It
was my birthday, and among many gifts received, three were remarkable and rare:
a letter from a dear aunt (letters are so much more personal than email or
phone calls) and two video renditions of Vivaldi’s four seasons: one a full
orchestra in formal splendor, the other an a
capela sextet. Both of the musical presentations lifted my spirit while
pulling my heartstrings as they reminded of the beauty of the earth and wonder
of the skies. Vivaldi is not known for being conducive to worship, nor is my
aunt known for Christian piety (though she’s got an enormous blend of zest for
life and common sense), but they made my day and caused me to say “Thank you,
God”.
Yesterday
I read an article for ministers about the tension between pastoral excellence and
a life of scholarship, and it struck a full ring of keys. I am not a pastor,
nor am I a scholar, but as a Christian who enjoys thinking and cannot but
write, the pull of ordinary, everyday, intellectual integrity, and hunger for
beauty and excellence, while present and constantly remaining barefoot, true,
and coherent in what I think with what I do.
Used
to think such tensions were part of adolescence, later conceded that they came
with being a woman but would dwindle with maturity. Now I’ve had to admit that
“golden years” may bring increasing pains of aging, dwindling mobility and
white hair, but maturity is still elusive – I may be getting old
but am far from being wiser or more settled. Oh, I’m okay with my spouse
whom I love more than ever, and with myself though there are areas I can’t
begin to plumb. We’ve carved out a good life and reached many of the goals of
our youth. But there is so much more I
want to understand, be, develop, do, produce, expand… I have time on my hands
because no job and no kids at home allow me to “do whatever I want”. My
husband’s health has improved to no longer need to care 24 hours a day—he is
returning to thinking and doing many creative, productive tasks that don’t
require my help.
But
I have no time for getting one single thing done as planned. Writing deadlines
are seldom reached – well, I write in the dead of night and cross lines every
day between writing ordinary, even superficial stuff, with deep insights into
God’s Word and people’s worth. This Garland
Yes,
must speak to the Rock, drawing near and keeping my eyes focused on Him,
listening to Him more than to the sounds of multiple screaming tidbits of
demands that that burst like soap bubbles as soon as you attend to them. Wanted
to study more, prime my thought-patterns for sharing with friends who seem
hungry for the Word (which I profess to
aim to communicate). Only managed to publish one article in academic paper,
two years (or was it three?) after I researched and wrote it. Get some likes on my facebook communiqués, but
even dumb blonds’ posts (pardon the pun) get
liked on facebook. In what is my
life making a difference?
When
I went to the Moody Write to Publish conference in 1988, my room mate was an
eight-plus lady who had published years ago and then bemoaned her article about
“how to date and get a husband” being rejected by a Christian woman’s magazine.
I was forty, at my prime writing period, and was bemused at this lady’s not
having a clue as to why such things
occur. Lord, keep me from being that way today! Keep me renewed in writing
every day—even when I reach Edith Scheaffer or Elizabeth Eliot’s old age (well,
now both my mentor writers are in God’s presence living what eye has not seen
nor has ear heard!) and I’m still in my sixties.
The
pull between having, ambition to be well-pleasing to God, with excellence as
goal – and being an ordinary, barefoot, clean-faced older student/writer is a see-saw — or roller coaster—for the young
and daring. How dare mature ladies like
me venture on such a tilt-a-whirl?
My consolation is that
such tensions are common to many human beings like me (“common to man” is the
biblical expression). The great Reformers, Calvin and Luther both had bouts of
doubt and deep frustration. The greatest writer-pastor-apologist in Christian history wrote:
I do not do what I
want, but I do the very thing I hate… I know that nothing good dwells in me… I
delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another
law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of
sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from
this body of death? Romans 7:15-25
And yet to those at Philippi , Paul wrote:
I press on to make it
my own, because Jesus Christ has made me
his own… forgetting what lies behind and straining forth to what lies
ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in
Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:12-14
Garden
trivia and writers’ block, living in a home that always needs fixing and fixing
furniture and décor one day at a time all remind me of the exquisite beauty of
Four Seasons and the common grace of a great letter from Aunt Cindy, because
though we wage an inner war that spills outward, we run a race that Jesus has
already won for us. Hands on in working! Hands raised in praise. God is not
through with me yet.
Elizabeth Gomes
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