I consider the walls I live within, the space I inhabit.
We patched and painted last year, a neutral creamy beige with the slightest hint of green. I love green. The swatch was called ‘Garden Mist.’ Made me happy.
Aren’t I blessed to be made happy by a paint swatch from Home Hardware here in our small town.
We replaced our worn sectional with a new leather sofa and love seat from Leons on the pay in two years plan. They’re paid off. I love kicking back those recliners, especially on a cold night when the wood stove is stoked and the room’s filled with friends.
How did I warrant this? Did I do something to deserve it or did the chips just fall this way?
Am I good, like Maria Von Trapp in the Sound of Music. She breathlessly sings in the garden as Georg kisses her, “I must have done something good….”.
No. Not good. My heart, God knows is prone to resentfulness, rebellion and self seeking. Not good.
I was blessed with this, all this life. Not perfect, even some injuries along the way. But I’m not just surviving. I live in a different mode than those awaiting safety or one meal or shelter from the elements.
Yet I search for something. I ache for a wider space, a borderless place with high hills and views to the east where the sun slips up the earth, painting another morning orange-bright.
Why should I have that?
Why should I have anything at all when others are just wondering if that same birthing day will bring any food or death.
The earth is hellish. Fear smashing at our doors and I want to move. But where? Is there a place where soulish and real world worries aren’t present? Maybe the move isn’t to wider fields but to a different heart space. A space of lie me down yieldedness to the One who actually knows what the day will bring. It could be death or a meal or a field or even paint, but God forbid those things come because I clamoured for them. Let each gift be a mercy, a grace to cup gratefully, not a grasping.
I’ve heard that Sodom and Gomorrah didn’t start with the place it finished. It began with greed and selfishness. People wanting more and having much and thinking it was their right. And forgetting the poor. The ones who matter specially to God. The ones that God said Pay Attention to, because if you have much it’s not to build your bigger barn, it’s actually to share that much with the one who has little and it all evens out in the end. Not Communism, but Community. God’s way. But they didn’t. They turned inward and hoarded and got bored and tried new things and bought more and titillated themselves and found new ways to fill their cups of debauchery. And eventually God said okay. And turned them over to it.
I’m afraid we’re here, again. Even those of us who call ourselves Believers. Do we even know what we would need to repent of when we quote those 2 Chronicles 7:13-14 verses? I don’t but I’m getting a feeling as I look around. The attachments to my present life are pretty strong.
But there’s this whisper of freedom as I imagine not being owned by what I own.
What ties you to this earth? What distracts you from a fundamental connection with your Creator, the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us? From the just living connected, trusting and obedient?
Are you willing to loosen your grip? To count the cost and take the hand held out to you?
I want to try. I imagine walking away and knowing this unfettered lightness.
“Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ…” Philippians 3:8 NKJV (biblegateway.com)