My Cup of Tea

There is a legend that says the Chinese Emperor Shen Nung, the Divine Cultivator, discovered tea accidentally when he was boiling water under the shade of a wild tea tree. A few of the leaves dropped into his pot, tinting the water and he drank the resulting infusion. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with a sense of well-being. If only it were that easy.

On Sunday, our pastor prayed for a person facing a difficult doctor’s appointment. In his prayer he said, “Lord, that is an appointment that none of us would want to be called to, but it’s an appointment You may call us to.” At that moment in prayer, I had an appointment with Lectio Divina.

Lectio Divina is a very ancient art practiced by Christians. It is a slow, contemplative praying of the Scriptures which enables the Bible, the Word of God, to become a means of union with God – not unlike brewing tea. The same excerpt from scripture steeps several times in the vessel of the heart. The Holy Spirit then draws forth the flavor of one particular word or phrase to speak directly into the life of an individual. Its true intent is to cultivate the ability to drink deeply of the cup of Christ and to hear “with the ear of our hearts.” On Sunday morning, I was surprised to find that I am not totally deaf.

You see, there has been something collecting in my heart over the past few months. The first bits settled when my sister’s cancer returned. Further deposits were made with each new challenge – a blood transfusion here, a debilitating fever there – a heap of dried matter littering the chambers. My own set of health issues compounded the effect and finally, the news of our precious 8-year-old niece’s terminal illness threatened to stop it up for good.

Yet something happened that morning. Pure, hot truth poured into me, the words “…it’s an appointment You may call us to” steeping the bits slowly. That which had collected in the vessel of my heart, the bitter and potentially lethal remnants, began to infuse the grace I was experiencing with a particular quality. God was brewing a tea with the tender leafs of my suffering and the sufferings of those around me. Would I trust Him with it?

A traditional tea master is implicitly trusted with the fine art of nurturing a tea plant. This is quite an involved task especially because all tea comes from one kind of plant.* A master knows when to pluck and when to wither. A master knows that differences in climate, soil, temperature and moisture will yield very different, yet equally significant teas. Without the Master, my own precious harvest threatens to become dry dust or an over-steeped sludge served up in the cup of a broken world. Or maybe even worse, a saccharin-laden mixture that covers up the honest and full flavor of the cup that is mine.

Jesus had a cup placed before Him. He never asked for a different cup – only that He would not have to drink the dregs. "Abba, Father," he said, "everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what You will." Because of His trust in the Tea Master, we are able to experience the full flavor of grace.

We have a new teahouse in Traverse City. It is called Serenity and is located on Front Street across from the State Theater. You can choose to sit cross-legged in the sunlit windowsill, slowly sipping away at an iced drink while watching the activity on Front Street (this is the favored perch of the teen-aged clientele). Or you may choose to curl up on a comfy sofa with a steaming cup while reading a book on the history of tea making. The folks at Serenity know that there are as many ways of appreciating tea as there are cultures to appreciate it.

I’m learning to appreciate tea. I watch the light refracting through the infused water and think of the very sunlight that withered the leaf. I remind myself to breath in the aroma that holds all knowledge of its origin. I let my tongue roll over the flavor, tasting each nuance of the soil it was nurtured in. I let the warmth pour through me. I am learning to appreciate that the hardships endured and the tender nurturing received lend character and, in the hands of the Master, are one in the same.

Wars have been fought over tea. Ceremonies celebrate it. So precious was the secret of tea in China that England sent spies into the country to attempt to discover the secret of their process. The truth is there is still a war being fought over tea. It wants to do away with the ceremony and steal the secret. It does not want us to know how precious we are to the Tea Master and that every day He is calling us to an appointment…

“Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it.”

What is your cup of tea?

*( All true tea comes from the same type of plant, an Asian evergreen known as Camellia sinensis. Herbals are not technically teas, but Tisanes.)

God Shops At Meijer

(Leave a comment before March 22nd and be entered to win a CD!)

The Super Bowl and a major grocery store chain - I must be in hell. Don’t get me wrong, the Super Bowl is tons of fun to watch, despite the fact that it seems to fall on our anniversary weekend three out of four years. This is something I am willing to sacrifice for the greater good of all male-kind (which would be my husband and three sons). This year however, I can’t complain. The sports gods (Eli Manning not withstanding) arranged a February Super Bowl on my behalf. Apparently though, I haven’t atoned for all my sins which would explain why I have landed square in the middle of the produce aisle in Meijer on Super Bowl Sunday.

