Showing posts with label "Painting Pictures of Egypt". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "Painting Pictures of Egypt". Show all posts

Monday, August 20, 2012

"inexhaustible energies...."

“...and I was dying for some freedom
but now I hesitate to go.
I am caught between the promise
and the things I know...”

I'm sure it's no surprise, but I really love Sara Groves’ “Painting Pictures of Egypt.” It has been especially meaningful, for me, this summer. Particularly a in connection with our camp inspirational theme, Mary Baker Eddy's call to action:

""Every step of progress, is a step more spiritual."


Every step...really? Sometimes I don't know if this is a promise, or a dare!

But, since I long for my steps to be "more spiritual," I'm taking it as both. And in light of my need for clear shepherding in these "steps more spiritual," I've been immensely grateful for Biblical role models, as I respond to this urging.

And this summer it's been a lot of "me n' Moses" time.

Yep, I’ve taken up residence in the desert...pitching my tent and inhabiting the Biblical account of his encounter with the burning bush...again.

This is not a new place for me to hang out...or a new spiritual mentor. I really love this guy. I seem to get caught up in his story on a regular basis. Insights and lessons around every rock. And I always come away with another “aha!” from our time time together...whenever I am willing to wander in the wilderness with him. Bare feet on holy ground, angels speaking out of the fire, and then there's always Emily Dickinson’s:

"Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush
afire with God,
But only he who sees
takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and
pick blackberries."


Ahhh, I ask you: "how rich with spiritual metaphor can one story be...."

It never seems to get old. Year after year, this story feeds me like forty years of manna in the wilderness.

There was that summer, some years ago, when I realized that “I AM,” is the only name that God gives Himself. Reading this story, it became so clear to me that if I was thinking in the context of “I was,” or “I will be,” I was not thinking out from the presence of God, as “I AM.” The "here" (as in I am present with you), and the "now" (as in to "stay in the present" tense...not the past or future) This was a paradigm-shattering insight at the time, and has continued to be foundational to my understanding of being.

And then there was the summer of the environmentally-conscious Sunday School student. A boy who helped me see that the burning bush ...which was not consumed...was a precedent-setting case of Biblical law for energy production without the consumption of resources. It was immediately clear to him, upon hearing the story, that Moses was able to see that the bush was burning...therefore it was putting off light and/or heat...but was not being consumed in the process. And without the consumption of the bush, there would be no waste byproduct...in this case smoke, or carbon emissions...to negatively impact the environment.

But this summer it was a question posed by a tired camp counselor, that has had me immersed in this story once again.

She asked, “how do you pray about exhaustion?”

Well, not surprisingly, it was this timeless story that immediately came to mind. So, I shared with her the Sunday School insight related above, and told her how helpful it had been to me in thinking about my own energy. I could expect to function efficiently without the consumption of my resources – strength, inspiration, alertness, creativity, humility, grace, etc. – and therefore no exhaustion...the waste by-product of resource consumption.

Exhaust, I reminded her, was the stuff that comes out of the back of a car...it is a waste, and it stinks. To say, “I am exhausted,” is a waste of your time, and it stinks!!

But as I was reading the story again, I saw how it all tied together:

Moses had a pretty good life as Zipporah’s husband. After the emotionally devastating discovery about his identity: "sorry Moses, you aren't a really a prince of Egypt, you are actually the son of a Hebrew slave," a traumatic exit from Egypt, and a long journey through the desert, he had finally found a legitimate place within a family. He had a good job, and seemed content. He spent his days tending sheep for his father-in-law.

But God has another plan for him. He is going to be asked to journey back to Egypt, face his identity crisis head on, go toe-to-toe with his former “brother,” try to convince the Hebrews he once participated in enslaving to trust him to deliver them from bondage, encourage them to follow him without question, handle the logistics of getting them out of Dodge, and then make another long journey through the desert with thousands of men, women, and children safely in tow, arriving at an undesignated "promised land."

That’s one pretty daunting, tiring, and exhausting assignment.

So, God gives Moses this “sign." He shows him that there can be a tireless source of energy...one that doesn't run out, doesn't produce exhaust, and results in no waste.

A brilliant example of God’s love, and His prescience...his foreknowledge of what His child will need in order to carry out this holy purpose.

And it is this “sign” stops Moses in his tracks. He “gets it.” It humbles him to the point that he takes off his shoes...a sign of surrender to a higher authority.

When the plan is laid out, Moses asks “how,” and God says, “I will be with thee.”

When Moses asks why should they believe me, God tells him to say, “I AM hath sent me unto you.” Now, the only reference to “I AM” that the children of Israel would have, would be their own conscious sense of being, their innate hunger to be free...they’d never read the book of Exodus, and Moses’ conversation with God.

But these two reminders: that God is with us in every task, and that the “I AM,” of being...not the I was, or I will be...is there, at all times, to deliver us from enslavement, from the consumption of our resources, from the waste of our time, and from exhaustion...is as effective today as it was centuries ago. Biblical precedence I can rest my case on throughout the day, in every activity, and with every "step more spiritual."

