A long time ago someone wrote a song about a girl named “Anne Elise, spinning in red skates, and a red coat, singing red songs to the moon.” The song talked about a girl who said, “Mr. Moon, I’d like to meet a boy with a wool sweater, glasses and almond eyes.”
A year or so later, another friend of said girl was singing choir songs in Latin with lyrics “Oh Nata Lux.” He laughed and started calling his friend “Nata Lux” which quickly became “Luxe.” She liked it because it meant “light.”
She used to be Anne Elise, who had an idea of what she wanted in a relationship, what she wanted in life… she had it all mapped out in her cursive scribbling exactly what seemed best. And in her efforts, she ended up meeting a lot of people and circumstances that looked like the right recipe but turned out burned or not exactly the perfect combination of ingredients or flavor. Anne Elise thought she knew what she wanted, but nothing ever turned out right.
Until one day, God asked Anne Elise to give up those ideas, to erase the plans, the person she had in her mind’s eye so that he could work with a blank page. He did that by showing her a picture:
“Let go of your own ideas, Anne Elise. Let them go and I will take you higher, ever upward toward my plans which are far better than you can understand. Because I DO have good plans for you. I really do. And if you believed that, you’d offer me your hopes and keep your hands open so you can receive what I have for you instead. If you believed that you could walk deeper into who I made you to be, my love… a light. So wear my love and become my light – my Luxe.”
Your steadfast love, O Father extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds. How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house and you give them drink from the river of your delights. For with you is the fountain of life, in your light do we see light.
I won’t spend too much time apologizing for my neglect, although I wish I’d better documented the past few months in this little corner of cyber space I’ve been given. To be honest though, I’m not quite sure what I would have said – not sure if anyone would have wanted to read it. It may have sounded something like,
“Survival Day 89 in the storm-battered house of my life. Today we began repairs on the collapsed roof when suddenly the walls caved. I’m sitting dazed in the middle of the rubble that used to be my composure. Date for reconstruction is as yet undetermined.”
As often as I thought of “elenasmiles” – this place to make note of God’s good gifts, it just didn’t seem right to broadcast my feelings of defeat… but I’m thinking about it a little differently now. In the midst of my disappointment, my disillusionment, I will raise my Ebenezer. This time is just as, if not more appropriate a time to make known the sweetness of the Father. Trusting him means looking back to what he’s done and believing he’ll show up again for what’s ahead.
In the middle of perhaps the darkest time he asked me a simple question while we were at church. “Natalie, what would happen if you just trusted me?” I could see him smirk. (Oh yeah, and whenever he show up, he’s always wearing a plaid button-up.) ”I mean, what would it take for you to get your eyes off the floor and just look at me?” … “Touche,” I thought. Later that night, I was driving in my car and a song by Sondre Lerche came on. My plaid-clad Savior sang to me,
“I’m not gonna state
Obvious observations everybody makes.
But baby be prepared to be surprised -
Be prepared to be surprised.
It’s all I know.
The weight of the world
And the hurt
And the dirt
Can make you disturbed
But I heard -
When I wrap my arms around you
Every mistake we’ve made crumbles.
When I wrap my arms around you
Everything echoes a new song.”
So there you have it. I still don’t know what’s ahead and often times my downcast gaze finds the top of my boots more interesting than the hopeful sky – but I guess I’m supposed to wait it out and be surprised.
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be.
I do not think I would.
I’ll give you what you need, when you need it.
Church on Sunday notes in my journal:
Nov. 15, 2009, Sunday
When Peter walked on the water, Jesus said, “You of little faith. Why did you doubt?” but he got out of the boat, right? Why did Jesus say that? Because his eyes deviated. He made the situation about the waves instead of intimacy. It is always about love – about being with him. It’s never about the impossibilities.
Whenever we focus on the natural – what we can see, feel touch – we think with boundaries, but he says to us, “Where are you seated?” and the answer is “with Christ in heavenly places.” We can never lose that vantage point.
“It’s about us.” he says. “It’s about you and me. That’s my favorite part.” That’s all that matters. He’s especially fond of me and all he wants is to spend time with me. There is a perpetual invitation for intimacy.
your love comes from behind
and like arms on each side
-a quick breath of surprise-
it wraps me inside.
i’m not cold, but here I am shivering.
i’m not sad, but my eyes are filling.
though quiet is your song.
my heart has heard and sung
of your unrelenting love
that leaves me here, undone.
If I expected love when first we kissed,
Blame it on my youth.
If only just for you I did exist,
Blame it on my youth.
I believed in everything like a child of 3
You meant more than anything
You meant all the world to me.
Don’t blame it on my heart,
Blame it on my youth.
It’s scary to hope for love. It’s risky. This old jazz standard, the version playing on my iPod (thank you, Rone!) right now by Jamie Cullum, says a lot I think about faith. Well, mine at least. The writer dismisses everything he’s feeling, dismisses his falling-in-love experience as merely a result of his youth. Don’t blame it on my heart, he says. I can’t accredit these foolhardy emotions, this belief in something incredible, to my heart – the core of me. No, it must just be a result of the fact that I’m still a child. It’s childish to fall in love. It’s childish to hope for, to believe in something good. Something that takes your breath with its surprising whimsy and magic – love.
I think I find myself in that place, asking that question. “Do you have any magic for me, God? I hear of signs and wonders that you’ve done – healings, visions, prophecies. It’s all so beautiful, so mystical. Do you have that for me? Can I be swept away by you without letting skepticism in?” Faith like a child, he says. Wipe away that cynicism… My questioning heart wants to blame it on my youth though. It wants to dismiss my hope saying, “I’m just young and foolish.”
But the reason I say that is because I’m afraid of getting hurt. I’m afraid of disappointment. If I say I wasn’t expecting anything in the first place then I’m safeguarded against the dry-mouthed, stomach-twisting sensation that happens when hope is deferred – when I come to that sobering realization that I’m a fool for wishing.
I went to Christian school. I used to get caught up in the code of Christianity. I knew that if I “loved Jesus” that I would wear modest clothing, I would read my Bible daily, I wouldn’t kiss my boyfriend, I would write little notes with verses on them to my friends. One day my dad reminded me, “Natalie, the work of a believer is to believe.” Oh. (a sigh of relief) That’s all? That’s all I have to do? “Yeah.” These days though, I’m understanding the truth of that statement in a different way. It IS work to believe! It’s complicated. It’s like, these are my desires, God. Which ones are from you? Which ones should I ask for? Which ones should I really believe for and which should I not be too disappointed if you don’t grant them promptly?
And then I bet him he can’t find me a place to live. I give him a lot of guidelines. “God, I need a short lease, I need them to allow 2 people in a studio, I need a parking spot, I need it close to work, I need it in West Hollywood, I need it cheap. I bet you can’t do it.” And he says, “Ok, I’ll see your $850/month and raise you $750/month, utilities included and a Trader Joe’s a block away.”
He’s like, “Natalie, believe already! This has nothing to do with your age. Blame it on your heart goshdangit, because I’m there. I’m teaching you how to hear me.”
