~ Raymond Kane
I cried out, “I am slipping!”
~ Psalm 94:18-19
We have been there you know. It is why we long to go home. It is why we often long to go to a childhood happy place, whether it was your own home, or that of a treasured friend. A place where you felt safe, were able to be yourself, a place where you could just laugh, cry, sing, help in the kitchen, experiment, make a mistake and still be loved.
We came from heaven, as all life comes from God. For me, the closest thing to heaven outside my childhood, is Hawaii. The air, the music, the whole spirit of aloha is there in the very breeze. It was that way for my mom too. She played the slide guitar, my dad played the ukelele or played at the ukelele.
I guess, getting older, I just feel so much more free to be me, to be me in Jesus. However you find your happy place, whether it is through organ music, singing a broadway tune, creating something with your hands, doing something kind for someone, having a bubble bath and a rubber ducky… relax into the bubbles of God’s love, and remember, Heaven is where you came from, no matter what you have made of this life. Give it back to God, and enjoy the prospect of home.
Because of Him,
19 What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?
20 For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.
~ 1 Corinthians 6:19-20
We have a favorite waitress in a small store/restaurant in Maine. She is very careful to follow what she believes is important in scripture, and particularly with regard to tatoos. Her car is covered with her beliefs, but not her body. She prefers to “let the light shine.” She is doing her level best to be living scripture.
I was thinking about the Jewish custom of having a Mezuzah outside one’s door. I have seen them in the doorways of Jewish colleges, outside of homes.
Every person entering Life
he brings into Light.
He was in the world,
the world was there through him,
and yet the world didn’t even notice.
He came to his own people,
but they didn’t want him.
But whoever did want him,
who believed he was who he claimed
and would do what he said,
He made to be their true selves,
their child-of-God selves.
These are the God-begotten,
to do everything you say.
I beg you from the bottom of my heart: smile,
be gracious to me just as you promised.
When I took a long, careful look at your ways,
I got my feet back on the trail you blazed.
I was up at once, didn’t drag my feet,
was quick to follow your orders.
The wicked hemmed me in—there was no way out—
but not for a minute did I forget your plan for me.
I get up in the middle of the night to thank you;
your decisions are so right, so true—I can’t wait till morning!
I’m a friend and companion of all who fear you,
of those committed to living by your rules.
Your love, God, fills the earth!
Train me to live by your counsel.
In the late ’70s, I bought a typewriter — portable enough for world travel and sturdy enough to survive decades of ten-fingered beatings. I’ve since acquired many more — each different in design, action, and sound. Each one stamps into paper a permanent trail of imagination through keys, hammers, cloth and dye — a softer version of chiseling words into stone.
I’m pretty sure it’s a simple matter of climbing over that seemingly high (but actually rather unimpressive) obstacle.