I am thinking of the annoying adage, “when life hands you lemons…” and wouldn’t you know? Meijer has plenty of lemons. Seriously, who is going to kick back and watch the big game with an ice cold… lemonade? As if to underscore a sacrilege, my husband has abandoned me in favor of can and bottle returns, no doubt to make room for… more cans and bottles (of SODA he clarifies while proofreading as editor). The only thing keeping me company (besides a bazillion people) is the chorus to Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ stuck on repeat in my head. Normally this would drive me bananas (which I do decide to buy), except that I only heard this song - for the first time in my life - this week.

Or so I thought.

“Mom, you’ve heard this song before! My friend Ben was playing it on the piano right here at the house and you went crazy and had to know what it was.”

In case you don’t recognize the dialect, this is the vernacular of ‘American teenager’ who established this status with us in 2003 and claims his territory somewhere between our basement and the refrigerator.

To add insult to injury he flippantly remarks, “It would be good except that everyone in the world has recorded it.”

Warning! This is a common diversionary tactic of this people group. The first attack is blatant and intended to make you think you are losing your mind. This second is the subtle, more dangerous suggestion that you have already lost your judgment. Do NOT be fooled! This should tell you one thing and one thing only. You are living in the territory of… an ‘American teenager’!

You see, I could argue that ‘relating to the song’ only exists in the present moment and as such, each time can be the ‘first’ time you hear the song. I could run this by so-called ‘American teenager’, but such existential pondering is better left until said teenager leaves this territory and enters that of ‘Real World’. Otherwise, I run the risk of the next wave of artillery, spring-loaded with rolling eyes and hysterical laughter.

The truth is, if everyone (to borrow the exaggeration) has recorded the song, then it stands to reason there is something about the song that everyone can relate to. I related once in passing and then again when I saw the YouTube video of John Cale performing it.

Now, I find myself relating to it in Meijer and at the risk of sounding as if I am losing my mind… I think I am hearing this song for the first time.

You see, strangely enough, I’ve stopped putting things in my cart and am doing something completely insane. I am walking through Meijer, just for the joy of walking through Meijer! (Which I am totally aware sounds like an oxymoron.) I’m singing this song under my breath and looking at all the people. This “Hallelujah” has become a sweet, refreshing refrain and God has poured himself a tall glass. Every person – young and old, all colors, every shape and size – contributes to the complex flavor. Even if theirs happens to be a “cold and broken Hallelujah” and maybe - especially - because it is. Its tang is so potent my eyes well up. Meijer has transcended the plane of lemon to become the Kingdom’s lemonade stand on earth. And as I pass through this roadside stand, I feel someone’s eyes on me. An old man has stopped to watch my pilgrimage – his eyes on my face and a huge smile on his. He is in on the secret. He can relate. God is alive and well and shops at Meijer.

CATCH AND RELEASE

My friend Laura and I recently joked about how it often takes a lot of ‘writing things out’ to just catch the drift of what God is trying to get across; to get to the stuff that we were unaware of before we bled ourselves dry onto a piece of paper. (Well – that, a good portion of chocolate and a glass of merlot!)

We are in good company here and especially thankful to Henri Nouwen in Seeds of Hope for affirming this, “Writing itself reveals to us what lives in us,” and, “What I am gradually discovering is that in the writing I come in touch with the Spirit of God within me and experience how I am led to new places.” (I am sure he meant to say something about chocolate and merlot, but probably didn’t want to give away ALL his secrets.)

Personally, I hardly ever sit and write a song with a goal in mind. My music, art and writing are not very often a decision to create specifically about something I know to be true, rather a necessary process of getting at an interior truth. Granted, there is a decision to pick up that pencil, or paintbrush, or guitar, but even on the rare occasions when I think that I know what I’m going for, I discover something new about myself. It almost makes the creative work too personal to share – but as all art is about communication, sharing is essential.

Madeleine L’ Engle poignantly captures the urgency of the artist to communicate in her book Walking on Water. “Art is communication. If there is no communication it is as though the work has been stillborn.”

