Little Flowers, Weird Hymn Lyrics, and Prayers Where I Brace Myself

 

1. 

   Scilla Luciliae

   Glory of the Snow

   
   

   Before we get to things, there's something you need to know about these small purple flowers that are popping up behind our house.  The gizmo ap thingy I have on my phone tells me they are called Scilla Luciliae, or "Glory of the Snow."

   
   

   Whatever they're called, they shouldn't be there.  Or at least, as far as it would have depended on me.  These are plants that have a more or less wild and unintentional beginning in the yard far before anyone in our family has lived there.  

   
   
2. It could very well be that the previous owners of the property planted them on purpose.  But it's more likely, judging from the mature yard just behind us, that they have migrated towards us on their own.  
3. 
   
4. Also, and this is significant, they have survived the construction project that resulted in our new little house being all cozy and quaint back here.  But before it was that, it was a mess. Yet all the tromping and digging and upheaval; none of it has deterred this small but feisty little lovely.  
5. 
   
6. And I, the non-gardener, marvel because I know that I do not deserve it.  I have done nothing to create this little bit of springtime joy, but here it is just the same.  
7. 
   
8. This needs to be said, before we get to the hymn.
9. 
   

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above;

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

1. 
   
2. by Robert Roberston
3. In the category of "why didn't I ever notice this before?" a phrase in an old hymn we sang at worship service on Sunday caught my attention.
4. "Tune my heart to sing Thy grace."
5. I guess I'd always thought it was 'sing Thy praise,' which not only rhymes a little, adding to my mistake, but would also be a more expected way to end that thought, I think.  We sing praises, sure. More than we sing grace, right?
6. But noticing it on Sunday, it got me to wondering what it actually meant to 'sing grace.'  Not just sing about grace, but to sing grace itself.
7. Grace is a pretty big deal in the Bible.  And this hymn will keep circling back to it.  A thorough study would certainly yield much, not the least of which is the role of grace in God's big story of reconciling us to Himself.  And speaking of old hymns, how amazing grace is, in all its astonishing, soteriological layers!  For now, and at the risk of oversimplifying it, let's just define grace as being bestowed gifts or blessings or favour we most certainly didn't earn or deserve.  Like my little purple flowers out back.
8. And if that's the case, to sing grace, in a poetic sense, sort of sounds to me like we might spread that around a bit.  Share it into the spaces around us.  Just as we have received grace from God, we now pass that along to those in our orbits.  Like little splashes of springtime joy migrating from one yard to another.
9. Interestingly, the first examples of 'singing grace' that come to mind have to do with simple interactions with strangers.  Allowing space for that car that "didn't see" the lane closed sign way back there and is now trying to nose in.  Being extra friendly and patient with the cashier who's obviously tired and just a little bit grumpy.  Staying pleasant with the customer service associate on the phone, even when you're calling in a legitimate complaint.  Those are the easy songs though.  I can do, and write about, these and feel quite full of grace in my own little heart.  (Or full of something, anyways.)
10. The tune can get a little off key when things are closer to home, it seems.   Like when someone doesn't respond to an email and I am tempted to assign not so nice motives.  Or the repetition of a small but annoying habit begins to wear a groove in my patience. Or a well stated boundary is overstepped, yet again.  All of these things require relational attention for sure.  But with what song? 
11. [And here is interject a nod to the big and awful things that happen that require the kind of grace that can only happen because there is a God.  But this is not about that.]
12. Then there's the part about 'tuning.'   I'm not assuming to know the meaning Robertson gave this phrase, but I like this image a lot.  It speaks of spiritual formation, I think; that process of listening and adjusting and listening again.  
13. If my heart was an instrument to be used of God in His grand mission of making things 'on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10),' of moving us ever closer to a state in which His will is perpetually carried out and all the tears are wiped away (Revelation 21:4) and no one is afraid (Micah 4:6), and oh how glorious it will all be by then!!!....If that's what my heart is being tuned for, then it would sing of grace.
14. Out in the backyard yesterday, when I discovered my little glory of snow, I felt the Spirit make all the connections.  The little blue flower that I didn't deserve.  The grumblings of my spirit when wronged (perceived or real).  The way my heart is still off key and needs Divine tuning to help me sing His grace when it really counts.  
15. I hum the hymn.  I pray the prayer.
16. "Tune my heart, Lord, to sing Thy grace."
17. It's one of those dangerous prayers, of course, so I best brace myself.
18. 
    

