WHAT IS HEAVEN LIKE?

MY GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN…

I must write about heaven, my view of what that means, a perspective seen through a mirror dimly.  So I meditate on the most beautiful things of this earth for they are at least a portal to see that which as yet cannot be seen. 

We understand that all of life is seasonal, that all things must germinate, grow and then fall to the ground and die.  There are secrets to this seasonal life—secrets that somehow I wish could be, yet cannot be completely translated into the heavenly realm.  Since there is no death nor dying in that realm then something of the seasonal secrets could not be tasted there and yet for now they do give us a glimpse of glory.   The beauty of every season lies within the creative power that brings forth fruit—in its season.  To miss a season would be to miss the intrinsic beauty and value, the fruit within each of them and therein miss a glimpse of heaven. 

The secret of an abundant life is to draw from every season that which only that season can give us.  When fall is approaching there is a stillness in the air, there is a flurry of activity as bird and beast prepares for winter months.  Colors begin to drape the leaves as though touched accidentally by an artist brush.  I sit in wonder as beauty explodes from the gentle opening of butterfly wings.  Everything waits and ever so slowly slips into a deep rest.  Winter never discloses herself but covers herself with frost and winter snows.  The hard shell of earth protect what is hidden in the earth and the sharp air defines the nakedness of tree and limb even as the misty clouds hides the horizon—the barrenness cloaks all things with its own warmth. This glimpse of heaven shares with utmost care its truth of deep rest, great peace, the glorious colors of creation and warmth and depth of intimacy. 

It saddens me to think there’d be no seasons.  No death to bring forth Spring with fruit of excitement, anticipation, renewed strength and awesome regalia of color.    Flaunting its gay apparel, blossoms proclaim to bees and bunnies “I’m here for your pleasure” offering its fruit for the taking and  bursting the earth to bring new life or build upon its new thoughts new dreams or new beginnings. This glimpse of heaven is one  that reveals it is an exciting place of continual strength, newness, freshness, fruitfulness and abundant joy and love that cannot do naught but create more beauty.

To think there’d be no long hot summer days—changes of pace as we fellowship with family and friends, enjoying buzzing bees, flitting butterflies or the smell of ripening fruit preparing to fill the horn of plenty.  This glimpse of heaven is one  that reveals  it is the essence of harmony where both kith and kin are in oneness, life is the great gift and abundance is the atmosphere. A place where family is eternal, enlarged as heaven itself, where fellowship, family and friendship are of the highest order as we rest together with Father God and elder brother. 

My view of heaven?  Surely there shall be something more glorious if when passing over they’d be no seasons—my glimpse of heaven is the beauty that is fragmented in this earthly realm but when one takes the time to see beyond the brokenness, then heaven like hell can be glimpsed even now.  The one we choose is the one we taste and can in knowing the secrets, see life now… as a glimpse of heaven.

Diane ~ August 2012

To Dream the Impossible Dream

”…We were like those who dream, then our mouth was filled with laughter and our tongue with joyful shouting.  ...”  [Psalm 126:1-2]

The intercom sounded and my name was called—I picked up the phone and life paused.  There has been an accident— “so sorry”, came the deep voice of the surgeon, “a main artery has been cut, we have called in a specialist.”

 Where does the heart go when words are spoken and the unthinkable draws close?  There must be a special veil that is drawn across the heart of a mother, when such information is given across the wires and as factual, as precisely as a temperature reading.  

I stood there not really grasping the words but only to think to call her husband and for a moment use the action to distance my heart from reality; our daughter’s life was in danger.  The waiting room became vague the noise slipped back as if no longer part of the physical environment.  Numb to the obvious we  waited—my sister and I—for such a time as this she had been sent on ‘holiday’, four thousand miles,  for just a visit.  As always throughout my life the awesome Sovereignty and watch-care of God was being displayed, by her very presence and when I needed my sister the most she was beside me!    