Accordingly, I want to celebrate with you the birth of a poem. She is just an infant, a little pinched looking with a face, perhaps, only a mother could love. However, I look in her eyes and see the truth of what has been living in me. In apprehension and anticipation, I welcome her, not knowing what this little bundle of new revelation could mean in my life. As you’ll see, she fussed a bit at first, but I’ve pulled her close now and it’s amazing how such harsh cries can be quieted by a simple, repeated lullaby. And I’ll tell you a secret, the ONLY song on the whole planet that works is the gentle melody of Jesus washing her feet. It seems to be without negotiation and she can’t get enough. We are both captivated and I am utterly at a loss for words. It is the most tender sound in the universe and I have a feeling it will be the one act that moves her out of the sanctuary of my arms to grow in the fullness of the revelation. Thanks for welcoming her with me!

catch and release
by angela josephine

something snaps at my ankles
a wet towel
wrung out by my anxious hands
and wielded by my guilty heart
stinging me to walk faster
cover more miles
and get with the program
until my feet are hot
and blistered
and stumbling I lose my grip
and that towel

falls

gently

across my feet

its intended purpose
found by accident?

something laps at my ankles
a wet towel
wrung out by wounded hands
and wielded by a determined heart
commanding me to stay still
rest awhile
and let go of my program
until my feet grow smooth
and tender
and lovingly He releases His grip
and that towel

drapes

purposefully

across my hands

its intended purpose
is no accident


So tell me, what has been living in you?

Original ART Christmas Cards/Posters Available

Three Days Christmas Cards Posters Learn More	Noel Christmas Cards Posters Learn More
She - Dance Christmas Cards Posters Learn More	Sistory Blank Cards Posters Learn More

If you are looking for unique Christmas cards or a meaningful gift idea (and want to contribute to an aritist's livelihood at the same time :-) ), I have just the thing for you!

I've taken my original paintings -Three Days, Noel and She Dance - and have made Christmas cards and posters available through CafePress. The painting Sistory is also available as blank cards and posters.

There is a store for each individual design, so click on the link under each thumbnail above to see the corresponding items available. (NOTE: You must click each specific link in order to view each specific painting.) Also, you have a choice of ordering cards in either a glossy or matte finish.

Many people have expressed interest in my original art and this is a cool and easy way to get it in your hands. Check it out and let me know what you think or if there are other items you'd like to see!

Created to BE His...
Angela Josephine


www.cafepress.com/ajshe
www.cafepress.com/ajsistory
www.cafepress.com/ajnoel
www.cafepress.com/ajthreedays

KNOCK, KNOCK - Who'sh 'ere? – GOD (Any more stupid questions?)

The September tour of Detroit and Indiana was a great time and I enjoyed meeting you all! There were so many God moments that it’s tough to identify only one. But that’s sort of where I am going with the following story. It’s really not about one moment – it’s about THE moment. Aren’t you intrigued? (O.K. – maybe just mildly curious.)

So here’s the story.

When I left for Indiana, I was popping Halls like candy and praying like Paul for the scales to be lifted from my eyes… my nose… my head… you name it. I’d been fighting a cold all week, but felt well enough to get on the road. (Note to self: What is ‘well enough’?). You see, I’d done this once before on a tour of Pennsylvania and was much, much worse. God sent good care at that time. I stayed in a home where they made me fresh carrot juice (I am aware that most people don’t consider that a blessing) and had people scoring me Slippery Elm lozenges in such a way that I was worried I might get arrested.

This was different. This was INDIANA. Home of the Hoosier! Since I don’t know what a Hoosier is, I had to look it up on the internet. Some knowledgeable types on Wikipedia think it had to do with a Frontier greeting. Supposedly, when approaching a man's home in those early frontier days, you shouted from afar, "Hello, the cabin!" to avoid being shot. The inhabitants would then shout back "Who'sh 'ere?" (who's there). As it got slurred together over time, the country folk came to be called Hoosiers. (It should be noted that in the early days in Detroit, if you shouted “Hello the cabin!” -you would get shot.)

All things considered, I don’t suspect that definition is very flattering to the people of Indiana. And since I approached many ‘cabins’ without offering the so-called ‘secret greeting’ and am alive to tell the tale, I’d have to say that myth is busted. The folks I did encounter were nothing but kind and hard–working and three of them make up the band Consider. Besides being a great band, they were also gracious hosts and made sure that my niece LeAnna and I were well taken care of. They went above and beyond the call of duty, but you know they are sold out to that Jesus guy and are the quintessence of another definition of Hoosier I found…. “a brawny man, capable of stilling opponents.” I think Jesus may have been a Hoosier.

So I persisted and subsisted on the tour, all the while having the same recurring thought and experience…

Trust God in the moment… good, bad or otherwise. What this means to me is that instead of evaluating something through my fog-brained, limited perspective – I am to trust that God is at work in everything.

