My highest praise to all who voted in today’s elections! You are awesome! You have taken a HUGE step into the control of your country’s direction.
It took a tremendous courage I cannot even begin to comprehend to vote today. I stand in awe of you. And I am humbled by your determination and commitment.
Why do they make us read things like The Illiad in high school? There’s no way someone still in their early teens has any way to truly comprehend the full scope of a story like this. You have to have lived a little, experienced some of life’s pain, hardship and hard-fought victories to truly appreciate a story such as this.
Achilles is the name most remembered from this epic tale. But Hector was the true hero. He had the valor, the integrity, the humility and the humanity to be a true king. Achilles was the tragic fool. He thought he was his own master, the slave of none, the one others turned to. But he was a prisoner to something far worse that a greedy king. He was a prisoner of his own anger, and his own insatiable appetite for lasting fame.
In the end what did the Greeks gain for all Agamemnon’s warring? A city in ashes, a dead king, a slain warrior and a people in desperate need of a true leader. They needed a king like Priam, King of Troy. A true hero and warrior, a kind yet strong leader, like his eldest son.
Odysseus prays that Achilles finds peace in death. My heart ached with overwhelming sorrow for this sad, angry man and I found myself wondering if God granted him peace and mercy in death. I realize he may never have really existed. He may merely be an amalgamation of several Greek warriors whose stories eventually blended into one mythic figure. But don’t you ever wonder about people like Achilles, who lived so long ago, in lands where the God of Abraham, isaac and Jacob was not known? What happened to their souls when their bodies died? Did God have mercy on them?
How much time have I spent living like Achilles, with all the anger of the world in my heart, and a foolish drive to ensure my name lives long after my bones have returned to dust? How sad it is that we can live our whole lives engulfed in our own small stories, when God is writing such a larger, grander one with mythic parts just for us. Hector saw the larger story — and he, like the wise man in Ecclesiates 9:14-15 (who was not remembered at all), is not remembered nearly as much as Achilles. Achilles, Agamemnon, Odysseus, those who are most remembered, lived their whole lives overwhelmed by their own small stories, never seeing the true scope of Life as Hector, Priam and eventually Paris did.
Perhaps that was Homer’s point… I guess it’s time to dust off my copy of The Illiad and find out.
I’m watching the movie right now… not even an hour into it and already the battle is begun.
Why is it that Achilles got all the fame from this war, when it appears to me Hector had all the valor? Or am I missing something?
Forgive my ignorance. It’s been a long time since I read this story. And at that time I didn’t much care for details….
I used to write things I knew, things I’d learned. I wrote in a voice of experience. I seem to have lost that ability. My writing now consists of unanswered questions, blind wanderings, and a jaggedness I cannot smooth, no matter how much I finesse.
I used to pray eloquent prayers. My prayers were smooth, comprehendible dialogs with God. Oh, sure, there were the quick one-liner ones, but the majority of "prayer time" prayers were proper and respectable. They weren’t the songs of angels by any means, but they sounded decent to my own ears. These days my prayers mirror the brokenness within. Words come in stops and starts, spoken with the voice of a child gasping between sobs. Gone is the eloquence. Gone is the smoothness. Gone are the long-winded requests, the lists and the beautiful imagery.
I used to know how to speak to God and write the words in my heart. I recognized my own writing, my own prayers, and felt good about how I expressed myself "out loud".
I don’t recognize my own voice anymore. Perhaps its the two and a half years of screaming — all the crying and wailing I’ve done. It seems to have irrevocably altered the tenor and flavor of my voice, much like the effects a bad cold. There’s a raspyness now…. it’s as if my voice has been stripped… all that’s left is raw reality. No wisdom, no thesis statements or golden nuggets. No powerful zingers. Just. Raw. Me. Sometimes I even develop laryngitis… I try so hard to speak, but all that comes out are squeaks. Where does my voice go???
I love my voice when I have a cold. My normally high pitch disappears and I have this wonderful smoky, warm tone I’ve always wanted. I feel like Kathleen Turner, Marlene Dietrich, Sheryl Crow and Tina Turner all rolled into one. How cool! It’s what makes living through a cold worth every second. And its why I always try to record my voicemail greetings while I’m sick.
But the jury is still out on my new emotional-spiritual voice. I go to pray like I used to and it feels so very wrong. Like I’ve just moved our relationship from intimate to formal. Like talking to your best friend as if she were the President, instead of your closest confidante. But when I think about continuing to pray like I have the last two years and it feels somehow inadequate to talk to The LORD that way, know what I mean? I didn’t care about that the last couple of years. Desperation will do that to you. But some little voice in me keeps whispering that I "should" move beyond those "child’s cry" prayers and speak to God more like an adult.
I cannot go back to my old voice. It’s gone forever. Life moves us forward every day and the things of the past never come round again. We can look back longingly on them, romanticize them all we like, but they will never return. I can either remain frozen in my longing, forever chained to the past, or I can release my hold on the past and grab hold of the God of the Present. The choice is ever before me.
That’s the question I asked myself repeatedly on the way home from tonight’s team meeting. I didn’t intend to say anything revealing. I had no plans earlier in the day, though the possibility and idea of it was presented to me at one point. Even the drive there was consumed with prayers and cries to God about something, I thought, completely different.
