Is Facebook a "Friend?"

I didn't post yesterday, and I'm committed to writing 500 words a day.  I don't know how to get a good count on how many words a post is.  But, I sense the Lord saying that it doesn't really matter.  I have a rough idea of how many lines of type here make up 500 words.  Part of the reason that I want to write every day is to kind of "find my voice," as they say.  I'm not exactly sure what that means, except perhaps it would make me more comfortable in my own skin, when I try to sit down and write.  As it is now, I'm always second-guessing how things should be said.  Today, want to write about "friendship."  I think that a lot of people do what I do and use things like facebook and Sunday School as a way to get sort of a feeling of being close to people, and yet a way to actually keep people at a distance.  I've done this to others, and had them do it to me.  It's really frustrating.  One thing, though, is that I can see that I'm not the only one of my "friends" who is afraid of intimacy.  I'm going to suggest to my pastor that he preach on friendship. I think that we can only be as close to the Lord as we are willing to be with people.  Didn't Jesus say something like, "How can you love me, when you will not love your brother?"  I have noticed that I am not the only Christian who uses the context of good discipleship as a way to keep the Lord at a comfortable place in our lives.  When He wants to grow closer to us, we relegate our relationship with Him to our "Quiet Time."  And we search for formulas to insure us that this quiet time with Jesus comes up to the standard for such a thing.

When it comes to friendship with people, Facebook is a study in the fear of intimacy.  We come into it with high expectations, seeing people with hundreds of people that they call friends.  But, we learn fairly quickly not to expect too much from these hundreds of "friends."  We learn that it is easier to ignore our "Facebook Friends" who seem to be getting too close or asking for too much friendship. And we think that this keeping people in their place is good.  And it is, if we never want to get any closer to people than the rigid structure of Facebook allows.

Comforted

I don't know if this is 500 words, but it was the story of a moment that sort of just wrote itself.  I've been wondering lately how I will manage to get through life without my momma.  I guess this is the story of how.

I've gotten out my taboo cards. What little I remember of surrealism, is an idea that there is something inside me, some message, that wants to come out. I simply need to give it the opportunity to burst onto the scene. Say there are ten things on a tray, and I have to tell a story with them. A glove, a pony, a few coins, a singer, water, mayonnaise, something king-size, speeding, summer, and green. Let's see. The singer wears a glove, but why only one? Perhaps she can't find both, or maybe she is a Michael Jackson fan. I picture a woman sitting by a fence, singing her way through a hymnal. Perhaps a pony in the next field comes over and nuzzles her. A highway is maybe ten feet from her. It is the well-traveled way. Every now and then, another car comes speeding down the road, shaking the whole world to the sound of the music it's playing. But Micah's songs come from a very different place. Once upon a time, her mom used to sing to her. Momma sang about “The Birth of the Blues.”