With that in mind, I decided that I would break up the long trip home and stop to see some good friends in Kalamazoo. Julie and Gary live on a lake and have two really cute kids who kept me entertained and unexpectedly held captive. I thought I was doing a good thing by letting their very precocious toddler temporarily play with my keys. What I didn’t take into consideration is that she is, after all, a toddler and one whose favorite thing in the world is keys… especially new ones. After much tears and trickery, we were able to recover the keys and I was free to go. It was really fun to see them and… it was a nice moment.

The second stop was to see Lisa in Grand Rapids. She is the fiery and fiercely passionate CEO of the American Red Cross of Southwest Michigan and a great friend. She chauffeured this very tired and very contagious looking woman to a warm and cozy restaurant for an impossibly good dinner. We always have a lot to talk about! It was a nice… long… moment.

The problem was 6 a.m.

That was the time I had gotten up.

The second problem was 9 p.m.

That was the time I was leaving her house.

The final and determining problem (aside from being a dead woman walking) was 11:30 p.m.

That was the time I would probably get home.

If I drove fast.

And didn’t get arrested.

Maybe this wasn’t so different than the Pennsylvania, slippery-elm-popping tour I referred to earlier.

At that point, I became very tempted to think I was a complete idiot (feel free to agree with me) and should have done things differently. She asked me to stay. I was on my way home. What could I do about it at that point?

Trust God in the moment.

I made it to Reed City which is about an hour or so north of Grand Rapids and decided I couldn’t go any further without finding something to keep me awake and alive, aside from the car needing gas – but somehow that part seemed less important. Do you know how many beverage choices there are at a gas station?

So, there I stood (and may be standing still) if a young girl hadn’t stopped and shocked me out of my head-cold-muddled indecision.

“I have that shirt!”

I was wearing the Consider t-shirt the band had given me. The same band I had just been gigging with in Indiana.

I believe my response was very profound, something like…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She had gotten the shirt at Big Ticket Festival - where I had first met Consider (I am not kidding you either). I told her where I was coming from and about playing in Indiana with the guys.

She had a message for me to pass on. “Tell those guys that I pray for them whenever I think of them.”

I guess she could have sent an email.

I guess that wouldn’t have been as cool.

I guess God will use everything for His good.

Even an idiot like me.

Trust God in the moment.

Yeah… I get it.

So tell me… what’s your ‘God in the moment’ story?

(Thanks so much to Pastor Heather at St. Philips in Trenton, Pastor Charles at First Congregational in Rockwood, Pastor Daniel at Trinity First Wesleyan in Southgate, Café Crossing in Middlebury, Downtown Grounds in Syracuse, Pastor Scott at NWUMC, Jeremiah and Marcie of 40 Miles North – great to see you! Thanks to my friend Mark who introduced me to Downriver, to Carla for a great September, to Joe just because, LeAnna my roadie and Mike, Jeremy, Nathan (Consider) and families!)

OF HAMMERED DULCIMERS AND RINGING BELLS

CCM Magazine assistant editor Lindsay Williams posted a challenge to musicians – of which I was included - to submit an anecdote about my favorite instrument and how I got it. The winner of the blog will appear in CCM Magazine. I was thankful for the challenge, if only to write something worthwhile! Check it out and if you choose to comment, it would be really awesome if you did it here AND at the CCM site:
www.myccm.org/angelajosephine/blog

“I have been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck.” - Annie Dillard, Pulitzer Prize Winner for Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 1975

I was driving down the road many slivered moons ago, blissfully minding my own darn business, when the Rich Mullin’s song Calling Out Your Name came on the radio and in one fury of a pheasant’s wing (because there are no grouse in Michigan) my life was effectively sideswiped. I guess you could call it my Damascus Road experience and how I got home after that blinding episode is beyond me. All I knew was that if the scales were ever going to fall from my eyes, I had to find my Ananias, which turned out to be an album called, “The World As Best As I Remember It – Volume One”. I also knew that I’d eventually have to get whatever the heck instrument this guy was playing. Never mind that I had no idea who Rich Mullins was or where to begin looking for him. I began by going to my favorite store because I was convinced they carried all the music that counted, but they kept asking me if I meant S h a a a w n Mullins and they said it in a long, drawn-out way like I was some idiot who’d lost her mind on the way there. Up until that point, a Christian bookstore was another planet I had yet to set foot on.

