Wednesday, January 22, 2020

Empty -- Full




    [Oh the irony of that title! I just wrote this entire entry, saved it, hit "Preview" ... and nothing! It was completely gone, though I had saved it throughout the process! I admit it: I sobbed, I wailed! And so now I'm starting over with another "empty" page--there must be another whole entry in there somewhere!]

      Who hasn't picked up an empty seashell to listen to the soothing song of the sea therein? On a recent beach trip I did just that with the one pictured above. It occurred to me, though, that the whelk that once lived inside had died in order that the shell might sing. I would never expect to hear the music of the sea from a shell filled with a living creature.

     Everyone knows that song lyrics that come from the writer's own experience, often of pain or loss, are the ones that touch our hearts the most. But what of the music of Mozart or Beethoven? Don't composers pour their hearts and souls in ink onto a blank piece of paper? And what about those who then make the music come alive for our ears: whether the instrument is a violin or a voice, the performer must pour his or her energy thoroughly into the production for someone else's enjoyment. But ask a true musician if this feels like a sacrifice and they'll inevitably say it's what makes them feel alive and gives them joy, this emptying of themselves.

      Whatever your gift, I dare say when you are using it to your utmost, it is with thoughts of the pleasure or comfort it will give someone else much more than how it is benefiting you. A hand-crocheted shawl, handmade cookies, a hand-wrapped gift or handwritten note take their significance from the hands that lovingly created them much more than from the cost of the raw materials. The value of a helping hand is in the love it signifies even more than in the task it accomplishes. At the beach, two precious sisters helped me way beyond their job description, and it was their selfless, unassuming attitude that made the gift sweet.

      Max Lucado has said, "We are never more like God than when we are giving gifts." After all, that's what He did and continues to do, from Genesis to Revelation:

          " So God created man in His own image;
            He created him in the image of God;
            He created them male and female."  (Genesis 1:27 CSB)

Christ, the ultimate Gift from God, 

            " Who, existing in the form of God,
              did not consider equality with God
              as something to be exploited.
              Instead He emptied Himself
              by assuming the form of a servant,
              taking on the likeness of humanity."   (Philippians 2: 6-7 CSB)

      This illness has taken much from me: all the energy and activity I once thought defined who I am. I have come to realize, however, that this "emptying" has filled me with an understanding of what is truly the music of life: love from unexpected places, the joy of small pleasures that can't be bought, support from loved ones who accept and honor my silences, and the assurance that my Faithful God has been with me through it all, from the darkest nights to the brightest days. 

       Today I'm borrowing a portion of St. Francis of Assisi's familiar prayer to offer for you and for myself:

            "O Divine Master, grant that I may
             Not so much seek to be consoled as to console,
            To be understood, as to understand,
            To be loved, as to love.
            For it is in giving that we receive,
            And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned,
            And it's in dying that we are born to Eternal Life."
                                                                     Amen

      "He must increase, but I must decrease."  -- John 3:30



        


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