Morning dawned abruptly. I dealt first with family dysfunctions. I enjoyed breakfast at Shoney’s with Beth and her family, but my eyes still welled up with tears as we shared the meal. I had a number of things on my mind—some insignificant and others monumental, all crashing on my shore of sanity. When we got home, Beth informed me of an unexpected guest coming to our house who I just could not bear to see.
Before I even knew I was moving, I had my walking shoes on my feet, my sack of books on my back, and one foot in front of the other on Chesterfield Ave. In this moment of desperation for refuge, I made my pilgrimage to Belmont UMC. My spirit craved the escape, the security of the church.
A while ago, my need to escape would take me to Waffle House or Borders or Fido’s. Or maybe I would jog to Centennial Park. And sometimes my feet will still take me to those places. My morning devotions at church this past month, though, have trained my spirit to seek holy ground. Only a month ago, I sat restless in a space with God. On this day, I was drawn there and could have stayed in God’s presence for most of the day.
I hope my spirit will always seek holy ground beyond the season of Lent. Or maybe my spirit will find holiness wherever my feet take me.
Showing posts with label spiritual discipline. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual discipline. Show all posts
07 March 2005
10 February 2005
Darn the Angel!
I am jealous of a statue.
It lives on a table in the Iris Room of Belmont UMC. I should call it a table decor rather than a statue, as it sits 6-8 inches tall and fits comfortably in my two hands. The gold-colored figurine has large wings and sits on its rear while hugging its knees to its chest. Its head is cocked to the left and rests on its knees. This little gold angel looks so peaceful, so quiet and content sitting at the feet of Jesus and soaking in all that God has to say.
Thus begins my jealousy. I see this angel during my hour of sitting still before God. I should not call it an hour because when I leave I look at my car's clock and notice it has been only 30 minutes. I should not call it sitting still before God, either. I fidget. I pull out my Bible. I put it down. I pull my coat over my legs because I'm cold. I get into prayer posture. I stare at the angel. I take my coat off of my legs because I'm getting warm. I ramble to God about why I can't just sit still. I pick up the Bible again. I memorize Scripture but get frustrated because I'm not being quiet . . . I process the text with words running through my head. I glare at the angel. I think to myself that one hour must be complete. I look desperately at the angel one more time, but it doesn't look back. It's resting, smiling, content being still before God. I gather my things and leave.
Well, obviously the angel is still for the rest of its life because it has no coat to pull over its legs and, well, it just will never move. But if it were real, I believe it might sit that way anyway all of the time before God.
And so the angel is both my nemesis and my role model.
It lives on a table in the Iris Room of Belmont UMC. I should call it a table decor rather than a statue, as it sits 6-8 inches tall and fits comfortably in my two hands. The gold-colored figurine has large wings and sits on its rear while hugging its knees to its chest. Its head is cocked to the left and rests on its knees. This little gold angel looks so peaceful, so quiet and content sitting at the feet of Jesus and soaking in all that God has to say.
Thus begins my jealousy. I see this angel during my hour of sitting still before God. I should not call it an hour because when I leave I look at my car's clock and notice it has been only 30 minutes. I should not call it sitting still before God, either. I fidget. I pull out my Bible. I put it down. I pull my coat over my legs because I'm cold. I get into prayer posture. I stare at the angel. I take my coat off of my legs because I'm getting warm. I ramble to God about why I can't just sit still. I pick up the Bible again. I memorize Scripture but get frustrated because I'm not being quiet . . . I process the text with words running through my head. I glare at the angel. I think to myself that one hour must be complete. I look desperately at the angel one more time, but it doesn't look back. It's resting, smiling, content being still before God. I gather my things and leave.
Well, obviously the angel is still for the rest of its life because it has no coat to pull over its legs and, well, it just will never move. But if it were real, I believe it might sit that way anyway all of the time before God.
And so the angel is both my nemesis and my role model.
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