I am a child of two worlds

Well, I told Bob I would begin to post stuff about myself (dreams, passions, philosophy, etc) so he and anyone else in the team could get to know me. This self-revelation process scares me because I am not sure what will be done with the information or if I will be misunderstood. However, in conversation with God this last week, He made it clear that for Lent I was to give up fear. (Not that I wouldn't feel it, but that I was to live beyond it, in the largeness of His love and not in the shrinking world of apprehension.) So here is my first post in this respect - a story that tells a little about me.

I live between two worlds...and I long for them to be one.

I was born into a land where the Christian meta-narrative has been placed aside, ignored and not told except in secret places. His name was not on our coinage, His commandments not written on walls or fought for in judicial places, His deliverance from the oppression of kings or racial color was not celebrated in our song...we had no Vacation Bible School as a main staple of summer holidays.

So, I came to know Him in quite a different way. Where my upbringing lacked His words, His pictures were abundant. From my northern aboriginal neighbours, I learned that the world was mysterious and wonderful and good because it had been formed by a Great Spirit with such attributes. I saw all creation and its beauty and a longing for such beauty was born in my heart. I read stories - stories of adventure, romance - mythical or true - of disaster and joy, and His picture began to form in my heart. I saw Him as an unfinished impressionistic work of art - glances, not defined, no edges or details - but I saw Him nonetheless. And so I continued to paint. I painted...I painted...I painted.

But I live between two worlds - and that is only one.

With the crossing of the 49th parallel, my colorful painting was traded for a black and white. The picture is rather the same, only stark and linear and binary.

It is here, south of my homeland, that I heard and learned and thought and read the undeniable, irrefutable systems of theology. My unfinished, impressionistic painting took on a realist feel with hard lines and clear faces. And before long the painting was finished, framed and hanging for all to see. I memorized, I did, I knew, I believed...I believed...I believed.

But I am a child of two worlds and in this second world there was no room for mystery or doubt and what was said about the picture was more important than the picture Itself. We spent lots of time talking about the paintings or perhaps quickly framing them. In this second world we seemed to have a knack for finding the edges of a work of art - defining it by putting borders around it. But we were reluctant to enter into the creation process - not wanting to play with color - afraid to get paint on the floor. We much preferred to observe and discuss the Artist's birth, life and death rather than come paint with Him.

Don't get me wrong. I love this second world. I love answers and truth...except when they don't fit, because sometimes they don't. Sometimes the edges of the frame became too constricting. Sometimes it seemed to me that life was more than black and white. I tried to add new color but the paint just dripped off the edges - the frame too small to support new hues. Sometimes I have tried to cram a picture far to large into a frame far too small and I have missed the intricate work of the Artist.

You see, I am a child of two worlds - I love paintings in glorious color and I think frames are useful for adding beauty and definition. But maybe sometimes we paint too little and frame too fast.

I want to paint...to believe...to paint...to believe.

I am a child of two worlds and I long for them to be one.

A New Day Dawns

A new day dawns. The kingdom of God rushes in; sumbeams penetrating the darkness, dispelling the frigid night air. A frozen planet begings to thaw.

A new day dawns. Light cascades through atmospheric dust to reach a silent, suffering planet. Liquid gold laps upon her shores with redemptive fingers - wooing her, calling her out of dark dwelling places.

A new day dawns. Artemis bows her head to say good-bye. Her silvery locks kiss the golden hem of the dayspring of whom she has been a reflection of glory. The coronation trumpets sound. A new day dawns.

A new day dawns -to a people dwelling in darkness where optical possibilities lie only in black and white. The dawn brings with it a burst of vivid, brilliant color and eyes which have never seen must learn to see again, this time within the frequencies of the broad color spectrum.

A new day dawns. Light has come, and it dances into every dark corner, sending out the invitation to come and join the dance.

November 7th

In Diary of an Old Soul, George MacDonald writes:

Wilt Thou not one day, Lord? In all my wrong,
self-love and weakness, laziness and fear,
This one thing I can say; I am content
To be and have what in Thy heart I am meant
To be and have. In my best times I long
After Thy will, and think it glorious-dear;
Even in my worst, perforce my will to Thine is bent.