"Das ist Gut" - by Linda Aleta Tame

Summer. She calls for drowsily basking on the deck. She demands you slow down, take a break, drink lemonade.  She's bossy that way, yet her temperament can be so calming, so quieting too.  Her breath wisps across your cheeks, and she gently closes your eyes, drawing you away from the world around you and into her hazy, lazy dreamland.  

Oh, that dreamland!  In it you wander the glistening, colourful streets in Paris, France, dodging puddles, navigating your umbrella over and under those of passersby.  You get lost when you take a side street from the bustling Champ Elysée.  A storekeeper, who crafts magnificent guitars and violins, kindly tries to direct you, but you don't understand French. His voice echoes away, and it seems you've somehow teleported to an Italian kitchen in the Tuscan countryside outside of Florence, Italy. 

Red pots and pans hang from the ceiling. Leafy herbs line small stoneware bowls beside the stove. The cook, Francesca is working at a small table. She has flour in her hair.  Her joyful conversation is in Italian, but her laughter is understood in any language.  Francesca draws up the skirt of her apron to dab the corners of her eyes and continues turning a crank on the pasta machine.  Her smile warms you, stays with you even after her image pixelates and transforms into a monument of Johann Strauss II.  

Now you're in a gorgeous park in Vienna, Austria.  Stadtpark.  You walk toward the music.  An orchestra exquisitely performs "The Blue Danube Waltz" right there in the park. Elegant dancers in formal gowns and tuxedos float with the notes, gliding away from and back into each others' arms. You almost faint from the breath-taking beauty. A park bench is conveniently right there, so you sit with an elderly woman who tosses bits of bread to at least a hundred waddling ducks near the pond. Glints of golden sunlight ripple through reflections of the lush overhead foliage.  "Das ist gut," she says.  You smile and nod.

Summer.  She moves you with her heat, pushing you indoors to cooler air.  You don't want to leave her dreamland, but she's bossy that way.  So, you go inside, peel some potatoes and review those blissful encounters with far-away lands. Soon you will write something, something about a summer's dream. 

The Mystery & The Kingdom by Linda Aleta Tame

Colossians 1:27 To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Luke 17:21 .....For indeed, the Kingdom of God is within you.  

The Mystery

Beauty has in it

A calling

A deep calling

Resounds

& reveals ...

The Invisible

Beauty is seen

In our eyes

Our glistening eyes

Stream

& manifest

The Unknown...

Beauty captivates

Our hearts

Our expectant hearts

Swell

& yield...

The Mystery

"He Sees" Acrylic on Canvas 20 x 24

The Kingdom 

You close your eyes

Everything slows down

The sound of everyday life

around you is

diminished 

in the sound 

of silence

You tune into the

frequency of

another dimension

another realm

A Kingdom

 And God is there

Paint and Pen - by Linda Aleta Tame

The breathings of my heart are included in the pages of my journals.  My personal struggles in life and relationships, and my spiritual growing pains are recorded there, along with new revelations, joys and praises to the Lord.  I've decided to share a few excerpts from entries in my journals. Today, a little breeze has taken my heart's breath and brought it here to you.


September 7, 1990

I have often tried to paint pictures, but somehow I want more meaning in them. I want to express you Father - but how do you paint love?  How do you paint truth or wisdom or faith?  Something happened to me yesterday afternoon.  I visited the art gallery and was profoundly affected by the works of aboriginal artist, Colleen Cutschall.  The exhibition was called, "Voice in the Blood," and her pieces used symbolism and imagery to express her native spirituality.  I thought, "I want to paint my faith."  Then in the evening I went to hear a travelling minister. We sang "Sweet, Sweet Anointing," and I desired you so much Lord.  

The speaker began to prophecy to individuals.  For me, he said, "You see things in pictures.  Anyone can see a picture of Moses with his staff parting the Red Sea, but you see truth in pictures.  God is going to show you how to draw and paint pictures of spiritual things, so others might see."  So, Father, my heart, hands, head are submitted to you for your glory.  In Jesus name, Amen.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006 - Jerusalem

Entry to the Museum of Psalms 

I visited the Museum of Psalms today.  Oh...oh....oh!  As I was viewing the first painting, an elderly Jewish man asked if I would like some explanation about the paintings.  I eagerly welcomed his help.  He spoke with so much wisdom and love concerning the painting.  I asked if all 150 paintings of the 150 Psalms had been created by one artist.  He nodded.  He went on to explain the meaning behind the colours and the Hebrew letters visible throughout the piece.  Then he motioned to other paintings around the room on the walls and even on the ceiling.



He said, "And somehow I painted these by accident," and he gave a slight smile. I asked if I'd heard him correctly.  He lowered his eyes and nodded.  Then our eyes met, and I was overwhelmed by the beauty and the depth of the Spirit that HAD to be in this man to create the Word on canvas the way he had done.  I was unable to contain my tears, though I didn't try that hard.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to feel and sense the magnitude of the moment.  He saw my emotion and said, "I understand.  This can be emotional.  Take a little time to sit or view alone."  The tears just kept coming.  The Lord gave me a word in 1990 that I would someday paint my faith.