Even so, the album was by far an easier thing to come by than that elusive instrument that God used to lift and strike me. By my own estimation, two instruments had gotten married and given birth to a perfect Middle Eastern child with an Irish brogue. If I couldn’t produce such a miracle on my own behalf, I was willing to adopt. Little did I know that I would spend the next ten years slaving to learn to play piano, guitar and mountain dulcimer, forging an independent music career in the process, before I would actually get the one instrument I had longed for - a hammered dulcimer.

The story of actually GETTING the hammered dulcimer isn’t that remarkable in the way that some stories go. In fact, it’s ridiculously simple and embarrassingly obvious along the lines of, “Why didn’t I think of that?” One day, my husband – of whom I am convinced, is a genius - handed me some information about a dulcimer festival in Evart, MI and said, “Why don’t you just go and buy a hammered dulcimer?” Was he kidding? I mean, wasn’t it supposed to fall out of the sky or arrive in a burning bush or something?

So I went to the festival and met a guy named Dave. The first song he played for me was one of Rich’s and I guess that was the closest thing I was going to get to a burning bush. He told me that if I was looking for a great instrument I should check out the ones made by Bob Tack. I found Bob in the merchandise tent. When he began to play this one in particular, the heavens parted and I recognized that ringing. It matched the one that had been echoing in my heart for over ten years.

So, I bought it.

Now, I am not a gear guru so don’t expect me to remember things like how many strings there are (there are a LOT of them and yes, I have to tune them ALL) or what kind of wood it’s made of (but it IS so pretty).

These are the kinds of thing I remember.

I remember Bob.

I was in Nashville recording Grace Exhaled when the news came that Bob passed away unexpectedly. I had just gotten done in a session with my producer and decided there were questions that needed answering and next to God, there was none other than Bob who could answer them. Bob had become used to my endless barrage of questions that eventually all added up to the same exact question, “Are you sure I’ll be able to sort this thing out?” He assured me that I would. Apparently, he thought he’d given me all the answers I needed.

So I remember Bob and feel like a part of him lives on when I play the instrument he made with his own two hands.

I also remember that sometimes you just have to go and buy a hammered dulcimer, which is by far the best practical advice I have ever been given.

And I remember the most important thing ever. Every time I hit those strings, I am a bell and I was made to call out His name.

VOTE FOR ME IN UNITY FEST CONTEST! (Pretty Please)

Great news!!! My application is accepted and I am officially in the Unity Fest Ovation Contest!

To VOTE click here: VOTE FOR GLORY LORD
Create a login, LISTEN TO AND RATE the song with 5 stars being the best - which is how I hope you'll vote. ;-)

Feel free to PASS IT ON and THANK YOU for taking a minute of your time to do this as it will help spread the word about my music and ministry. I can't do it without you and you are all part of the reason I am doing what I do!

WHY I CHOSE GLORY LORD!:
Why would I choose to feature Glory Lord to introduce you to my music? It's not a very long song by any stretch of the imagination and lyrically, it is one of my most minimal. How could a little song like Glory Lord really say anything about who I am as an artist?

The truth is - it has everything to say. I can sing, write, and record but my greatest fulfillment comes when a song takes on a life of its own; becoming bigger than my isolated experience of it. Little as it is, this song Glory Lord did that in a big way at Unity Fest in Muskegon, Michigan a few years back.

It was the end of my set and as I strummed the last chord of the song on my mountain dulcimer, a very cool thing happened. Everyone kept singing , the refrain "Glory Lord" echoing out in time to a cadence of clapping hands. The people began to stand and walk forward together. I did the only thing I could do. I got down off the stage and joined them in a tight circle. It wasn't my song anymore. It became a personal prayer of anyone who was singing it and worshipping God at that moment.

ABOUT THE CONTEST:
Artist Ovation and the CFA are launching festival competitions all over the nation. The winner of each festival competition will win the opportunity to play live at that festival. Moreover, these winners are automatically selected as finalists in a national contest, with the grand prize winner receiving a recording deal from the premier Christian Music label in the industry - Word Label Group

MY SISTER AND LAURA BENNETT DEMYSTIFIED

I wanted to post this photo from South Carolina of my sister Donna and I. My sister is on the right... as if you need me to tell you that. LOL


As for Laura Bennett, people have wanted details. As I said, Donna was the brave soul and would know those details. You can go to her blog www.pinkdonna.blogspot.com and ask her.

For the record, my impressions were what I shared in the last blog. The point being not so much about Laura Bennett or my sister Donna - but the recognition and celebration of women with an indomitable spirit. Alas, I am too artsy for my own good and wouldn't make a great gossip columnist. ;-)

I MET LAURA BENNETT!!!