A simple surgery—growing from deep desire and longing—to become pregnant, to birth a child, to have a family. 

From the beginning of time God ordained it, sown in all of creation this desire for procreation cannot be denied, no misfortune can snuff-out the hope or diminish the dream.     To bear a child, to grow a family, to extend life.  Why now, why such agony of fruit from such a Godly desire. 

There are no answers in times of the valley of the shadow of death only hope, only desperate cries for help and healing.  This was not the first attempt to ‘make the impossible possible’—many others had taken this road and lived to birth a family like a hen gathering her chicks beneath her wings.  But for our daughter this attempt would prove to be the last—no more man-made attempts, no more experiments.  If this Sovereign Creator wanted to fulfill His Word, that man would procreate, then it would be done by Him alone!  This was the verdict and this the faith.  Not my will but thine be done.

Time went by, faith at times lagging but never far away— God holds fast to the heart and the heart holds fast the promise of God.    A few years pass—the home is made ready—a big home with room to play and to provide a nursery—faith lives.   I watched as hope struggled within the one who sought to stay strong and believe the miracle would come…and it did!

Not as man would think but as God had planned—conceived in less than love a little one was growing in the womb of one of no desire—but God had a plan.  Divine connections were made at the funeral of a friend of a friend and the plan of God moved into action.  Seven weeks later in a far-away place this miracle child was born and moments later placed in the arms of desire of our daughter. —The dream had come true!   What a gift of absolute joy.   At that moment a family was born, hope was fulfilled and the fight of faith was over for this miracle.    

REMEMBERING....

The Hill

I awoke this morning to see the dawn creeping over the ridge of mountains, the hard earth against my body did nothing for the ache inside, I wrapped the linen more tightly around me, as if to take away the sudden chill, knowing it was not the morning air but the happenings of the past few days that made it so,  surely...today will be a different day.

Stirring myself I remember our  journey  together and wonder what will this day  hold, how will it be now that our Master is to be crucified on a Cross and  treated like a common criminal.  I rise to go and mourn as many will for generations to come.    

I walk slowly up the hill hoping desperately things had changed—that somehow during the long dark night something miraculous had happened and our Master will not have to go through this valley of death—but it was not to be,  already in the dawns early light He hung there and my heart twisted with the reality that nothing would ever be the same.

The sudden silence—as if all creation, even the universe, is holding its breath, waiting…will man survive;  will this unseen war reach its bloody conclusion soon.  The time ticks by, how long will the silence last?  His chest suddenly heaves again and the silence is broken, life as we know it continues for yet another immeasurable moment in time.  As the chest falls, ripping and tearing the broken flesh and the dripping blood staggers the mind…He was to be our king...All around us  this strange fading light screams at us of dissolving dreams, shadowing hopes—those desperate desires that things could change and be different.  Wickedness, and her spawn evil laughter, chuckle gleefully as  anger gives way to despair and all around women weep and men turn their faces away from such defeat. 

I remember another hill not many days past when children laughed, and parents listened to the wonder filled words that  seemed to flow from His lips.  And now…what now…can I really absorb this reality and live?  I hear the crack of a whip, probably the same one that struck his back gouging and ripping open the flesh that now hangs in raw agony against the wooden post he’s nailed to. 
My mind is full of words, words of truth spoken by men of old in ages long past—who was it? –yes, I recall, it was Job who said "He marks out the horizon on the face of the waters for a boundary between light and darkness!"  [Job 26:10]

Between light and darkness---could it be this strange fading light is being marked by this man that claims to have owned the horizon?  Another sharp crack and I stir myself—“what did you say”—I ask of the man mumbling his words beside me, this soldier standing by watching his assignment of death by crucifixion,  his words are lost to my ears as wind and gathering storm carry them away.  He mumbles again a little louder this time, —“who is this man,?  he asked, as if baffled by the sense of impending wrath of God, for surely this untimely roaring cloud, crushing wind and rushing darkness has never been seen on such a bright and sunny day. 