November 25, 2006 - Jerusalem

Yesterday I went back to the Museum of Psalms.  Moshe Tzvi Berger was glad to see me and invited me to sit on the small love seat across from his desk in the reception area.  Then began a lovely conversation about his life and his reasons for painting.  He spoke about his desire to share the loving kindness of God, whom he referred to as HaShem (The Name).   He said his art speaks of HaShem's loving kindness.

Psalm 146 - Hallelujah!  Praise, O my soul the Eternal.

I said I wished I lived in Israel, so I could learn more from Moshe.  I knew he could teach me so much.

"I am not a teacher," he said.  "I am an artist, and that's a different profession," but I had to wonder.

"Today I learned more things I needed to know, just by sitting with you awhile."  I wanted to understand the heart of the creator of these masterpiece paintings.

Then he said, "More important than anything else - more important than art - more important than anything - is love.  Without love, all else is useless.  You must love your husband first, then your children, your family, and then others. When you love your husband, children, others, you show your love for HaShem.  This is the one thing you MUST remember of all I've said today."
                      ________________________________________________________

A journal is an incredible source for writing inspiration, and for faith building!  The breathings of the heart in a journal are acts of writing, and that's what writers want to do!

Here Comes the Son  2014
12 x 16 Oil on Canvas -
Linda Aleta Tame

View a video about the Museum of Psalms on Youtube.

Stir Up the Gift in You by Linda Aleta Tame

Writing is something I want to do, long to do, but so many other things seem to take priority. Sound familiar?  Many writers share this lament. I read about it all the time. We think about it, groan about it and yes, we even write about it. Here's the irony; somehow, we make time to write about not having time to write!

If we repeatedly take the same action, we'll repeatedly have the same result, so we need to do something new, something different, something meaningful.  This will include unique strategies for each of us, ones that are fitted to our personal needs and goals, but here are a few ideas.


Something New - Do something you haven't done before.  It doesn't have to include skydiving, but it could.  I wanted to do that when I was younger, but riding a Vespa around the Tuscan countryside in Italy was a terrific alternative, and about as thrilling as I want to get at this stage of my life.  The ideas are endless.  Just do something new. It could be picking wildflowers in the country, roller blading or visiting an art gallery. It could be something you've wanted to do for a long time, but just never took the time to do. Maybe realizing a dream vacation could result in an incredible travel journal.

Something Different - Do something that is outside of your comfort zone. You might discover astonishingly new and noteworthy emotions, reactions and even physical sensations that you didn't know you had. Whether pleasant or uncomfortable, these could be just the motivators that would elevate writing to the priority status. Maybe you're a couch potato (I'm a recliner onion - think layers), so a nature hike would be completely foreign. Or maybe you're accustomed to a quiet, routine household. Throwing a party sounds way too chaotic for you; however, these new activities might provide enough idea kindling to spark a writing flame that won't be quenched.

Something Meaningful - Do something special for someone. This is a sure win for the hearts of givers and receivers. It could be as simple as a friendly over-the-fence chat with your neighbour or a thoughtful hand-written card delivered through snail mail.  If you like to create, then bake, sew, knit or paint something for someone.  Gestures like this, especially when repeated frequently, stir our own hearts, and we may not be able to resist recording the overflow of love.  When you share a genuine smile that says, "I really care about you," or deliver the same sentiment through your eyes, it influences you too.  From that place of sincere connection with others comes the most poignant and beautiful prose and poetry.

To generate more than just more pages of writing about our desire to write, we sometimes need to be enticed beyond our apathy.  We have limitless sources around us, and we need to "stir up the gift that is in us."  We need to "fan it into flame." 2 Timothy 1:6

My Romance with Words

How did that passionate relationship begin?  Almost every romance arouses the question of who made the first move.  Did she smile at him across the room?  Did he linger at the corner, hoping she'd walk by that way?  Did he offer to walk her home?  Did she gently reach for his hand? The romance of writers and words has as many tales and trails as any other blissfully turbulent romance.  So who made the first move in my romance with words?  I think I'd have to say words.  The infatuation began early, perhaps before I went to school.

Nicknames have always been a big deal in my family.  My siblings were Karen, Terry, Clark, Jim, and Michael, but those names were rarely spoken.  Instead Big Runt braided my hair, Joe MaFraw listened to "Blue Suede Shoes," Clarkensteenysteiny had a paper route, Jazz played in a band called "The Children of Stone" (after the Rolling Stones), and Micaheloochi, the baby, shaved off his blonde curls.  I was Lupe or Lupita Jane.  Maybe the intrigue of such unusual names produced the first sparks.

In the first grade, my primary reading skills called for a family celebration at the completion of each reading level.  When I read, "Look Dick.  See Spot run," cheers and applause filled our living room.  At six years old I had a full-blown crush on words!  My sister, Big Runt taught me a language in which two syllables (in-ig) precede the audible vowels in each word. That was a profound contribution to an already delightful relationship with words.  My friend and I would spend hours talking together in our secret language.  It wasn't writing, but it was words.