(Photo courtesy of ProjectRunway.com)

I met Laura Bennett! O.K. – if I were to be totally honest, I let my sister do the dirty work of accosting her in the airport and then came along after the deed was done. Never mind the fact that I was squealing silently (yes – such a thing can be accomplished) and almost jumping up and down when I first spotted her standing across the aisle from us. And forget about turning 40! The 18 year old in me is alive and well!

It was especially cool because Donna and I had JUST been talking about her. It was during one of our all day pajama sessions with the Food Network. Is it chemo's way of seasoning all real food to taste like metal or the new appeal of the sofa that has led to Donna’s addiction with FN? We aren’t sure, but I did tease her more than once about being masochistic.

The fact that I know who Laura Bennett is tells you something about me. Yes, I am a Project Runway freak. You may, a) get what I am talking about and squeal silently (or aloud), b) shake your head in disappointment at my obvious lack of class or c) be totally clueless. If you don’t know what I am talking about, I owe you at least that.

Project Runway is a show where “wanna be” designers compete in different challenges for the title of Top Designer and the chance to start their own label. For example, one of the challenges required the designers to make their design out of recycled products. I am willing to put up with the reality show “ick” to witness the thing I never grow tired of; one challenge having as many creative and unique outcomes as there are people involved.

I have to admit that in the end, the ‘reality’ part won out. At the airport, I told Laura Bennett that we had been cheering her on to win and she pumped her arm triumphantly. You see what I love about Laura Bennett, her designs aside, is her indomitable spirit. Just like my sister Donna who marched right up to her to introduce herself. And they say we gravitate towards the people whose traits we want to exhibit. I guess that tells you something else about me.

10,20,30,40...

Yesterday I turned 40. I am as old as my mother was when she gave birth to me. When I was 10, I bore that fact like a badge on behalf of my mother. I was really proud of her… having a baby at THAT age. It’s a wonder she didn’t disown me.

My teenagers gave me a little grief yesterday – but only a little. I don’t think they really think of me as old. Even if they did, I am happy to be where I am. I’ve challenged, fought and relented to the understanding that you don’t have to have it all figured out and that the best times are often the simplest times.

Like last night. The boys came to me with their gift; the gift of themselves. They had planned a whole night around things I like – a movie, candy, popcorn - and they would be a part of it all. Even if it was a chick flick! (A term I would have never let them get away with when I was 20 – and a term they, as they are approaching 20, graciously spared me from last night.)

It would take the entire lifetime that I have lived to reach the age my mother is now. That’s a lot of time. Even so, what’s left isn’t what matters. There was a 30 year old girl I once knew who wrote a song about what is really significant and important. Today. Nothing is worth more than it! So happy day to you – however many years you are.

(Photo is of my mother in January of 1967, two months before I was born.)

A LONG WINTER

I haven't really treated this blog as a journal... more of a place to post my writing - meaning only those writings that I am willing to share. Trust me. There is enough that I am NOT willing to share. My sister Donna has inspired me to tell a bit more of my story, a bit more frequently. You can see a link to her page in the LINK section (original - I know!). She is fighting breast cancer and tells it like it is. I've always admired her for being direct and squirm about it at the same time. Her heart baring honesty is a light on my own dishonesty and a smack upside the head to be more forthright. She has reminded me that God uses our brokenness to bring mending. Our raw, honest appraisals don't scare Him away, in fact - they are the best stuff to work with.

Donna says that I am an inspiration and like her, I find that appraisal hard to bear. As an artist who is supposedly 'out there' in front of people - it's tough to keep a reign on motives. Inspiration can quickly become a goal to pursue rather than a thing that happens because you are just being who you are created to be. Who you are created to be becomes mucked up in all the hype.

So here are some words I wrote when I was thinking about all these things.

Words
collapsing
tumble, thrumming
down the mountain
in a roar
left behind
a cloud dispersing
in its silence saying more
listen close by breathing deep
the grit that scrapes the back of throat
the mountain settles in my soul
a foothold on my every note

I hope to continue to post more in journal form on a more frequent basis!

JUMPING OFF THE CLIFF OF CONTROVERSY

Maybe I am off my rocker and will end my brief ministry and career right here and now. I got an email this morning from a Christian organization wanting all Christians to boycott Wal-Mart on certain days because they are contributing 5% of their profits to a gay organization that supports same sex marriage.

Can you see why I am stepping off a cliff here?

