I bring my tears before God
and then we wait in silence there,
God and I.
I, being wounded in heart and mouth,
have no words.
I wait for God's.
Trees are silent
but I love to walk among them.

Life of the Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World by Henri J.M. Nouwen
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Read as part of my August Project reading list.

Henri Nouwen set out to write this book at the request of a close friend, with the intent of perhaps explaining or motivating a spiritual life for those who had not so far found reason enough to embrace such a life. From the response of his friend to this book, Nouwen realized he had failed, and was perhaps too deeply spiritual to be of assistance to the more secular person. (As an indication of his wisdom and humility, he considered this a shortcoming to the extent that he determined to get more in touch with his secular side!) At the enthusiastic response of believing friends who read the resulting book, however, he was encouraged to find it was considered very helpful to searching Christians, and saw in the whole story "...the mystery of God using his secular friends to instruct his disciples."

I too find this book to be helpful and nurturing, although it takes a certain amount of concentration, or attentiveness, to follow his meaning and to catch his sometimes quite deep revelations. Nouwen says we are the Beloved of God, and like bread, we are taken (or chosen), blessed, broken and given.

I like the words "...a conscious desire to waste our time..." as a description of going against society's dictates and consciously choosing for ourselves, here specifically referring to meditation and prayer (p. 66). I love the universal empathy in the words "...each human being suffers in a way no other human being suffers..."(p. 71).  And I was encouraged by the affirmative words "The spirit of love...will blow where it will, even when few will hear its coming and going." (p.100)


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Only in the deepest part of my bones

do I know God now.

The skin on my fingertips

is mostly doubt.

The pit of my stomach

shouts angry questions.

In my head 

I make myself say the God-taught prayer.

My legs are often shaken.

My heart is filled with loss.

The deepest bone and the deepest tear

is where I know God now.

August Sonnet
Accursed month wherein my heart was slain,
A year is passing, you come round again.
Your temperate days, inviting us to rest,
Your promises of leisure heaven-blest;
How you lay on the charm, your branches full,
Your fruits abundant give a gentle pull
To lazy hands and minds and hearts carefree.
But surface calm should warn: more careful be.
Deception cruel your seeming paradise,
Your cloying heat of day, your moonlit nights.
At heart there lies a cold uncaring place
Beneath the warmth of your so August face.
Give me the winter, honest colder climes;
The danger plain, we live more cautious times.

Psalm 23:4 Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I'm not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd's crook makes me feel secure. -The Message translation

Is it because there are others
Held fast by fleece-gripping thorns
In this dark accursed valley,
That he hasn't come to me yet?
I know he will find me as promised.
(In the distance I hear all the flock.)
But alone here I cannot stop calling,
All my struggles availing me not.
Unable to see through the darkness,
I can find of my shepherd no sign.
Or can it be he, unknown, is near me,
My bleatings out-sounding his steps?
Though I listen my hardest, I hear nothing,
But I will not surrender the wait.
Much too soon to say he's never coming,
To wonder, did he forget?
I continue to call, sometimes loudly,
When thorns press more sharp and more deep,
All I know of the time of his coming
Is that it is only not yet.

I walked in the dusty pasture,
near drought, yet I hoped for refreshment.
Dry underfoot grasses crackled,
but a reddened leaf blazed with glory.
Stiff thistle pins threatened to stick me,
but their mauve thready blossoms were scented.
And in a patch milkweed called common,
a new-minted monarch began life.

Lament for a Son by Nicholas Wolterstorff
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A most painful book to read, resonating with the pain of everyone who has lost someone. P. 89: "Suffering is for the loving...In commanding us to love, God invites us to suffer." Something I also have come to realize.

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unfading and unfailing

the love past all loves

unknown to the unknowing

for whom we pray

for we may be they

we, worshiping in whispers,

while hearts shout out within us

from our own selves please save us

or hope have we none

forever dreaming of returning

to true home, weeping, yearning,

recognizing unseen parent

The Cradler of us all

Head: stone
Heart: ache
Your loss: too much to take
Life: long
We: left behind
You: always on our mind

Yesterday
And here I sit calmly reading the hours away,
While the pit of pain in me shouts, "It's wrong
that all goes on and he is gone!"
Today
I crack my ribcage open
before the eyes of God,
lay bare the burning embers.
the smoldering red hot fog,
expose the hidden torture,
the deep volcanic pain,
as all I have to offer.
Here waiting I remain.
I hold the two together,
can hardly stand the heat,
the God I call all-knowing,
my writhing roaring grief.