When adolescent life took hold, so did the desire for writing poetry; a way to express all the tangled emotions (hormones) of growing up and falling in love with a real person.  Words that were  pinched from a broken heart and arranged on a page held a compelling mystique.  

I also became a constant reader, visiting the library (no internet back then) every Saturday.  I wanted to spend a lot of time with words, which is not surprising I guess.  Most lovers enjoy each other's company.  My relationship with words progressed through the years, strengthened through the winding ways of life experience: marriage, children, loss, faith, heartache, joy, laughter.   All these and more led to keeping a journal, writing stories and more poetry.

I don't know if it was instant or gradual, but it became an enduring love.  I don't see a breakup anywhere in the near or distant future.  

WORDS LOVE WRITERS LOVE WORDS 

Beloved One by Linda Aleta Tame

     A member of the Bible study I attend is also part of a Women's Prison Ministry.  Her love for the incarcerated women in our local jail is contagious, and it inspired our group to package together a few books, devotionals and of course chocolate, to express God's love and hope for a better future.  A couple of the books included were, "Heaven is for Real" by Todd Burpo, and "Second Chances" by Max Lucado.  One of the local churches provided the devotional booklets.

     I decided to make a painting to add to our gift package.  The thought that came to mind when I sat to paint was that, with Christ, second chances are always available.  He just keeps loving and forgiving and loving some more.  I wanted to convey His mercy and His tender compassion, but I wasn't sure how that would appear as a painting.  I asked the Holy Spirit to minister to these women through the creation I was about to make.  The colours came to me one by one, and I began making marks around the page.  Then I thought to make a woman's face, as I'd recently seen in other paintings.

     When it was complete, I asked my Bible study sisters to express if and how it spoke to them.  Maria Egilsson, also an artist and author, is the facilitator of the Bible study.  She responded with the most incredible "word" from the Lord.  The painting and the "word" just seemed to go together, so that's how they were presented.  The "word" was read, and sent into the hearts of the women while the painting passed through their hands and before their eyes.  The sister who facilitates the ministry to these women said they were thrilled with all the gifts!  A brighter Christmas will be theirs this year, and maybe its Light will shine into their lives.  The Christmas story was read, and one young woman had never heard it before.  I'm grateful to have been a part of sharing God's love in this way.  May it linger and be fruitful in each heart.

Beloved One
Linda Aleta Tame

BELOVED ONE

     My child, I see the weeping of your heart, those dark places that are hidden from the gaze of others. Do not be afraid to let the tears fall as My hand gathers each one, like precious pearls collected in vials of silver, etched in gold. 
     Let Me cover you under My wings, come and find shelter and rest for your soul, which is so weary and burdened.  As you come and sit with Me, there will be Light that comes like the dawning of the new day. And so it will be, for you, a dawning of new things as you give your heart into My care.  
     There is nothing or no one that can pluck you from My hand. Your heart is woven into my heart, threads that cannot be broken.  I unlock those doors that have chained you. You are not forsaken.  A new name I give to you, "Beloved One" and I will put a crown of glory upon your head and your voice, which has been so long silenced, will break out into song.  
     Once you were lost but now you are found, Daughter of a King and more precious than gold.
"Word" written by - Maria Egilsson

Please visit Maria's Facebook page Songs of the Beloved to read her moving poetry and see some of her beautiful paintings! Her book Soul Care God's Way is also available.

Living Lampstands by Linda Aleta Tame

Living Lampstand
14 x 18 Acrylic on Canvas

We 

want 

to see light precious light

We want to be light

precious light

Living

lampstands

growing

glowing

He fills 

the earth

with glory light

Arise

Shine

 He is

In you

And you are

the glory

of God

Teenage Writer? Whaaa?

If you're a teenager who likes to write, keep at it.  If you have the desire to write, it's because you're a writer.  Only writers want to write. Others may wish they could or would, but they don't want to dig in and do it.  So, stir up the gift that is in you.  Here are five things you can do to fan your talent into flame:

1.  Always jot down your grand ideas.  Don't tell yourself you'll remember such dynamic words or powerful sentences, because you won't.  You'll later spend two hours digging inside your head, only to pull out a few clumps of tangled letters and syllables, while your partner complains that you're too preoccupied to follow the movie you chose to watch together.

2.  Save every single poem, article, story or video game idea.  Create a simple filing system to organize your starts, middles and endings.  File your profound discoveries and your excellent word arrangements.  If you wrote an angry poem because your significant other is overlooking you for someone else, don't throw it out, throw him/her out!   File your poem for later motivation, contemplation, and to remind you he/she was not for you anyway.


3.  Write something every day.  Make a deliberate attempt to write at least a phrase or sentence that is out of the ordinary.  Text it to yourself while you wait for your friend to try on seven pairs of shoes, or for your turn on Xbox.  You may want to journal or blog too.  Your Facebook status or Snapchat don't count unless you intentionally write something other than "tbh, lol or whaaa?"