I listen now to the One who suffers so—hanging on a roughly hewn Cross silhouetted against the darkened sky.  This Cross is stark and cruel, rough and raw,  like a bridge hung between heaven and hell.  I am undone by the sight of such cruelty and struck dumb by compassion as He speaks. “Father, forgive them. For they do not know what they are doing.”  Surely this is no human response, no man can draw from his own well this all consuming, unconditional love.

There are no children on this mountain—and many adults have left, only a few remain, drawn perhaps by something beyond their knowing yet gripped by their own sense of loss and shame.

 I move forward slightly as He turns His head.  I wonder what He would say to those whose life also hung in the balance, those hanging on their own cross beside Him—paradise He says to one of them, “…today you will be with me in paradise…” The other made no sound but smirked, I suppose at such a thought.

A sudden and wrenching cry escaped from deep within His brokenness and His words  echo around the mountain and a piercing pain almost tangible touched my ears —“My God, My God why have you forsaken me?”  Such depths of agony weaving through His cry made my soul shudder and my eyes weep in utter abandon to such hopeless, helpless suffering. 

There are muffled sounds of weeping coming from the small crowd and the atmosphere is one of deep sadness and unbelief that this could be happening.  An undeniable anger stirred within me when I remember the last three years—yes we had failed Him many times but we were human…here in this gathering darkness hung the Son of David the Messiah, heaving, shaking with pain, void of power—no miracle worker this—and we are left to stand or fall in the wake of such defeat.
Just as suddenly I return from my spurious journey and settle into my place beneath an empty Cross—I smile to myself as praise floods my soul, looking back has brought me unbelievable Joy.  He is no longer on the Cross neither is He in the tomb but faith assures me He sits beside His Father and intercedes on my behalf—what power this love is that would defeat death, hell and the grave and make a way for me to journey home to Him.

~DINX~  March 2012

                                                  Perseverance

There are days, weeks, months and perhaps even years when the only ‘word’ you know is ‘perseverance’. 

Wherever we are in this world God’s truth is revealed through the ordinary... and I remember.  Living on the mission field, the small apartment was in the heart of a community full of drinking and drugs, poverty and deprivation. The houses all crammed together each flaunted a small apron of garden between them and the sidewalk.   No bigger than a postage stamp the garden was a reflector of where the heart of the occupant would either grow or neglect the garden and generally reflect light or darkness, hope or despair.   Neighbors came and left before you could even meet them—generally staying long enough to destroy what little beauty could be seen. 

The present family was among those who at midnight when the pubs closed their doors, would stumble into the streets either singing or cursing and fights were not infrequent.

When the streets became quiet I would fall asleep—but there was one night I awoke to hear unfamiliar noises—as I peeked through the curtains I saw the strangest sight.  There was the new neighbor in the dim lamplight, spade in hand, clearing out the debris in his little plot of ground—and there was a lot!  Old beer bottles—paper goods—tin cans—you name it the ground had become a garbage dump for those living there before him as well as those passing by.  I silently dropped the curtain, wondering why on earth he chose to work through the night.  I laid down to the thud of digging and fell into a fitful sleep.  Early morning came and my first thought was to open the curtain and see what the neighbor had done. 

To say I was amazed is an understatement—there before my eyes was the little garden—stripped of all but the soft loamy soil—the dirt was cleared of debris, ploughed and raked, beautiful in its nakedness it was ready for planting or sowing.  Working all through the night the one responsible had turned a garbage dump into a delight, a picture of transformation—a postcard of earth ready for the planting.   

What a wonderful parable of how our Heavenly Father works—all through the night of our despair and hopelessness He is unperturbed—His plans and purposes never thwarted, never changed—His arm is never shortened but reaches into the neglected places of life. He clears away the overgrowth and debris and exposes the original and authentic ground of our lives.  It is there that seeds are sown, flowering plants are positioned to delight the eye with color and encourages the heart with new hope.  Our perseverance has paid off.   See!  The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.