A conversation started lightly. It quickly went deeper. I let it go there… risking the possible pain of rejection, or worse, condemnation for who I am inside right now. The risk so far hasn’t been a bad one. The conversation went on a lot longer than I ever anticipated. It gave me a sense of freedom and comfort level I hadn’t had in this group before.
That conversation blended into the meeting… Before we ended I found myself speaking up, without really knowing what it was I had to say. Words came. Tears flowed. Openness, vulnerability…. Had I really thought the thing through, I’d never have done it. Who purposefully strips down to their skivvies and leaves themselves exposed before everyone? Not a sane person, I tell you! Only one who’s got nothing left to lose. Perhaps that’s ultimately what this is about. One last desperate plea for help because what is there left to lose? No, I didn’t bear all. But I showed enough to leave me feeling exposed… everyone got the picture.
Next thing I knew I was surrounded, held and prayed for… loving hugs, smiles and laughter. Who knew this could happen? God, in His infinite love of mystery, kept this whole chapter hidden from me until He wrote it tonight.
What happened next I could never have expected. Others opened up. Sharing moved to a deeper level. Tears from another compelled me off the couch and into an embrace. I pulled back a little to find that everyone now sat in a small circle — a cynic would call it a holy-huddle…. but there was nothing huddle-y about this moment.
Holy. It was definitely holy. I can’t tell you what that word means, but I know what it feels like. And that room was suddenly alive with it.
We talked a little more. And then we prayed. We prayed so long my feet fell painfully asleep. Afterward no one really wanted to leave, and only did because exhaustion was overtaking us.
What just happened? Was that the beginning of something, or just a holy moment? And how do you know? Is that repeatable, or as we were taught at Mosaic LA to say: is that reproduce-able? Can others follow behind us and reproduce it in their groups? How it is possible — how will it be so — if we can’t isolate what it was that was the catalyst to begin with? How in the heck does anyone reproduce a holy moment like that?? That’s just not something you see every day, you know?
I love my sister!
She listens to my scared-y-cat tendencies and just laughs. And then she reminds me that true courage only exists when you’re afraid and you act anyway.
I’ve been missing Dad so much the last week, wishing I could call him and just unload all my worries and fears and listen to the wisdom he always poured out.
Monday night I discovered Dad passed on his wisdom to Nina. Even though it was her voice at the other end of the phone, it was his wisdom I heard.
I hung up the phone and slept quite peacefully for the first time in a while. God is so good to me.
Stolen from the aforementioned article in The Guardian, and then modified to fit me.
By the way… this little list took me quite a while to compose. But it was worth the time. I needed to find some of the positive things in my life to remind myself that life isn’t all inky black hopelessness.
Lu’s Reasons to be Cheerful:
1. Only 5 1/2 months till the new Harry Potter book comes out!
2. I have a big, thick, gooey brownie left from Saturday night, which I will eat tonight
3. The new season of American Idol has begun (yeah, I know. I’m a cheeseball.)
4. There’s a possibility of doing some freelance writing assignments… Whew! That was hard to write, to put out there for all to see… fear consumes me on this point….
5. It snowed Sunday morning
6. I belong to God
7. I am loved.
Be cheerful no matter what; pray all the time; thank God no matter what happens. This is the way God wants you who belong to Christ Jesus to live. — 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
The Guardian — And now for something completely dreary
If you stumbled out of bed in the dark this morning, fell over the cat, found no milk in the fridge for your porridge, had a row with your partner, received a rude letter from the bank, got covered in snow at the bus stop and finally arrived at work in time to be made redundant, you will already know that today is the most depressing day of the year.
And if you want scientific proof, then Cliff Arnall of Cardiff University has it.
He settled on January 24 after using an elaborate formula expressing the delicate interplay of lousy weather, post-Christmas debt, time elapsed since yuletide indulgence, failed new year resolutions, motivation levels, and the desperate need to have something to look forward to.
In short, all that’s left of Christmas today is credit card bills and a pervading sense that the next holiday is months away.
Well, that explains a lot doesn’t it.
The week has been busy. Things have happened. I did some fun things.
But my struggle goes on.
I know God loves me.
I believe He is working. I believe He is acting even now to ensure His purpose for my life is fulfilled.
But still I struggle.
Life is so uncertain. The way is dark. And scary. Its filled with risk.
Possibilities have presented themselves. But the danger of failure looms large. What if I can’t produce? is the question that stays ever before my face.
I ache. With a sorrow and grief still so profound. I thought they would have lessened by now. I have cried every day this week, missing mom and dad to the depth of my being. Longing with a passion that sometimes scares me to join them and be done with this world.
I’m starving for community. Yet I feel so anti-social I rarely pick up my phone to answer it. Forget calling anyone. Even when I meet with the Mosaic core group I struggle to stay engaged. Oh how I struggle!! Just to engage. Never-mind delving deep, just engage. I fight a desire to stay hidden, to lock away my heart forever. Only the fear of being used by the enemy to destroy what God longs to build in Mosaic Nashville keeps me from giving in to bitterness.
Deep Depression consumes me. Every aspect of my life is shrouded in its darkness. Will it devour me forever? Will I never escape its grasp?
How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me. –Psalm 13