4.  Pretend you're someone else for a few minutes, someone older or someone from another country, or planet.  It doesn't matter, just someone who isn't you.  Act out that character and make a note of what that person would do or say in a specific situation.  Don't do this during a school exam or parental lecture, unless suspension or being grounded is your idea of fun.

5.  Write with your heart first and then your head, but be sure to use both.  Your heart holds the passion for engaging writing, and your head is needed later for editing.  One without the other creates either a mess of bewildering emotion or a textbook.  Writing with only your heart could provide a possible exception to tip #2's "don't throw it out."

When you're dreaming of an eloquent poem or story, one that squeezes your chest in the delicious presence or agonizing absence of love, please reach for your pen, or keyboard.  The wistful far-away look in your eye is actually a poem or story pleading to be written.  Or if you're inspired by an action-packed narrative filled with the angst and anticipation that video games are made of, don't keep it to yourself.  Share it with the world!  You can do it.  You must do it.  You're a writer!

Conversations will Begin Again by Linda Aleta Tame

I’ve always loved writing poetry. For years I neglected the craft, and now the joy of returning to it is indescribable. It makes me so happy! Sometimes it makes me sad too, and that's okay.  It’s all good.

I’m currently working on a book of poetry, entitled Rim of the Visible World. The collection will include several sections, a few of which are entitled: “Here We Come A Ghazaling,” “Echoes,” “A Bit of Ham” and “Rim of the Visible World.”

The idea for this book came about during a poetry class I attended. For homework, my professor assigned the exercise of simply sitting in silence, doing nothing, for at least an hour a day. Admittedly, I didn’t always do my homework, but when I did, I felt tranquil and able to sift my thoughts. No small feat in my world!

I've tried to continue this process of quieting my spirit, during which bits and pieces of memory, beauty, humour, faith and so on surface and eventually find their place on the page. I think the goal of writing this particular book is primarily to indulge myself, take the liberty to explore a realm that seems mystical to me. Though somewhat selfish, I think it's a good place to start. I’d be delighted if others enjoy my explorations too, so another goal would be publication. I hope to have the manuscript completed by the end of this year.

The piece I’ve included here was written as I grieved the loss of two brothers and a sister to cancer.  The loss is beyond words, no matter how poetic, but in a measure the words bring comfort, and perhaps they'll unite other grieving hearts. 

There is Not Silence

after John Thompson’s Translations of René Char’s –

Eternity at Lourmarin Albert Camus

We have ceased to speak

with those we love,

but there is not silence.

And there will never be.

The rhythm has not changed,

of song and step,

or that simple smile

consisting of one sustained beat. 

A bond so close never falters.

The power of love 
transforms insolent darkness 
into glorious light. 

When that hovering menace

has once and for all,

victimized its last,

love will overwhelm

the perceived severance,

into harmony

with all the parts

of the whole, 
and the conversations will 
begin again.

In memory of three beautiful people who were incredibly loved:  

Clark McCrae, Terry McCrae, and Karen McCrae

Murphy's Law to Peniel - by Linda Aleta Tame

It all started in the airport in Minot, N.D.  My flight to Phoenix was leaving at 9:30 p.m., but I arrived five hours early (long story).  I had my MacBook Pro with me, so I had something to do during my wait.  Check-in staff assured me I'd find a snack shop in the gate area, so I went through customs clearance, found a quiet spot for myself and settled in.

A couple hours later, my MacBook was running out of battery, there was nowhere to plug it in and I was hungry.  I was dismayed to discover the snack shop closed precisely fifteen minutes earlier.  Surely I'd find a vending machine, I thought, but no, there was only a drink machine which would not accept my U.S. bills.  I gave my most pleading expression to the customs officer to request change, or maybe a quick return to the check-in area where I could see machines brimming with sandwiches and chips, but that was not going to happen.  Okay, I thought, this is a First World problem.  I will survive.  Water will be served on the flight.  I finally got up to board the delayed flight at 11:00 p.m., and it was then I saw the plug-in for my MacBook, a few hours too late.

I'm learning that what once were expectations, should now be considered wishes or better, prayer requests.  The flight attendant said, "Two dollars."  With my eyes fixed on the water bottle, I handed her my U.S. bills.  "We don't accept cash," she responded, so I decided to thirst and hunger another three and half hours, because my debit/credit card was in the overhead compartment. After finally arriving in warm beautiful Phoenix, I recovered with a light snack, water and sleeping, but perhaps from the hours of sitting or the twenty hours of sleeping, I now had a severe stabbing pain in my hip.

Okay, Lord, I think you're trying to get my attention, I thought.  I took my green juice out to the patio, and relaxed into the embrace of my heavenly Father.  What's going on, I asked?  The first thought that came to me was Jacob in Genesis 32:22-32.  Jacob, who wrestled with an angel, Jacob whose hip was badly wrenched.  In verse 31, he received a new walk.  As Edward K. Pousson says in his article Bethel to Peniel, "Nobody struts into the Kingdom."  In verse 28, Jacob received a new name, a new identity.  He was transformed from Jacob to Israel, from "just me" to "commUNITY."  Also in verse 31, when the sun rose upon him, he received a new day, a new beginning.  All this newness in a time of loneliness and discomfort, and Jacob named the place of his transformation "Peniel," which means "face to face with God."