Here I go… Aaaaaah.

I just don’t see how boycotting Wal-Mart because they contribute 5% of their sales to homosexual organizations is a way to share the love of Christ manifest in us. People say it’s loving the sinner but hating the sin – but in my opinion it’s a dangerous thing to take one scripture to justify a course of action. Christians do this while excusing themselves from the 1000 other teachings of Jesus that turned that kind of thinking on its head. The teachings and actions of Christ told us that our hearts are the problem. Our focus on protecting ourselves is the problem. Yes - sin is a problem – but our preoccupation with it is outrageous and keeps us from the love of God.

Does this boycott seem Pharisaical to anyone else? Is this a show of bravado to make sure that the ‘sinners’ aren’t encouraged and that the religious are protected? What is the purpose of the boycott anyway? Maybe that’s the question we should be asking ourselves.

The Pharisees (the religious elite) couldn’t stand the God that Jesus was/is. Compassionate? Accepting of Gentiles? Giving women a place of equality? Touching the ‘unclean’ and washing feet? A SERVANT to ALL? Go about quietly without regard for yourself but all for the glory of God? Was this guy NUTS??? Worse of all, He was telling them this is what THEY should be doing. Well… most of the time He was telling them they were never going to get it because they were too stuck in their old ways. They didn't recognize the Kingdom of God in their midst because they were so focused on keeping things in check. Even Jesus’ disciples were expecting Jesus to grab the government by the ears and shake real hard.

Is that what has happened to Christianity in America? Did Jesus Christ really get ripped apart on a cross so that we can boycott Wal-Mart? Was His intention that we find another way to showcase sin and take away that the Kingdom of God is here and He has conquered the power of sin through His resurrection?

Ask yourself if this sounds like missionary activity?

We are choosing not to go out into the world of Wal-Mart until they stop supporting the ‘sinners’.

I hate to break the news to everyone… but Wal-Mart better close their doors. Last time I checked – I am a sinner. Everyone who walks through those doors is. Some of us recognize Jesus as the Messiah who has delivered us from the punishment of those sins – but we are sinners nonetheless. Any good in me is only by the power of Jesus in my life because of HIS sacrifice.

I am not trying to be holier than thou. The truth is I am just as guilty as anyone of re-creating God in my own image. God is the only one who can show us His true nature. I just wonder what nature we are showing to the world.

CONCRETE COWS

I am driving north from Grand Rapids, MI on a fairly new stretch of highway – feeling really thankful for the 20 minutes it shaves off my original drive home when a sight interrupts my reverie. Perched high on a hill just in front of me is a chalet. I can see the reflection of the setting sun in its picture windows that face west. What a view! There is a moment of disjoint before I recognize that this spectacular view must have been even more outstanding before the divided highway was rudely placed in the valley below. I wonder all the things the human part of a person wonders… what DID it look like with all those rolling fields to gaze out upon, can all that exhaust belching at a person be healthy, and even more material… did they get reimbursed for the obvious drop in property value? (I have my priorities.) I am also self-conscious. A moment ago I was basking in the glory of their concrete addition and offering thanks for what it means to my schedule. I feel dangerously close to idol worship.

Maybe I am strange, but this makes me think of Moses coming down off Mt. Sinai still glowing (quite literally) from his view up there. Like the chalet, he finds that while he was gazing at God’s glory – an ugly transformation has taken place in the valley. The crowd has gotten together and decided that they are going to improve things for themselves and not wait around for this slow moving God. So they decide on a way to speed up the process. Build a gold cow! Perfect. O.K, I don't really get how they decided that this was the answer. I mean, that wouldn’t be my first inclination.

Or would it? Here I am, taking the gold paved road to home rather than the meandering back roads; taking the quick and easy vs. the deliberate and interesting. And all for a measly 20 minutes! It is here that I kneel at the altar of least resistance and as a result sacrifice to the god of apathy on a regular basis. Where’s the view in that? It’s no wonder I find myself short of experiencing the glory of God; short of experiencing anything but the satisfaction of keeping a tight schedule. How satisfying is that really?

I sigh aloud. The truth is that nothing is satisfying compared to the glory of God. I know this, I’ve experienced it. Yet my concrete cows beacon me and I bow down so low that only their gray pallor fills my vision and invades my heart. I am immersed in this empty worship until a shaft of perfectly aimed sunlight cuts through my line of sight. A verse runs through my head, “Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay.” (Psalm 16: 9-10) In the blink of an eye, the chalet is past and I am heading west.

