Last week something funny happened. It wasn’t funny in a humorous way but in a strange or puzzling way. For the first time, I saw the faces of men whose voices I knew, and it baffled/bamboozled/confused me so much I could hardly watch. I felt most comfortable when I looked out the window and only listened to their voices instead of watched them talk.

It was my problem, not theirs. I’d spent hours listening to lectures by Paul David Tripp and David Powlison and very much like their approach to Christian counseling and how heart change happens in the Redeemer’s hands. Now, after the courses are over, I still often listen to the lectures on my walks. I recognize their pet words like ‘helicopter view’ and that God is ‘up to something good’ and ‘redemption’ and ‘significant life experience’ and ‘vignette.’

But in the listening, I’d formed an idea of how the men look, and when I saw videos of them, they didn’t look anything like what I’d thought! They’re not ugly or bad looking, but just not what I imagined and it messed with my mind.

Some readers of my book have written me that they wonder how I look. I like to keep it a mystery. Maybe it’s a control thing. Could be.

Anyhow, I wonder how it will be how it will be when I see God. I read His words and hear His spirit in my spirit, and feel I know Him and what He likes and wants in the limited way that the finite can understand Infinity. But how will it be when I see His face? I like to think that I’ll recognize Him. I like to think that I’ll know His face because I know His sons and daughters who resemble Him. Maybe it will stun me, but I don’t think it will be puzzling because in that moment, I will know Him as well as He knows me now.

It hit me broadside: the blinding question of who I am, and who I should be.

I ran to Lolita, and in rushed, anxious whispers, asked: Who am I? Who should I be? Usually I feel fine in my own skin, but right now I want to wiggle out of it and run away. Am I really ok?

It had to do with my age, and shaking someone’s categories up, and them not knowing what box to put me in, and usually I quite enjoy doing that to people, but this time, for whatever reason, I didn’t.

So Lolita told me some nice words and hugged me, which usually puts most anything into rights again, and I’ve stayed in my own skin, and not moulted as I was thinking of doing.

Instead, I’m noticing grey hair appearing on my head at an amazing rate. It’s a fascinating phenomenon.

One my favourite Scripture pieces is John 1, and lately verse 16 rings repeatedly in my head: Out of his fullness we have all received grace in place of grace already given.

Grace on top of grace. Generous, copious, extravagant gifts on top of gifts. I live in this reality, and the wonder of it takes my breath away.

Then this morning I read another of Mark Galli’s excellent articles, (you can read it here) and it resonated deeply with me.

… in all its simplicity, it all its miraculousness, God’s word to Mary, God’s word to us: “Hey you. Yeah you—favored one!”

Biblical commentators and novelists have fun speculating why Mary was greeted like this. She is often pictured as a devout young woman, pure in heart, whose righteousness won her the honor of bearing Jesus. But in fact, the Bible shows no interest whatsoever in Mary’s life prior to this moment (and relatively little afterward). This announcement to Mary comes completely out of the blue, as if it were an act of sheer grace.

Indeed, an act of grace to Mary and to us. Before we could decide for or against God, before we could show him how religious we are, before we could ask forgiveness for our first sin, before we were the apple of our parents’ eyes, before the foundation of the world, God favored us. Not because he knew we would blossom into greatness. ….No, we were favored when God knew well enough that we would fail to live up to our potential, that most days we would be miserable little disciples. Yes, in spite of the fact that we would be sad, fearful, doubting, anxious, and sinful people, he favored us.

I think that life can never be the same after we have heard his words: “Hey, you there, you favoured one!”

I’m one of those touchy-feely people. I often find myself touching the person I’m talking with, squinting my eyes in response to what they say, nodding or cocking my head to listen better. I value texture, sound and proportion in full, real-life dimensions. That’s why I can’t believe it when I hear myself say that I share deep, meaningful communication with several ladies I’ve never met. But it’s true.

I met Linda when we were both in shock over the death of Isaac. Linda knows my sister, but not me, and our point of contact was our mutual grief at the loss of a wonderful, gifted young man. As we kept writing, we discovered more mutual points of interest and experience. She was teaching English in Mexico, and I loved her stories of her passion about her young friends and their adventures. We still keep in touch even though our worlds are more dissimilar and I’m amazed at how we understand and identify with each other. What a gift it is!

It was through Boundless that I found Elizabeth. I happened across her article “One Single Day” and liked it alot, but didn’t make contact with her until much later after reading other pieces she’d written. Her articles are listed and linked on the ‘writing’ page on her blog. In the last year, we’ve emailed and chatted now and then. She absorbed some big questions I dumped on her, and was a calm, caring voice that restored my equilibrium. She’s given me alot with her gentle words.

Ann is a extraordinary artist with words and pictures. She has graced me with thoughtful, gentle emails in response to my messages to her. Farmer’s wife and homeschooling mother of six, she blogs with wisdom and honesty that gives me permission to believe again in the power of words. I can’t wait for her first book coming next year!

Dorcas has written several books, and blogs frequently about everyday, earthy, homespun things. We’ve emailed now and then, and she’s been a witty, warm voice that makes me wish we could drink tea together. It was her advice that gave me the final push to self-publish my book, and I’ve been so grateful. She also gave me good counsel and comfort when I was kerflumuxed about criticism about my book. I hope we meet sometime!