 

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel, Eugene Delacroix

Image from Free Christ Images

 

The following Sunday, I found a wonderful church near our home in Phoenix.  It's called "New Life!"  I love how God works, don't you?

It's hard to put into words how much these thoughts meant to me.  It wasn't because of my unfortunate airport and flight experience, or because of my painful hip.  Those were only preparatory for my encouraging Peniel encounter.  The significance was that my spirit was longing to hear from the One who makes all the difference in my life. My spirit was longing for fresh revelation, for transformation.  I've written before about my long dark journey, a time of introspection, reflection and spiritual bewilderment.  The emerging process seems long too, but it's so rich and valuable.  It's essential. 

Reading about Jacob in Bethel to Peniel by Edward K. Pousson gave me incredible comfort, inspiration and hope.  I hope you'll read it too.

Love Talks by Linda Aleta Tame

Imagine having the ability to understand all mysteries.  Wouldn't that be incredible?  Or having all knowledge or faith to move mountains?  Amazing!  But without love, it says in 1 Corinthians 13, I am nothing.  That gives us a pretty good picture of how powerful love is.  God is love after all.

I can think of few events that compare to the loving conversations I've shared with family and friends.  These love talks  have powerfully affected my life, changed my world view, opened the doors to many opportunities, and simply given me direction.  Oh I could tell so many stories, but I'll just share one that involved my mom.

I was seventeen and a brand new single parent.  My darling little daughter had been soundly sleeping in her make-shift crib, a dresser drawer.  She stirred quietly, and I confidently got her up to feed.  I knew what I was doing, I'd done it for five days already in the hospital.  But unlike the nights in the hospital, she didn't immediately go back to sleep, and there were no nurses to take her to the nursery if she didn't.  I was overwhelmed with a grave sense of inadequacy.  It was a heavy blanket smothering me.  A deep sadness rose in me.  Had I made the right choice?  Maybe I would be a terrible mom.

I called for my mom across the hall.  "Mom, if you just help me this one night, I promise I'll never ask again," a promise I never kept.  Knowingly, Mom offered her arms for the squealing pink bundle.  Once little Robin was settled, Mom asked if we could have a little talk.

"Honey, I will always help you as much as I can, but I want you to know something.   You are going to be a wonderful mom.  You are strong and able, but that's not the most important part."

I didn't feel strong or able at all.  I was terrified of what I'd done.  I had even argued with social services, who thought it best for me to give my baby up for adoption, and now I wondered if maybe they were right.

"You will always have your whole family behind you, dear.  Remember that when you feel overwhelmed.  But most of all, remember how much you're loved, and how much you love your precious little daughter.  Love makes it all possible.  You can do this, and I know you can do it well."

Oh my dear sweet mother.  Her words went right into my soul.  She knew me better than anyone else in the world, and she thought I could do it.   My daughter now has six of her own children.  She's a marvelous wife, mother and a genuine, loving woman.  In spite of whatever mothering inadequacies I might have had, there was never any shortage of love.

Robin Shanda

My mother's little love talk sent me on my way to the responsibilities of being a mom.  It gave me the courage and confidence to overcome the difficulties of parenthood, and to fully cherish the beauty of my daughter and later four sons.

Life is about loving.  Love is the greatest of all things. God is love after all.

God is Love  

1 John 4:8

Photo credit :  Hubble Space Telescope Website

HiberSONsation - Linda Aleta Tame

Why is it that the 19th of the month sneaks up on me?  I remember other days, like the 1st when mortgages are due and the 10th when the bills get paid.  I easily remember to check Facebook and email every day.  The Hershey chocolates in the cupboard are never forgotten.  Well they aren't there long enough I guess, but still you'd think I'd remember such an important date as the 19th when my contribution to this blog is due.

Other months have been so busy.  I have a big family,  five grown children and 12 grandchildren, and last month was Christmas, so understandably some things get forgotten.  I operate a small rental property business, and I take university classes.  I have to give myself a little grace when I forget an errand, when an appointment is missed, or when we eat Kraft Dinner because I forgot to pick up the groceries.  But, how many times can I forget the 19th of the month?  Come on, this is crazy!

I was certain this month would be different.  All the busyness has settled down.  It's January, my time to hibernate.  Things are usually so quiet during this first month of the year.  It's extremely cold in my part of the country, so I decided years ago that the only way I could enjoy January would be to snuggle inside and catch up on my writing, something I love to do.

This year, as it turns out, my husband and I had the privilege to escape the freezing Canadian temperatures and come to warm Arizona!  It's perfect.  My plan was to enjoy the sun and write.   I visualized myself sitting on the patio, sipping a tall iced-tea and tapping away on my laptop.  I could see myself by the pool with my journal, jotting down the most incredibly inspiring, maybe even profound thoughts.  So, what happend?

