I recognise the fingerprint of my Father, and sense his fragrance in the most unlikely places, and on the most unlikely people; even people who will unashamedly tell you they are not religious at all. In the process of talking to them and getting to know them, they can sometimes (even by accident) show me their heart for others, their friends, family or injustices done…and I see Christ. I see their compassion and love for others, I see their hearts and for this reason my heart breaks for them when I hear a preacher clicking his fingers as fast as he can, telling me that people are going to hell “this fast”.
Love, therefore, is not so much the opposite of fear, hate and indifference as it is the cure for it. People who are properly loved will not be afraid, hateful or naive, and it’s our mission as Christian to love one another, because love comes from God. When we have learned how to be loved properly by God ourselves, through Christ, we will release love’s alternatives, and seek to practice it at every opportunity. Our mission surely then as professors and disciples of Christ is to do what He did. Love people. And do it properly.
But Life isn’t small like me. Life is big, it doesn’t have to try to be. Life is out there, away, coming, in the future. Life is good and great and god and giving. Life is what I want. Life is where I want to be. I want out of my life and into Life. That’s where I’m going. And I can’t go there smart-mouthing and swearing and swinging. I need to settle myself down and shoosh myself up. Quieten down there girl. Everything’s going to be all right.
In all likelihood, we don’t deserve half the friends we have, but we probably do deserve at least half of our enemies.
When I become interrupted from art-making, as I am now, the inspiration doesn’t leave me. It tortures me. I hate it, because it won’t shut the fuck up. It nags and nags to be made, and then when I sit here to do it, it coyly hides itself and wants to be coaxed out. I don’t want to coax it. I want to smack it’s bare shoulders and drag it into the light where all of you can see how terrible and sublime it really is. Then I want to kiss it full on the mouth and make it read itself back to me over and over, until I’m sure again it was all right for me to be born; if only I can do this. If only I can do this.
A great blog post by my very wise and my kids favourite Uncle Mark. Heffo, we call him. He’s a smart guy, and this is a great post. So great, Darrin Hufford recently added it to his Free Believers Network website for the edification of the whole world. Heffo texted me when Darrin published his post, saying “You’re the writer Jo, I’m just a plumber.” Perhaps Heffo, but Jesus was just a carpenter.
ometimes it’s not even about what’s said. Sometimes, it’s what isn’t. Sometimes, in the exact moment when someone thinks they need to say something, that’s probably when nothing should be said; nothing about cancer, nothing about anything at all. Sometimes, it’s not about saying something; it’s about doing something. And sometimes it’s not even about doing something, its just about being there. Not saying, not doing, just being. Being a friend, being someone who cares, being available, or even perhaps being somewhere else entirely. Being is better than doing, which is sometimes a lot better than saying. You don’t need to know what to say. Trust me, you need a lot more to know what not to say.
It’s been a year, and it hasn’t been hard for me at all – the drinking part that is. For my husband, it’s been harder, and it’s an ongoing journey. God’s grace is all we have going for us, and we see it every day extended toward us in ways we could never have imagined, great and small. We are happy and love each other so much; more than w have in the 22 years before now that we’ve been married. It’s been said that he who has been forgiven much loves much, and both he and I appreciate how much the other had to forgive for this present happiness to exist. A great gift, precious, and to be treated with respect and deference. He is a drunk, saved by mercy….and I am a shrew, saved by the giving of it.
Yesterday, as I was editing my blog on my 2011 Bucket List, I was looking at the photos I have on file of when I had cancer. I haven’t got many scanned in, just a few, but in the next few weeks I think I might dig some more out.
I thought perhaps you might like to see some of them.
I’m done being embarrassed about my problems. I often make errors of judgement that take me places I don’t want to be, and I’m working on that. But I don’t care what people think as much as I once did. Everyone’s got the stuff, you know? If it’s a toss up between keeping up appearances, pretending I don’t need God’s grace because I’m so worked out, and looking like a loser because I need his grace like I need oxygen, it’s the latter I choose. With the grace comes Him. With me, I just get…me.
I was going to write a blog on the ongoing situation for asylum seekers in Australia, but then I stumbled on this blog by Rick Continue Reading
The God-shaped hole is not in the person who doesn’t know God and acts to relieve himself of his suffering. The God-shaped hole is in the one who does know God, yet never seeks to relieve another’s suffering.