Micah's frail heart wishes it had a tune, all she has is this hymnbook. She pages through it, looking for an elusive something, something to pour her paper heart into, something to make her feel like a real person. A soft breeze plays with the pages as she turns them. “I am weak but thou art strong; Jesus, keep me from all wrong. I'll be satisfied as long, as I walk, let me walk close to thee.” Could anything be close? Tears begin to roll down her young cheeks. “Just a closer walk with thee.” Her soul cuddles up with the familiar words. “Grant it, Jesus, is my plea,” Her voice sounds so small. Trying again, a little louder, a little stronger. “Thro' this world of toil and snares, if I falter, Lord, who cares? Who with me my burden shares? None but thee, dear Lord, none but thee.” Tears are falling more rapidly now, unbidden. Momma would like that song. “Just a closer walk with thee.” Back in the house, everyone expected her to be so spiritual. Everyone was talking about heaven. Back there, she was expected to smile, and play the hostess to relatives and friends gathered to mourn. She thought about the service, they had just come from. All those songs that she and her mother had loved together. Momma's voice had become less certain as she grew older. Somehow, when they were together, though, the old voice would ring out the soprano, while Micah found a alto notes snuggling up next to momma's strong melody. Now, all the tears that she couldn't cry at church dripped one by one down her face. Paging through the tattered hymnbook, she sings, “He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock That shadows a dry, thirsty land; He hideth my life in the depths of his love, and covers me there with his hand.” Dry and thirsty, yes, that's how the world felt today. The bright sunshine hides for a moment behind a cloud. The sun holds itself aloof from this little worship service. The woman feels like a young girl again, as she carefully avoids the barbs that will tear at her clothes if she gets too close. Soon, she would need to get back. People would wonder what had happened to her. Everybody seemed so quietly worried about her. Their worry was another weight to carry, as though losing her mother wasn't enough. She had to exhibit the right mix of mourning and psychological strength to reassure everyone. But, all she wanted was to hear momma singing beside her. “Because He Lives” was one of momma's favorite songs. “Because He lives I can face tomorrow; because he lives all fear is gone; because I know he holds the future, life is worth the living just because he lives.” Tomorrow, what a dry, colorless thought. She would make it through tomorrow, though. After all, there was no longer anyone to help if she fell apart. I need your strength today, Lord. What is the verse? “seeing that His divine power has granted to us everything pertaining to life and godliness, through the true knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and excellence.” I need a portion of that divine power, today, Father. I know you will give it. Thank You. “Every good and perfect gift comes down from above, from the Father of the heavenly lights, with whom there is no shifting shadow.” Is the loss of momma a gift, Lord? She lived so many years with constant pain in so many of her joints. I'm glad to know that she is in heaven with You. Thank You for this moment. Thank You for the bright sunshine, and the quiet grass. I guess I better get going. People will miss me. Thank You for being here with me. Someday, momma, I will meet you in heaven; and we will sing and sing and sing for a million glorious days. But, I better be going . . .  

Almost 500 Words

Oh, gosh, I don't know what to write about.  I started to write about a favorite hymn, but I don't know that anyone would be interested in hearing that.  There's a little note on my desk here that says, "You Are a Masterpiece."  I was thinking about that earlier.  I don't feel much like a masterpiece, but emotions are deceptive.  It is my nature (ever since my training in medical vocabulary and career as a transcriptionist) to break down words.  What does it mean to say that I (perish the thought) am a Masterpiece.  "Masterpiece" sounds like a very big word, but I think it only means "a piece made by a Master."  I can accept that.  What little I know about this body I'm in leaves me pretty awestruck.  For many years, I didn't have any insurance coverage.  That was back in my 20's.  I was amazed at how well my body took care of itself.  Back before that time, I had every year been taken to the doctor with bronchitis.  When I had to take care of myself, though, I found that my body just overcame its bronchitis troubles.  At that time, I didn't have a car.  I found that walking everywhere, in just any kind of weather, made me stronger.  I no longer had a lot of the difficulties that I had grown up with.  I have often wished that I could share this "secret" with the people that I see dashing around in their cars day after day.  If you walk places, it forces you to prioritize.  You only have time to go to a few places, so it's important to pick the best.  Walking is calming.  So many of our ailments these days are caused by stress.  Walking gives you time to really think about things.  I feel like many people these days are kinda running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  They don't think that they have time to do things like memorize and meditate on scripture.  They have no idea what they are missing out on.  Oh, goodness, that's only about 289 words.  One of the things that counselors have taught me is to go outside and really appreciate all the things that I see.  Really looking at trees and grass and sidewalks gets me out of my head.  Once, way back when, I made up a little story about the trees I saw as I was walking along.  Each tree became a character in my story.  I saw a little evergreen surrounded by taller trees.  I thought how all those taller trees were always reaching up to the sky, trying to catch the sun as it passed them by.  The magnificent oaks and lovely maples didn't understand what was wrong with the little evergreen.  Fall came.  Leaves were falling all over the forest, but the little evergreen stood quietly, patient as always.  It's leaves didn't fall.  It had become the only bright spot in the forest.  It couldn't reach up and catch the sun, but it had caught as much sunlight as it needed to stay green all through the winter.
Well, back to being God's masterpiece.  Walking through the world, there are so many extraordinary things to see, so many masterpieces.

I need to balance my days.  I need to do some studying, some praying, and some cleaning.