Staying Together in a Pulled-Apart World

Unfiltered photo of heart cloud at sunset.

Are we okay?

The 'we' I mean is the broad scope of human relationships that have been strained to the max by the necessary distance forced upon us these past long, world's-gone-crazy months.  

I'm feeling it.

My youngest grandson just turned one and, compared to the others at the same age, he barely knows me. That sits as a sadness in my chest, even as I patiently and intentionally take the opportunities to win him over now.  We're getting there, but it's not quite okay yet.

Another sadness.  There are kids growing up way too fast on the other side of the world, and I'm missing out in ways unreclaimable.  A few of our children have come to our Hot Springs family since I was there last.  I don't even know them yet.  They have no experience of me.  This isn't okay.  And neither is the growing ache to simply be with Suradet and Yupa; to laugh with, grieve with, dream with together in the same place.  Not okay.

We can gather now, here at home, as a faith community, and this is very good.  Yes, so very good.  And also, no hugging.  And this is not okay.  And neither is it okay that our COVID-weary selves sometimes get the better of us and we end up saying things or responding to things said that aren't really about whatever was said at all, but about our fears that things have changed and that maybe we don't belong now, or whatever other insidious fears have bubbled up since this all began.  And perhaps the long loneliness we experienced when we were all shut up in our homes was the true reflection of our worth, which is why we are so desperate for social affirmations now that we can be together, even without the hugging. Nothing feels okay without the hugging.

And what about what we've found out about each other's positions on all that was never a thing before but is suddenly so important and 'out-there', now that we're supposed to wear masks and get vaccinated? What about the trusted, life-long friends who are suddenly on the other side of what seems like a very dangerous fence, no matter what side of that fence we might think is the safe one?  Are we actually going to call each other names now?  Is that okay?

See why I'm asking? 

Are we okay?

Speaking to different but equally contentious relationship-straining topic, Paul reminded the Galatian church that "the only thing that matters is faith expressing itself through love" (Galatians 5:6).  The people there were rather entrenched on their own sides of what seemed to them a very dangerous fence.  Dogma was the actual threat, and falling into a way of thinking that stood firm on "us and them" instead of "we".

Are "we" okay?  Can "we" do this together?

Can we make unity the priority over being right?  Can we leave room for an opposing opinion to be considered?  Can we refuse to gossip or belittle?  Can we seek first to understand before being understood?  Can we stop and have the conversations before making the declarations?  Can we refrain from losing our tempers and instead let grace temper us?

I'll go further here.  I'm vaccinated.  If you're not, I respect you.  I don't have to agree with you to love you and accept you.  I hope you'll do the same for me.  

We dare not see each other as the enemy, else the real enemy wins.

There is more of this journey ahead my friends.  We will need each other badly if we are to survive and thrive and be "more than conquerors through Him who loved us."  That's Paul again, who - oh wait! - also reminds us that "we" do not do this alone in our human efforts.  Like a heart-shaped cloud that shows up at sunset at the same moment I'm pondering these painful things.

So a prayer for us as we reach out and hold on to each other.  (I'm hugging you as I pray this.)

Father God,  we invite you into all the relational strangeness here with us.  Please.  Be fully present in the spaces between us to hold us together in this time when we are pulled apart by so much.  Draw us toward You in peace and humility.  Collect us together under Your wings of grace.  Shape us into Your image to declare Your faithfulness and love across the sky.  Be everything we need that You are and we are not.  We need You.  Amen