Ok, this post has to hold the record of having the most links. That’s the point of these friendships. I only met them through some link. I’ve never heard the timbre of their voices, or seen how tall they are or how firm their hugs. Still, I feel a kinship, an understanding of souls, having only met electronically. For this I am grateful, despite my huge reservations about cyber relationships.

Friendship and communication are complex things. It’s hard to rate or quantify the dynamics. Written words are the only way I’ve come to know these ladies who have given me so much. I’m thankful for their words, even though the words are one-dimensional, and they limit how well we know each other. Despite the limitations of our friendship, I’m very rich for having them flying in my galaxy!

I think it’s a little dangerous to be the friend or relative of a writer, because you never know when your story or quote will be grist for their story mill. And so I try hard to respect the privacy of the people in my world, and not exploit them or our friendship.

But I think that if someone has a blog, that’s not a private thing, and I can talk about that here. And so I want to say that my friend Gideon just started a blog here and even though he says that reading blogs is a waste of time, he is happy if people have time to read his musings.

It’s something to think about: blogs and how homogenized they can be. There’s a language people can adopt, a persona they can hide behind. While I love words and want to write and am a bit of a blog junkie, I think about blogging and how it could change the way I think/read/write, and maybe I shouldn’t read as many as I do. I don’t have answers, only lots of ideas and questions. And what’s true for me isn’t strictly true for everyone else.

My goals for my blog are to use words well, and to inspire. To lift readers’ eyes from the mundane to the transcendent. I don’t use photos, though some good blogs do, because I want to learn how to convey thoughts and feelings with words. I try not not expose my friends and family so I don’t use many names (except if they have blogs or books!) and I try not to talk too much about myself because I’m 1)a little self-conscious, and 2) want to retain some mystery.

So everyone has different goals for their blogs. Matt started his blog to update his family and friends about his life in Poland when he moved here a year ago. Gideon just started now because he likes to write. If I would read only their blogs, I wouldn’t get an accurate picture of who they are, their humor and heart. They are stellar, gifted men whom I’m proud to work beside. Both of them know how to use words well, and how to hear and understand people. And they play some mean Scrabble.

Words on a page or computer screen are one-dimensional; you don’t get to know the real person, the whole of their personality, wit, tendencies, and quirks. That’s why it’s scary to write; I’m often afraid that people will be disappointed when they meet the real me because they thought they already knew me through my book or blog. It terrifies me, actually.

Probably sometime I’ll blog about some lady bloggers with whom I’ve had amazing exchanges electronically. I’m convinced that technology changes the fiber and quality of a relationship, but I have been hugely enriched with some friendships with ladies whom I’ve never met.

Meanwhile, while I put a premium on real-life, real-time relationships, blogs are nice too. They give inspiration and peeks into a bigger world out there. So now: Gideon and Matt.

I wrote this free verse some years back. Usually communion tells me about the past, but during one communion when I was empty of wine and life, I caught a glimpse of the future–the wedding feast when Jesus said He would drink the wine again.

In the day of Jesus’ first public miracle, it was a disgrace for the host to run out of wine. On that last great day, He, the gracious Host, will have enough for everyone. I share this here for anyone who may be empty, in disgrace, and in need of hope for refilling.

“I have no more wine,”
I say to Him at the edge of the crowd.
Palms up, shoulders hunched.

Conversation dwindling, smiles fading,
The crowd thins.
No sparkle,
No celebration.
We have no more wine.

“Woman, what have I to do with you?”
But His eyes belie the cold words.

“What do You have to do with me?
My Lord! My Maker!
The True Vine from which True Wine comes!
Leave me not alone.
Forsake me not in this disgrace.
Do not deny me dancing feet and songs.
I cannot bear to leave this place of light.
Without You, I will go out into darkness and die.
But You are here, and You are my life,
And I will do whatever You say.”

He commands the water pots to be filled.
Clear, splashing rivers that cleanse and refresh.
Full and sloshing over earthen rims.

The harried, frazzled MC takes a sip in a deserted alcove.
His eyes beam over the edge of the chalice.
Then he shouts.
THIS IS THE BEST WINE IN THE WORLD!
COME, PEOPLE, TASTE AND SEE!
START THE MUSIC AGAIN!

I find Him at the crowd’s edge again.
He says nothing, but
Smiles at me.
The silence between us fills
With music.
Rolling, trilling, glorious music.
It sings of sweetness and life,
Of vibrance and light,
And the guests raise their cups high
To the health of the bride and groom.

The music swirls again, and
Everyone’s feet wear wings.
He is still in the alcove with me,
Watching.
Is He thinking of a grander wedding feast
In another place,
Without time?

Bread of the world in mercy broken,
Wine of the world in mercy shed, *
I pledge my life to You.
You fill the hungry with good things.
I come to You in emptiness and desperation
And You always–always–
Fill, refresh, give reasons to dance.

And on that last great feast day,
I will see You smile again,
And it will be as we said back then:
You saved the best for last!

*These are opening lines from a hymn by Reginald Heber who also wrote “Holy, Holy, Holy.”