Suddenly---the sun breaks through the clouds, a new breeze blows through the soft air of Spring and it all makes sense.  Joy comes in the morning and all throughout the day there is strength.  In the prophetic Word of Jeremiah.  "...The seed will grow well, the vine will yield its fruit, the ground will produce its crops, and the heavens will drop their dew.  I will give all these things as an inheritance to the remnant of this people"  

~Diane~ March 2012

Moments of ‘puzzlement’….

Moments of ‘puzzlement’….

Puzzles have always been part of our Christmas tradition and being in Austria was no different.  With the gift of two different puzzles Kathleen and I set about putting them together.   The  first one was a gift from the U.S. it was called ‘Perspectives’ and depicted the four seasons—summer, winter, spring and fall. It was not too difficult to complete because  each season had its own marks of individual identification.   One can always recognize what the present season of life is.

 

The second puzzle which was European –was called ‘Panorama’.  A waterfront view of buildings all shapes, sizes and colors.  In front of the buildings and all along the side-walk  were many people, all milling around enjoying the celebratory  atmosphere and warmth of sunshine at the waters-edge.  

The water was like the colors of Jacob's coat,  it reflected the light that shone on the  buildings reflecting their individual colors.  This is an analogy where the two concepts of personality and seasons of life converge and create understanding of the new season.   When the light shone on the buildings it caused the reflection of their shape, size and color on the water to merge into a swathe of beauty,  many different tones and hues, like the seasons of our lives.  No individual season or single passage of time could possibly create these new colors but rather together they give opportunity to behold a whole new perspective.

This is what the first puzzle was all about.  Both Isaiah and Paul encourage us to ‘forget the former things….’  Not to disrespect or declaim their value but because it is in  releasing the past the present creates the colors of today and produce new things of tomorrow. 

 All of life like that of separate seasons are merged into harmony and what they produce is not defined by seasons of the past but cultivated by its richness and creates new life and a panoramic view of emerging possibilities.  

Seeking direction requires focus on individual elements of life, details, like those on a map but seeking new perspective is only discovered when the light of the ‘Son’ shines on all seasons revealing our true self, giving a compass which points true north and new vision

Out of the vibrancies of colors a dream emerges, a new story begins…

       Diane

January 2012

A TIME OF THANKSGIVING...

WHAT I HAVE LEARNED ABOUT MYSELF AND MY WRITER’S VOICE.

Through the  writing group I've learned that my voice when accepted as evolving, becomes a window where as if on angel’s wings thoughts fly and capture the beauty and reality of things and thoughts just newly born. 

I've learned how words like salve on a wound bring healing to inner grief and pain.  My voice transformed into words creates stillness, they remind me that there is no joy without sorrow and there is no suffering without compassion.  There is no confusion without finding on the far side a peace that passes all understanding.    Life has two sides to it as every coin has a head and a tail, and all that is, turns to all it can be.  Words give choices to how these coins are spent and which has the greatest value.  Words written like words spoken can never really be erased--- perhaps from the paper, but never from the space between the heart and the letters on the page. 

Every season, every situation calls and echoes memories of how it used to be--I've learned through writing not to waste my sorrows but hold them so close to my heart that they become a soft sweet joy of fellowship not lost but transformed into a life well lived and a past full of wholeness where sorrow and joy flow mingled together.  

I've learned that writing sets the spirit free to remember yesterday and to dream of tomorrow.  Words capture essence and flavor that was it not written down would be lost and life depreciated.  Words reveal who I am--the shades, the shadows the shape ordained and predestined to shine in fullness. 

The 'hurry' of today is made to saunter by the written words--elongated the words reveal depth of meaning and greater application.