SPRINKLERS IN THE CEMETERY

I thought I'd do something different with this Musing. There are things that come up during unexpected moments that send a creative pulse through me. The other day, I drove by the cemetery and saw sprinklers going. I had several thoughts, and this poem is one of them explored. I'd like to invite you to post your thoughts about the subject "Sprinklers in the Cemetery" in the form of a poem, song or article. Just click the link below the poem.

Sprinklers in the Cemetery
by Angela Josephine

nettle pierces untended ground
untended heart?
while sprinklers in another cemetery
push deep as if to prod new life up
but if the dead will rise
do we judge
by the plots they are given?
and rosemary dries in the hot sun
just out of reach…

ILLUMINATED IMAGINATION

I would really love to get your feedback on this. A friend of mine named Shane has an organization called Dreamers of the Day in Ireland. He posted a recent blog that I feel really deserves some exploration. With his permission, I am posting it here. We are very interested in your thoughts.

ILLUMINATED IMAGINATION
by Shane Tucker of www.dreamtoday.org

For about a year now I've been contemplating the role of imagination in the role of a Christian. There have been various insights and encouragements to help me along the way with this. Below I'll lay out the headings that may form the content of my next article. Please comment and offer any insights you may have on this/these issues, or experiences you have had that may shed some light on the illuminated imagination. Of course, you'll be given credit in the next article if I rely on a fresh insight you've shared. ;-) Without further adieu...

*Art (broadly speaking) as Stimulation for Imagination
*Imagination as an Agent for Personal/Spiritual Growth
*Imagination as a Key to Engaging in God's Activity
*Imagination as a Catalyst for a Life of Service
*Imagination as a Cornerstone for Cultural Change
*Positive Uses for Imagination in a Life of Faith

The floor is open...

MOTHER'S MILK

Photo courtesy of Misty Woodward. www.spiritofmotherhood.com

White blood pours from my veins
Mother's milk that wets
the ground around me with
the taste of love and sacrifice.
It is a river
without notice
barely a whispered sigh
in anyone else's landscape
but it is my great divide...
Many pass by
but I have been fully baptized
in the deepest current
and realize they can
never understand
my struggle.
I am a creature of the depths
who understands
the shore
is
for
others.

The Real McCoy

I am sure you’ve heard it said "imitation is the highest form of flattery." I wonder about that though. As an artist, it does me some amount of good to hear that I’ve inspired someone or that something I’ve done or said has been meaningful, but I find some forms of imitation just plain creepy. You probably know the kind I am talking about. You meet someone and not all is right. Their inspiration has taken the road of imitation to the point of cloning. They’ve lost their individuality. They seem fake.

I’m the first one to admit that Rich Mullins has had an influence on my life and music. However, I am also the first one to admit that I am nothing like him. Maybe you noticed the photo of me in front of the church doors that was taken as a parody of Rich’s. Maybe you’ll notice that I am wearing a dress. So that’s the first big difference. I also like hot bubble baths and urban legend suggests that Rich didn’t bathe much. (Oh the wonderful myths that sparkle in the public eye.)

But is imitation all that bad? Paul tells us to… “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children.” (Ephesians 5:1 NIV) This type of imitation has been translated a number of ways… “be followers...” KJV, “Do as God does...” CEV, or “Follow God's example…” NLT. Let’s be clear here. We are NOT God. Yes, we are to follow Christ’s example and Christ’s Spirit is said to even live in us - but as God’s children. What would we really think of someone who grew a beard, donned some sandals and headed to the Mt. of Olives to repeat the words of Jesus? Gives a whole new visual to the term ‘Jesus Freak’, doesn’t it?

There’s one word in the old cliché I started with that reveals everything wrong with it. Flattery. Flattery is defined as extreme or insincere praise. I think that is why imitation to the extreme is so tough to see, so sad to witness. It’s false and robs the person doing the imitating of their true identity. The world has had a Rich Mullins, the world doesn’t need another. There already is a Jesus Christ and can be no other. That’s why it’s so important to recognize how crucial His sacrifice is. If He wanted a bunch of people parading around in long beards and robes in the desert, He would have stuck around and put up a compound.

Instead, he gave up His life so that we would find ours. He rose again so that we would be shaped and influenced by Him and made into a new and significant creation, something real; something to be believed in and not cheap imitations. The world doesn’t need more reproductions… the world needs YOU. Isn’t that inspiring! Do you see that you were made for more?

Thank God! I’d look awful with a beard.