It's January 19th, and it's now 8:00 p.m.  This is my day to blog here.  I just remembered about half an hour ago.  Maybe the fabulous shopping, the exciting Mexican food and the cacti on the hills have overwhelmed me.  It could be that I've been distracted by the flea markets, the galleries or the AMC Ahwatukee 24 Movie Theater.  My husband is a movie buff.  Regardless, there are four hours left for this contribution to appear on the blog, so I'm doing my best to put it up. 

Hibernation is a good thing.  It helps me rest up, regroup and move forward into the year ahead.  It's supposed to help me be more mindful about the important things, to be more attentive to the Lord and His plans for me.  I'm so grateful for this blog.  It was the reminder today to soak up more of the SON, and to get writing!  I think I've had a "hiberSONsation!"

Image from naturespicwallpaper.com

My Peace I Give You - Linda Aleta Tame

My Peace I Give You


There's a big difference between peace and chaos, isn't there? At least we think there is.  But during the Christmas season, it seems we must skillfully balance between the two, and sometimes the boundary is blurred.

We sing Joy to the World, or Peace on Earth while we scurry through department stores in the shopping frenzy of the holidays.  We make lists, plan menus, coordinate schedules, organize concerts and attend Christmas parties.  We bake shortbread with cherries in the middle, make caramel corn, wrap gifts with colorful paper and shiny bows, stuff stockings and constantly hunt for the Scotch Tape or the pen we had in our hands just moments ago.  We purchase trees (or assemble them), hang lights, decorate with tinsel, and prepare beds for overnight guests.  Oh, and we eat...oh yes, we eat!  It's all so wonderful, isn't it?

"It doesn't have to be perfect," we say, but in some ways we believe it does have to be perfect.  It's Christmas.  Oh, we can handle it if the cat pulls the tree over, or if the kids guess what their gifts are.  It's okay if we forget the coleslaw in the fridge during Christmas dinner, if we forget to chill the cranberries, or even if we forget to turn the oven on to bake the turkey.  These things we can laugh about, if not now, then later.

Some things though, are just simply not okay.  It's not okay if we're offended, if we slam doors, if we have melt-downs or start ugly crying.  It's not okay if our words are hurtful, or if we pout in our bedrooms.  It's also not okay if we frantically throw on our coats and go walking while gritting our teeth in the cold, alone, especially if we forgot our mitts.  "These things must not happen," we say, but we know it's possible when twenty-nine family members get together, when the house is full of noise and activity.  That's when anxiety threatens to destroy whatever peace on earth we thought we had.

Maybe the walk in the cold, or a little time alone to process the chaos (pouting?) is not such a terrible thing.  Sometimes it's exactly what we need to remember the reason we're going about all this activity.  Maybe we need to remember that His peace is not the same as the peace we expect in the world.  In fact, His peace takes into consideration that we're human beings.  There will be occasions that are difficult, there will be hurt feelings, doors will slam.  We can do our best, but we can't control everything, nor should we want to.

Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, experienced birth and death in the midst of chaos, yet He left us with peace, and continues to give us peace.  It's the kind of peace that reigns in our hearts.  If our hearts are anxious, we need to take time to remember that He IS our peace.  We can't always change the circumstances, but we can walk through anything by receiving His gracious provision.  

May you be filled with joy and be comforted by His peace this season!

John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Photo Compliments of Sharon Webb.

A New Technique - Linda Aleta Tame

I'm a third-year university student in a Creative Arts program.  Last term I completed a course called, the Multi-genre, Multimedia, Disjunctive Poetic Narrative Dream Text.

My professor, Di Brandt, an accomplished Canadian poet, stated that the genre that includes so much variety has been around for awhile, but has never had a permanent title.  It has been referenced as the Long Poem or Experimental Writing and probably many other non-specific identifiers, but none that took hold as the official title.  In an effort to include all that the genre entails, and to inform students, Professor Brandt created the Multi-genre, Multimedia, Disjunctive Poetic Narrative Dream Text title and course.

We studied several texts, reading through them all at the same time.  This provided the small group of inspired students with a multi-genre-multimedia-disjunctive-poetic-narrative-dream text reading experience.  (Okay, I'll spare you further repetition of the lengthy title, but in class we had a lot of fun with it!)

All the texts were by Canadian authors:

• Blue Marrow by Louise Bernice Halfe
• I Knew Two Metis Women by Gregory Scofield
• Seed Catalogue by Robert Kroetsch
• Questions i asked my mother by Di Brandt and four others

All of these are noteworthy and inspiring, but my favourite one, and one that has most influenced my approach to writing is NOX by Anne Carson.  I haven't space to describe its many unique and unconventional characteristics, but if you'd like to investigate it further, Google and Youtube have many articles about it.

One liberating factor is that the pages of NOX are not just filled with printed text.  They include photocopies of poetry, prose, word definitions, single-line-on-a-page statements, images, bits and scraps of letters and envelopes, smudges and even some long-hand writing.  Carson's technique inspires endless possibilities, and this freedom seems to alleviate writer's block for me.  I may not use all the ideas, maybe not even more than one, but knowing I can seems to open the creative gate.

