The Mutinie

Weary of this same Clay, and straw, I laid
Me down to breath, and casting in my heart
The after-burthens, and griefs yet to come,
           The heavy sum
So shook my brest, that (sick and sore dismai'd)
My thoughts, like water which some stone doth start
Did quit their troubled Channel, and retire
Unto the banks, where, storming at those bounds,
They murmur'd sore; But I, who felt them boyl
           And knew their coyl
Turning to him, who made poor sand to tire
And tame proud waves, If yet these barren grounds
           And thirstie brick must be (said I)
                      My taske, and Destinie,

Let me so strive and struggle with thy foes
(Not thine alone but mine too,) that when all
Their Arts and force are built unto the height
           That Babel-weight
May prove thy glory, and their shame; so Close
And knit me to thee, That though in this vale
Of sin, and death I sojourn, yet one Eie
May look to thee, To thee the finisher
And Author of my faith; so shew me home
           That all this fome
And frothie noise which up and down doth flie
May find no lodging in mine Eie, or Eare,
           O seal them up! that these may flie
                      Like other tempests by.

Not but I know thou hast a shorter Cut
To bring me home, than through a wildernes,
A Sea, or Sands and Serpents; Yet since thou
           (As thy words show)
Though in this desart I were wholy shut,
Canst light and lead me there with such redress
That no decay shal touch me; O be pleas'd
To fix my steps, and whatsoever path
Thy sacred and eternal wil decreed
           For thy bruis'd reed
O give it ful obedience, that so seiz'd
Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath
           Nor grieve thy Dove, but soft and mild
                      Both live and die thy Child.

--Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)

patience, trust, peace

O God of all seasons and senses,
grant me your sense of timing
to submit gracefully
and rejoice quietly
in the turn of the seasons.

In this season of short days and long nights,
of grey and white and cold,
teach me the lessons of waiting:
of the snow joining the mystery
of the hunkered-down seeds
growing in their sleep
watched over by gnarled-limbed, grandparent trees
resting from autumn's staggering energy;
of the silent, whirling earth
circling to race back home to the sun.

O God, grant me your sense of timing.

In this season of short days and long nights,
of grey and white and cold,
teach me the lessons of beginnings:
that such waitings and endings
may be a starting place,
a planting of seeds
which bring to birth
what is ready to be born -
something right and just and different,
a new song,
a deeper relationship,
a fuller love -
in the fullness of your time.

Ted Loder


This was the reading that framed the Whitworth Choir's Christmas concert this year. It resonates with me, as if this prayer was chosen specifically for me at this time in my life.

Being able to spend this last weekend in Seattle with so many dear friends was both wonderful, sad, and overwhelming. Seeing them - being surrounded again by music and companionship and familiarity - made me realize how completely at home I was with them last year. It also made me bitingly aware of how much I miss it, and how lonely and uncertain these last few months of my life have been. I feel like I am in a season of winter - there are short, glorious days of encouragement (like this weekend), but they are scattered between long nights of weariness, frustration, and uncertainty.

That's why Loder's prayer was so meaningful to me. It reminds me that the ending of school and the waiting, now, of not knowing quite which path I'm on, will be a starting place for something new - and right - and, yes, different. And even though my heart longs to return to the comfort and familiarity of that old song I knew so well - music, friends, studying, school - God is leading me to a new song, a deeper relationship, and a fuller love. Isn't it strange how we gravitate towards comfort? But comfort doesn't push us to growth. I know that eventually I will look back on this time and smile at the place it holds in my greater story. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the waiting any easier or the wilderness any less barren.

I recently listened to a sermon on prayer from my pastor in Spokane, Bill Mounce. He was discussing the ebb and flow, the seasons that we go through in life, prayer, and relationships. He illustrated the point by quoting Terry Muck, writing from the perspective of a farmer:

"The biggest difference I can see [between farmers and city-dwellers] is that city people always think that this year has got to be better than the last. If they don't get a raise, acquire something new, or find something somehow better off, they think they're failures.

Farm folks look at things a bit differently. We know that there are going to be good years and bad years. We can't control the weather, we can't prevent a bad crop, we can't control sickness. So you learn just to work hard, and make up your mind to take what comes."

God, grant me your sense of timing to submit gracefully and rejoice quietly in the turn of the seasons.

tree, twisted.

tree,
twisted.
always seeking out the Sun.
obstacles:
embraces them, itself
grows on
always towards the Sun.

branches,
lifeless.
attached, still a part, yet
dead. not growing.
lifeless.

me,
climbing.
twisted, crooked:
more accessible.
dead is rigid, breaks off.
life gives, holds firm

view,
partial.
perfect, yet impossible
without tree,
twisted.

During worship practice, we sang a hymn that I've known since I was a little girl. It's one I know well, but today God used the familiar words to speak comfort and encouragement to my heart:

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!
All ye who hear, now to his temple draw near;
praise Him in glad adoration.

Praise to the Lord, who o'er all things so wondrously reigneth,
shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen how thy desires e'er have been
granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, Who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,
if with His love He befriend thee.

Praise to the Lord, O let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him.
Let the amen sound from His people again,
gladly for aye we adore Him.

- Joachim Neander (1650-1680)