It is Thanksgiving day and the trees are bare now for the most part but in being so they expose the peaks of mountains surrounding us, reminding me of the loving arms of our heavenly Father.  Light streams through the naked structures of yesterdays abundant harvest and trees with branches no longer covered are exposed to the light.

As I set the table for six, sadness fills my heart and causes a tear to trickle silently down my face.  How often in the past I had wished I had silver serving for everyone--I do now--and I recall those times I did not.  The table is set but not for nine, just six---all the wonderful memories fill my mind and sadness threatens to overwhelm me--but no, I listen as I fold the bread napkin in a different manner as ever before and I am reminded that changes come in so many ways---many small like the napkin while others leave a 'gap' and a silver serving of six is enough.  And I find 'my voice' in the words I write. 

 Acceptance with Joy is a difficult place to come, yet there I rest and by God's grace will continue to allow my memories to bring comfort and warmth.  They are with me always, they are who I am, filling the corridors of my mind with all the joys and sorrows known in our home, our fellowship, our family.  Each child taught and learned to lead the family in prayer, to read the scriptures placed before them and listen to those further along share how life had made them real.  

As the Psalmist himself reveals the word begins so small and close like a noun that grows from within to become an object waiting for life and breadth of meaning.  Writing brings soul's ascension as the words like stair steps lead to a place of openness, a wider place, a place to breathe and perceive from higher vantage points. In them lay  views beyond description and thanksgiving to God that fills the void and says life is made even more abundant by the changing seasons. 

Diane M. Hale

11/23/11

TAKE TIME TO PONDER

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God, Everlasting Father,

         Prince of Peace"

Before we race into another month of busyness ponder a moment about the passing year. A year when trials have touched all people.  Grief and loss has torn the covering of every relationship and struggle often been relentless.  Even so life is too beautiful to allow the struggle to bring defeat.  Without dirt on the forest floor the beauty of trees would never be seen. This is the miracle of new birth.

Christmas is a message of simplicity.  Quietly, a tiny child, small and ordinary, is born and the whole earth stands in awe, wise men still seek Him and invite Him into the manger of their hearts

Christmas is a message of identity  He came to identify with us so that we might identify with Him.  Made in the image and likeness of God, breathed upon by His Holy Spirit lives become reflectors of the Christ-child within.

Christmas is a message of intimacy   The virgin birth is more than Holy story; it reveals how closely God desires to come to man, an intimacy deeper than any afore known to man.

Christmas is a message about people, relationships, friends and decisions we make, choices and the debris of wrong choices but what of the 'right' choices---much of the fruit of good choices is not immediately seen but as time goes by there is a wake in man’s life that speaks volumes. The rip tides of life may knock us off our feet but the ebb and flow work together to reveal underlying truth and the strength of what lies beneath the water-line of our lives reflects who we are.

Christmas is a message of foundation, a starting point, a birth to every relationship formed, giving power for relationships to reach fruition—if we master the rip tides and stand on the foundation of faith in Christ then come what may our lives will have counted for something and relationships hold steady. 

We all ‘mess up’, we make mistakes and wish yesterday could be erased but as you ponder and play the ‘what if’ game ponder this—‘what if’ Christ had not come—‘what if’ Grace had not be given—how sad would that be… but God wrapped in the simplicity of a babe did come—come to Him this Christmas and rejoice in His appearing.

The message of Christmas is found in quiet moments and our ability to maintain the quietness of soul in the midst of busyness. Behind the activity there is a closing and opening of the days of our lives but how easily we miss the important through the tyranny of the urgent.

Regardless of circumstance 2012 will begin…nothing can stop the turning of  AT morning to night or hold back the New Year.  Why the emphasis on pondering?  To halt the activity long enough for the soul to adjust and get in tune with God’s agenda as He prepares His people for the days ahead…a really nice way of saying,” Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand"
                                   HAVE A BLESSED AND GLORIOUS CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

 MAY THE PEACE, LOVE AND JOY OF THE SEASON FLOOD YOUR HEART AND HOME.