I think it was the author's random-but-ordered style that intrigued me most.  Here's what I learned:  You don't have to start at the beginning.  I can't express how this opened the way for me to explore other options in my own writing process.  Start anywhere, organize and compile later.  What a refreshing discovery! If I have a thought, I don't have to write it down to save for a later chapter or paragraph.  I can write it now, expand on it in the moment when the inspiration is fresh and powerful.  It'll all come together when it's time.

I'm grateful for the Multi-genre, Multimedia . . . I think you know where I'm going with this.  It broadened my vision to get a head start on a writing project I've wanted to do for a long time.  Why not give this genre a try?

NOX by Anne Carson

Semantics - Linda Aleta Tame

Am I a Christian writer or a Christian who writes?  I wrote a Christian novel.  Now that I've said that, I need to clarify that a novel cannot be Christian.  I know I'm being too literal, but I guess it's a pet peeve.  Only people can be Christian, so it's a novel with Christian-related content.  And yes, I'm also a Christian who writes.  I don't always write about Christianity or Jesus or faith.

Have I sufficiently frustrated you with such quibbling over this question?  Perhaps, this blog contribution could be considered Christian writing, but am I still a Christian who writes if I frustrate my readers?  You can see how convoluted this discussion can be.  It's about semantics, isn't it?

So many misunderstandings result from semantics.  For example, the whole topic of God's grace.  For many years I understood God's grace to be a believer's character trait, synonymous with having poise.  When I learned it was more about God's unconditional love and mercy, I could hardly believe how far off the mark I'd been.  God's grace is definitely not about our posture or composure, although those things can be affected by it.  His grace is something we can't earn, it's not a reward, it's a gift, freely given.  In fact it was given while we were still sinners.

But isn't that indulgence?  That God, the Creator of the universe, would pour out His undeserved loving kindness on people who don't deserve it proves the whole gospel message is foolish, doesn't it?   It's not hard to see why the grace message comes under suspicion by those who have yet to understand it.  They "stumble over the stumbling stone."  Romans 9:32 (That Jesus Christ, our Saviour, is referred to here as a stumbling stone, is about semantics too, isn't it?)

Yet, once we've experienced God's grace, once we grasp the truth of what it means to be wrapped in that lavish outpouring of His love, we are irresistibly smitten.  Our failures become as quickly forgotten as they were made evident in the light of His precious gift.  If it's foolish for me to relish in this love, call me a fool!

So, am I a Christian writer or a Christian who writes?  I guess I would say I'm always a Christian who writes, and sometimes a Christian writer.  Either way, it's important to just write if that's what we're called to do.   

Alive Again - Linda Aleta Tame

  Alive Again 

To rise up at dawn

hear meadow lark

emerge from shadow

recall a song

recover the lost

To see the sunrise

& spring grasses

the smell of fresh rain

early blossoms

trees verdant budding

To breathe the Spirit

expand the heart

be embraced in love

quickened with life

A Living Saviour

 

 
 "My beloved spoke and said to me, 'Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.'" Song of Songs 2:10-11 (NIV)




 

Never Let Me Go - Linda Aleta Tame

The most cherished moments of my life are the ones when I sense God's presence. Moments like while talking on the phone, my husband and I gazed at the moon together, even though he was in Texas and I was in Manitoba.

Another cherished moment was during an intimate worship time at a women's conference. It was at the end of the service; the worship team was softly playing, "Draw Me Close to You." I closed my eyes, made the words my own, made the sentiments my own. I floated away to the beauty of His presence, completely immersed in His overwhelming love.

Jesus and I were dancing. At first, I could see us gliding across the dance floor, and then as though a camera lens zoomed me in, I was right there in the strength of His arms. An almost unbearable tenderness filled me as I was swept away in that moment of divine embrace. I sang the lyrics to the song "Never let me go" and "Let me know You are here," and meant them. I didn't want the dance to ever end, but the song was coming to a close. I looked at my Saviour, pleading. His amazing eyes were filled with love as He handed me a long-stemmed rose.

He said, "I'll never let you go.  I am always here."

I sunk into a chair, wanting to stay in the afterglow, but the conference was over and it was time to pack up our things and travel the seven hours back home. I shared my experience with the three women traveling with me, and when I said, "Then He gave me a rose," one woman gasped,

"Really? He gave me a rose too, during the same song!"

We rejoiced over sharing such an incredible event. We rejoiced at the confirmation that the Kingdom of God is a reality even now, and that Christ indeed loves His Bride. He draws us close to Him, He never lets us go and He's always here. Nothing separates us from Him; we are always together.

Go Tell it on the Mountain - Linda Aleta Tame

Christmas, in my past, was problematic.  I was raised in an exclusive religious group that didn't believe in Christmas.  My dad was also raised with the same belief system, but he left it behind when he was a young man.  My mom embraced the system's tenets when she met my dad, so our home was a divided home.  We sometimes had a Christmas tree, but along with my five siblings, I knew it was wrong.  There were a few reasons it was wrong to celebrate Christmas:  a passage of scripture in Jeremiah 10 ( it condemns idol worship, but the idol seems a lot like a Christmas tree), no one knows the exact day of Jesus birth, and the pagan origin.

