When I was growing up, my parents and teachers sometimes made us say we were sorry for hurting or disobeying someone. Sometimes I pretended to be sorry. That’s because the way I saw it, it didn’t really matter whether we were truly sorry, or who was really in the wrong.
What mattered most Read the rest of this entry »
What kind of tree am I? I don’t know for sure. I’d like to be a poem tree. Reaching out and up to the heavens, blown by the wind of God’s Spirit, sheltering birds, bearing fruit, sinking my roots deep into the ground, soaking up water, thriving in sometimes hostile circumstances. The kind of tree Psalm 1 describes.
A tree planted by living water
That brings forth its fruit in its season.
Its leaves don’t wither;
Whatever it does, it prospers.
Something like that. I don’t think there’s a blueprint, or that I would look like every other tree.
Poem trees—surely you’ve seen one—don’t have just one way of communicating. Yet their impact is simple. They point (like a good sermon or lesson) to the inexplicable. The way a life sometimes can.
This brings to mind Jesus Christ. Not just as a human being and God’s beloved son-child, but as a tree. What kind of tree was he?
Maybe he was a poem tree. Able to point with ordinary words to the inexpressible, to what we discern through and beyond spoken or written words. The truth about God and about us. Grand, yet simple.
As simple and grand as a common, ordinary apple tree. Known and loved worldwide. Dependable, not full of exotic promises about heavenly hybrids that may offer curb appeal, but end up being a disappointment. Just another pretty ad.
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree. I first heard this song in the 1980s when I was studying theology. The lyrics captivated me. I can’t be Jesus Christ the apple tree. Nonetheless, as a poem tree I want to bear a small resemblance to the simple, poetic significance of this one life. I also want to rest a while, a very long while, beneath its shade.
To hear a performance of Elizabeth Poston’s haunting tune, click here. It takes only 2 minutes, 42 seconds. Well worth a listen!
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne’er can tell
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne’er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
I missed of all but now I see
‘Tis found in Christ the apple tree.
I’m weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
I’m weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.
* * *
Lyrics published in Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs in 1797,
written by Joshua Smith/William Northup
Tune by Elizabeth Poston, 1905-1987, sung here by
The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge, about 1993.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 June 2015
Photo from ashridgecider.co.uk
From the beginning of our marriage, I struggled to listen to D. I’m talking about non-anxious listening. The kind that isn’t on edge, waiting to get my next comments out there on the table based on what I think I know.
This is ironic. Read the rest of this entry »
My blogging friend Bill was diagnosed with ALS in 1996, the same year my sister Diane was. His journey is different, yet his spirit has the same razor-sharp focus on what’s really important. This recent post is for all of us. Enjoy it! Then go to About Bill and read his story. You won’t be disappointed.
Some might be disappointed, but this is not one of those quizzes like I see posted on Facebook. (There actually is one of those quizzes with this same title, but I didn’t take it because I was afraid that the results would show that I was Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree).
Ten or twelve years ago, let’s just say eleven, Mary and I were shopping at Home Depot. After finishing our shopping in the store, we wandered out to the garden department to look for some small trees. It was November, and most of the plants were marked down because they were making room for Christmas trees.
Mary got hung up looking at wreathes and other boring items, so I cruised my wheelchair over to go look at trees. As it turned out, there were not many trees left, and I didn’t see anything I was interested in. Just when I was…
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brushed lightly
on canvas with
love from God
* * *
I can’t help thinking about Howard Finster and his bold paintings
sent to us and all creation with enthusiastic love. Read the rest of this entry »
Upper level atmospheric disturbances
Pound my body invade my dreams
Mess with my heart beat
Vision
Balance
Ever since posting Part 18, I’ve been wondering about empathy and whether it was present in our early marriage.
To put it baldly, Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve got empathy on my mind this morning. Or better, lack thereof. When I think about capacities I didn’t have when I married D, empathy is right there near the top of the list.
It didn’t come up for debate or discussion the way money, sex and spirituality did. Read the rest of this entry »
Saint Cecilia with an Angel, Orazio Gentileschi (1563-1693)
Amy Carmichael’s life might be summarized by one word: Interruptions. Here’s her poetic internal dialogue about this daily dilemma. My comments follow. Read the rest of this entry »
I know ‘kickback’ isn’t exactly the right word. But it captures how I’ve been feeling today after posting For the Child’s Sake. I’ve been having stomach punches.
Not literally, but psychically. In my mind and my emotions. Second guessing. Fearful that I’ve said too much. That the wrong people will take it the wrong way.
None of this, mind you, is rational. It’s my hyper-sensitive reaction to speaking truth that’s deeply personal to me.
I’ve had this reaction before. So many times I can’t even count them. In the classroom, in small groups, in one-on-one conversations, and when I make my writing public. Especially if it’s about a sensitive topic. Which, in my world, could be anything at all—especially if it’s about me or people I know.
I’m hyper-vigilant. This means, given the content of my Divide and Conquer post, it takes a massive effort to speak truth forthrightly. And then close my mouth.
I’d much rather word-smith every statement with explanations that eventually deprive what I’ve said of its power to convey truth.
So I spent most of this afternoon ruminating about the post. Running scenarios in my mind about what might happen if the ‘wrong’ people read it, or if I’m ‘wrong’ in my account of what happened.
Yet it isn’t about accuracy or logic or sane precautions. It’s about the habits of my mind that conjure up worst-case scenarios, realistic and unrealistic. They didn’t just show up one day on their own. They’ve been with me since I was a child, and may have helped me survive back then.
Now, however, these habits often work against me. I don’t want people to take offence at what I write. Yet in the end, it may not be clear exactly what I’m trying to communicate.
It’s difficult to be clear, and then let my words sit there. Not softened or ratcheted down. Not edited for niceness to avoid offending people who may take me to task or simply disagree with me and write me off.
So that’s the stew I’ve been working on all afternoon. I think it’s a sign that what I wrote in that post matters deeply to me. Especially because I’ve been there, too. A child in need of an adult ally.
Here’s the bottom line for now. I know I’m a highly sensitive person. I won’t always have another highly sensitive person around to help me through my doubts and fears. This suggests I must be my own adult ally. The sensitive child in me (yes, she’s still there!) needs this ally. So does the sensitive adult woman who’s typing these words right now.
Thanks for listening.
Elouise
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 June 2015