When I know that God is with me, that I will always have the infinite well of divine Being to drawn upon for inspiration, insights, ideas, solutions, strength, creativity, then I am not afraid to approach even the most daunting task with courage and confidence.

And when I remember to stay in the “I AM” of the moment -- the only place that God is -- refusing to be distracted by the haunting strains of remembering what I left behind in Egypt’s past, or the lured into imagining what it might be like in the promise land of the future...I cannot be consumed, or exhausted.

Mary Baker Eddy, gives us such sweet, and practical, encouragement when she says;

"God rests in action. Imparting has not impoverished, can never impoverish, the divine Mind. No exhaustion follows the action of this Mind, according to the apprehension of divine Science. The highest and sweetest rest, even from a human standpoint, is in holy work."

and elsewhere:

"Goodness and benevolence never tire.
They maintain themselves and others
and never stop from exhaustion."


I love these promises. and I love this story...I can’t wait to discover it’s next lesson...

with Love,
Kate


Friday, June 26, 2009

"I've been painting pictures of Egypt..."


"...The past is so tangible
I know it by heart
Familiar things are never easy
To discard
I was dying for some freedom
But now I hesitate to go
I am caught between the Promise
And the things I know

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,
Leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard,
And I wanna go back!
But the places that used to fit me,
Cannot hold the things I've learned
Those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned..."

- Sara Groves

Okay, so I have become a bit obsessed with Sara Groves' lyrics and music.  But, as my husband says, "she is so good at knowing you."  When I discovered her "Painting Pictures of Egypt," it was like walking past a mirror, smiling at a stranger, and then suddenly realizing you are smiling at yourself.

I listened with rapt wonder.  She was able to put words to the feeling of knowing when you
had to leave one place -- the place where you'd lived in hunched sadness -- for a horizon that seemed to hold no oasis or refuge.  It is a journey in which you cross the desert of pain -- traversing the lonely unchartered territories of your own heart, learning to eat locust and drink dew from the crevices in stones -- only to find that you are still just standing at the edge of something even more vastly new and incomprehensible. So uncertain that you begin to dream of returning to the soft comforts of the outgrown, but familiar.

I think this is what the children of Israel may have faced at the edge of the Red Sea.  Having left behind a tortured existence of brutality and slavery, they find themselves in a place where they are free -- but free to do what, when all that stands in front of them is a roiling ocean of resistance and self-doubt.  Pharoah is pursuing them from behind and they wonder why they ever left Egypt in the first place. At least in Egypt they had the fleshpots. 

I have known this kind of questioning.  I have known the terror of "not knowing" what comes next, and the pull of what once was. "At least there were those fleshpots," it hisses. "Hey, you know how to navigate the familiar, endless rhythm of pyramid building. You know how to anticipate and brace yourself for the touch -- however hurtful -- of the slavemaster's whip."

That's when I would begin "painting pictures of Egypt" in the soft golden glow of memory.  The straw and mud pits of backbreaking labor in the fields took on a soft light -- a "Little House on the Prairie" romanticism. Why I could almost hear the swell of a James Newton Howard soundtrack if I listened hard enough.

But in those moments when my Children of Israel-self complains to my Moses-self at the edge of the Red Sea, "why did you bring us here, at least in Egypt I had fleshpots!" I remember Moses' reply, "Stand ye still and see the salvation of our God," which God rebukes with, "Why are you telling them that, tell them to move forward!"

And what those in exile could never have even imagined - a sea splitting in two so that they could cross on dryland - happens right before their eyes.

They had outgrown the lessons of Egypt, and each step forward through the sand brought them to the place where a miracle was waiting.

Like the children of Israel at the edge of the Red Sea, I too have spent far too many days sitting in the hot shifting sands of self-doubt painting romantic pictures of Egypt in the soft glow of memory. When right there, right before me -- within just a few steps of its shores -- a Red Sea was waiting to part and lead me to the promised land. 

Today I have my heart focused on the sea.  I am painting seascapes full of milk and honey, bees and blueberries, lemons and lavender. I am leaving the outgrown in Egypt where it belongs -- in the past.  I am moving forward, one step at a time -- looking for miracles in the sand and the sea.

"...I don't want to leave here
I don't want to stay
It feels like pinching to me
Either way
And the places I long for the most
Are the places where I've been
They are calling out to me
Like a long lost friend

It's not about losing faith
It's not about trust
It's all about comfortable
When you move so much
And the place I was wasn't perfect
But I had found a way to live
And it wasn't milk or honey
But then neither is this

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,
Leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard,
And I wanna go back!
But the places that used to fit me,
Cannot hold the things I've learned
Those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned..."

If it comes too quick
I may not appreciate it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?
And if it comes too quick
I may not recognize it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?"

with Love,


Kate