For a few years, after I left the sect, I did celebrate Christmas.  It was still difficult, because I didn't really know how to get "in the Spirit."  I was not a believer then.  I was trying to embrace the secular side of Christmas.  Some of it was lovely, the family gatherings, the lights, the gifts, but I still had anxiety.   When I studied with Jehovah's Witnesses, a group that resembles the one from my childhood, I felt more at home again, because they don't participate in Christmas either.

Eventually, I learned of the saving grace of Jesus, the same Jesus who was born in a manger.  My whole world changed when I fell in love with the mighty Saviour.  He filled my life with love, joy and purpose, but in some respects, peace was still elusive.  Christmas continued to be a stressful time for me.  The first Christmas after my new birth in Christ, I saw a Christmas tree in the church foyer.  I ran from the church in a tearful outrage.  I was angry, hurt and literally sick to my stomach.  Gradually, I became more tolerant, but my understanding was limited.

That happened thirty-three years ago.  Today, I love and enjoy Christmas in freedom!  Many of my questions were answered through a little booklet entitled, "Christmas Reconsidered" by Ralph Woodrow.  Christmas Reconsidered  It addresses questions like, "Is it an ancient pagan festival?" and  "Did Jeremiah condemn Christmas trees?"  Most of you have likely never had to deal with such conflicts associated with Christmas, but for those of you who have, I recommend Woodrow's booklet.

My true liberty, however, did not come from Ralph Woodrow.  It came from an awesome and living God, the One who came from the glory of heaven to be born in a stable.  He came to live among us, to love us, heal us and to offer us abundant life here and in His Kingdom.  I am amazed at His beauty, His compassion, His perfect peace.  As a child and as a Jehovah's Witness, I was not allowed to sing, "Away in a Manger,"  or "Oh Holy Night," or any other carols about Him.  Now, I sing with all my heart, "Go Tell it on the Mountain!"

Did I Forget to Remember? - Linda Aleta Tame

"If you have to do it anyway, you might as well enjoy it." My mom is 93 now, and is still practicing her practical proverb. Launching from that springboard, I learned to love winter. I live in central Canada where the winters can be extremely cold, with icy streets and huge snow drifts. People here usually love to hate winter, and I was one of them until I remembered Mom's advice. I started to list the things I appreciated about winter: Christmas, the cozy warmth that hugs me when I come in from the cold, no mosquitoes, being snowed in with my reading and writing, and so on. I determined to love winter, and now I do!

I used the same technique with waiting.  Waiting is something I'll always have to do, so I might as well enjoy it.  I now love waiting.  It's the only time I get to do nothing without answering to anyone for it.

Since it's November again, I had to face the dread of it.  It's gray, windy and cold, and here on the prairies, the trees have turned into brown sticks.  I've learned to love all the other months, even January, which is now my hibernation month, but November?  What's to love about it?

This year, I've learned to love it.  My best friend's birthday is this month, and I love her to pieces.  But, November is important for something even greater than that, and how could I have forgotten to remember.  No, I really didn't forget to remember, but I did forget that loving November means loving people for the sacrifices they've made and continue to make on my behalf.  I am so grateful for the freedoms I enjoy that came at the expense of our soldiers and their families.  November comes every year anyway, I might as well enjoy it.  Thankfully, I am free, protected and alive so, now and forever, I will love November.

Dark Passage - Linda Aleta Tame

I AM Here

It seemed impossible.  A strong, active believer faltering in her faith?  I knew it could never happen to me, and doubted it could happen to anyone who was genuinely filled with the Holy Spirit.  How would anyone ever part with the beauty of His presence, the incredible joy of intimacy with Him?  Certainly it would never happen by choice.

Now I know it can and does happen.  It's a subtle seduction, more often the result of many smaller choices than of one specific choice.

Proverbs 4:23 says,  "Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it."

1 Corinthians 16:13 says, "Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong."

These verses make clear the necessity of guarding our hearts and standing firm.  They should give us cause to realize that it's entirely possible to block the flow of the Spirit in our lives, simply by neglecting to guard our hearts.  Of course He never leaves us, but our ability to sense His presence is diminished.  When this happened to me, I felt lost and alone; so opposite from found and together with Him.

As difficult as it was, my dark passage was a significant spiritual process.  I regret I didn't handle it  by trusting.  I didn't guard my heart or stand firm in my faith.  I began making choices that I would never otherwise make, choices that only deepened the shadows.  Everything seemed bleak, dark and cold.  Where was the Holy Spirit?

He was there all the time, waiting for me to come into the revelation I needed to have.  I now realize the necessity of "the dark passage."  I have come through, and I see now that my faith needed strengthening.  I know too, that as much as I trust my heavenly Father, I need to take the responsibility of guarding my heart and standing firm in my faith. 

It took Mary and Joseph one day to discover Jesus wasn't with them, but it took three days to find him.  It didn't take long for me to discover the perceived absence of the Spirit in my life, but the journey to restoration has taken time. It was a hard lesson, and a long one.  Six years, but I'm grateful.