grace and peace abound to you, one and all.

Punk Monk

I will leave you with this much in what is becoming my mantra:

“God wastes nothing.”
- Teresa Davis

I wonder if Job was plagued by the Varicella-Zoster virus. For those of you who have suffered with shingles, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I first heard about the disease through the cases experienced by older relatives who have since passed the baton on to me. Never in my wildest dreams did I realize the severity of the illness with the silly minimalistic-sounding name.

The Varicella-Zoster virus is the cause of our very common childhood disease that seems more than a nuisance than anything: chicken pox. Once stricken, we are never free from the virus which lays dormant in the roots of our nerves, waiting for the ‘opportune time’ to strike once more, usually in older adults who suffer from weakened immune systems or who have experienced periods of stress. Ahem…

A week ago I experienced a drenching, sickening sweat, nerve pain behind my eye and in my teeth. Two days later the characteristic lesions began to develop on the right side of my face and scalp accompanied by an intense throbbing pain. I pulled up Web MD with a hunch I had and sure enough, it was confirmed by the nurse practitioner the following morning.

In her less than tactful bedside manner, I was told I had come down with the worse case scenario, the virus having traveled the length of the ocular nerve that travels to the eye. I could lose my vision. The recovery process would be long and consist of two stages. I would be contagious until the lesions scabbed over completely, meaning that I could spread chicken pox to all those who have not had the illness. This would take approximately three weeks. Part two would take much longer, for the scabbing does not mean healing, just a lack of contagion. It would take anywhere from 3 months to a year to never for the pain to go away. Do you think I needed to hear that right then? So I was sent on my way, stat, to whatever ophthalmologist would have me on the 4th of July weekend, with a boatload of prescriptions “that are only the best we can do, after all, this is a virus.” Stupid woman.

The ophthalmologist found no lesions in the eye and instructed me as to what to look for in determining the warning signs of eye complications.

Week one is now behind me, one filled with intense pain, my right eye swollen shut, ugly red lesions marring my appearance, sleepless nights spent on the old brown sofa with Skylar by my side (What would we do without the love of a dog?), days spent mostly in a stupor caused by the nerve-blocker prescribed in the hopes of preventing long-term damage. I refused the narcotic for pain in fear of going down a path of addiction enjoyed by my favorite eccentric television doc. I haven’t been able to read until yesterday. Just picking up the Scriptures has been overwhelming. I scribble daily in the journal bought especially for this time by my team leader. Bless you, and bless you, and bless you. I’ll make an attempt at the podcast later today; Abba please…

This is so hard to write. I’m finding myself having to go back to correct every other word. But in order to process this time properly, I’ve got to get this out, for my adversary is tormenting not only my body but my mind.

The hardest thing about this time is the isolation. Family refuses to see me, choosing to disbelieve the information that the medical community provides. In a way, I can’t blame them. My grandson, whom I haven’t seen since Mother’s Day, is exiled from my arms. I am missing so much of his rapid growing up. (Insert Punk Monk’s favorite expletive here.) My beloved people of Renovatus are an arm’s length too far away. I just recently shared with a friend that I’m fine as long as I can be with my people. Isolation is the war zone.

It’s interesting to see how human nature handles the suffering of another. Bottom line, we fear it for ourselves, so we avoid it, poo-poo it. A well-wisher said she was sorry but at least it wasn’t cancer. It isn’t cancer, but it is my suffering for the present time. It is very real to God and very real to me. Whatever the affliction, be it physical, emotional, spiritual, it doesn’t have to be a stage four malignancy to be validated.

To be continued tomorrow with the spiritual perspective. There is the other side of this thing where God’s future awaits.

“Still round the corner there may wait
a new road or a secret gate
and though I oft have passed them by
a day will come at last when I
shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.”

- J. R. R. Tolkien

- Jonathan Martin

There are, to be sure, references to the past and implications for the future, but the predominant emphasis of the prophetic word is on the now. There are predictive elements in some prophecy (and some in Revelation), but they are always in service to a present message. The Bible warns against a neurotic interest in the future and escapist fantasy into the future. It forbids trafficking with persons who make predictions (Deut. 18:14-15). All that is very clear and well-known, yet there are persons who persist in making an exception to the last book of the Bible and read it as if it were all prediction. The Revelation, though, is not an exception to the biblical rule but an emphasis of it: God speaks to us, now. In the Revelation we are immersed not in prediction, but eschatology: an awareness that the future is breaking in upon us. Eschatology involves the belief that the resurrection appearances of Christ are not complete. This belief permeating the Revelation makes life good, for when we are expecting a resurrection appearance we can accept our whole present and find joy not only in its joy but also in its sorrow, happiness not only in its happiness but also in its pain. We travel on through either happiness or pain because in the promises of God we see possibilities for the transient, the dying, and the dead. “By means of the eschatological dimension we look to the future not as mere repetition and confirmation of the present, but as the goal of the events that are now taking place. This gives meaning to the journey and its distresses; and today’s decision to trust in the call of God is a decision pregnant with future.” (Moltmann, Hope)”

- from Reversed Thunder, by Eugene Peterson

God of Thy goodness, give me Thyself;
for Thou art enough to me,
and I can ask nothing that is less
that can be full honor to Thee.
And if I ask anything that is less,
ever shall I be in want,
for only in Thee have I all.

- Julian of Norwich

To check out Melody’s wonderful handiwork, you can access her personal website and 100 Days, 100 Paintings listed in the links section of this blog.

As a brand new born-again believer, recent bride and first-time mother some twenty-nine years ago, I could not begin to imagine the life of waiting that would begin when I shared with my husband of two years the encounter I had experienced with the living Lord. My announcement was met with scorn and rejection, inaugurating this life of waiting which finally met its consummation some eighteen years down the road as Jesus proved himself irresistible to the most stubborn of men. It was a most difficult time of life as I walked the path of the unequally yoked fraught with loneliness, worry, and heartache, not knowing if this wilderness journey would ever end or if my dearly beloved would forever be consigned to a place of judgment. At my first church home, I received a word through a dear grandmother in the Lord who had taken me under her wing which spoke of the certainty of Mike’s future salvation. Those words proved to be a lifeline of hope against all odds which shouted in opposition to the possibility. My two-year old son and I would find refuge and solace in the embrace of the body of believers who struggled to keep their small country church alive after a vicious split. Mikey would run down the center aisle each Sunday morning to be picked up and placed next to Aunt Hazel on the front pew while I sat alone, fighting the tears that came with the profound aloneness. I know what it is to wait.

A life derailed by misguided Christ-followers has catapulted me from place to place over the past few years into my present waiting hours. I have come to realize that most of life, whether you are a Christian or not, is about the waiting and not the enjoyment of the fruits thereof which more often than not comprise the smallest increments of time in our short lives and the living out of these lives is learning how to live in the waiting.

What is it that we wait for? The fulfllment of a dream, a better time in life, the healing of some sickness, the conception of a child, financial rescue, the hope of friendship? Ultimately, are we not all waiting for the same thing, the revelation of the sons of God at the coming of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ while the rest is all distraction? For He alone is waiting’s ultimate purpose and reward. We may not realize it on the surface, but our souls know.

An outline has been given. A second project in as many days is set in motion. Abba, renew within me the drive, the determination, the trust in you as I undertake the handling of these timely gifts, the answer to my many prayers and waiting hours, that they might be given in turn to your people. The empty hours have met their match in time’s Author.