Food 4 the Road 6: Where does God dwell?

As I was unpacking cupboards this week to make space for some of my “story supplies” in my new office, I came across baby Jesus and his manager made roughly of wood and a painted shoe box full of hay.

For some reason, the scene of Jesus tucked away in a cupboard reminded me of the words of the prophet Ezekiel (after the vision of the valley of dry bones):

My dwelling place will be with them; I will be their God, and they will be my people. Then the nations will know that I the Lord make Israel holy, when my sanctuary is among them forever.’”

Ezekiel 37:27-28

Incarnation is the fancy word for the Christ coming to us in a cradle full of animal feed. Christmas answers forever the question of where does God dwell.

So … for today, a series of questions to remind us of how near God draws to us in this – and every – season, as the prophets said it would be:

Where does God dwell?
In an unseen heaven far away
where we’ll meet Him on our judgment day?
No, no! God’s much nearer than that!

Where does God dwell?
In an oblong box of acacia wood
where She fits in snug as we think She should?
No, no! God’s much bigger than that!

Where does God dwell?
In a fancy temple made by human hands –
a holy place where few can stand?
No, no! God’s more loving than that!

Then where does God dwell?
Where could God be?
Where has God gone?
OH! God dwells with me. 

Food 4 the Road 5: Creative complaining

Today’s Advent task is to attempt crafting a friendship bracelet like this one:

Wikihow makes it look easy: https://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Friendship-Bracelet

It’s inspired by another tiny prophet: Habbakuk. 

Writing (probably) during the Chaldean period when Babylon was at the height of her power, he converses with Jehovah through a series of complaints to which God must respond regarding God’s punishment and providence.

Do you have any complaints that you would like to make against God today? Choose a colour for your bracelet that will reflect your complaints.

Throughout the conversation, Habakkuk wrestles, as many of us do, with the apparent prosperity of the wicked while good and holy people suffer, but holds stubbornly to the ancient stories of God coming forth to deliver his people despite the “evidence” of God’s inactivity.

His faith is based on God’s faithfulness in the past; on the songs and stories of God’s people throughout the ages. From Joshua’s battle with the Amorites when the sun stood still and the moon stopped in the sky until the nation had been avenged (Habakkuk 3:11), to the surging waters of the Red Sea trampling down the Egyptian’s horses and chariots as the Israelites fled captivity (Habakkuk 3:15), Habakkuk has been nursed on the accounts of a God of Action – Mighty to Save – that enable him to wait patiently despite a clear threat to his personal safety and the wellbeing of his nation as a whole.

What are the songs and stories that you hold on to to remind you of God’s faithfulness? Weave a new colour into your bracelet design as a symbol of God’s goodness.

He writes, in conclusion of his conversation with Jehovah, of his conscious decision to trust in the Lord and rejoice in his Saviour despite their current plight:

“Fig trees may no longer bloom,
or vineyards produce grapes;
olive trees may be fruitless,
and harvest time a failure;
sheep pens may be empty,
and cattle stalls vacant—
but I will still celebrate
because the Lord God  saves me”

Habbakuk 3:17-18

Habakkuk sees everywhere “evidence” of God’s inactivity and apparent desertion yet chooses to celebrate, in faith, the God who has shown himself through the ages as mighty to save.

Choose a bold colour for the final strand of your bracelet as a symbol of your choice to celebrate. How might you share this choice in the world today?

Food for the Road 4: A long time to wait

Today, we look at Jesus’s family tree from Matthew 1 against the backdrop of the prophecy in Isaiah 11 regarding the shoot that shall spring from the stump of Jesse. You’re welcome to read through the first half of the first chapter of that Gospel but for those who may be put off by all those names, here’s a handy little lyrical version that I found on youtube:

Isaiah’s hope-filled vision occurs, interestingly, in the context of the growing Assyrian threat, in a time when the legacy of King David is all but lost in spite of God’s promises that his house would endure forever.

In the midst of those first 39 chapters of the book, we hear the voice of first (or proto) Isaiah: a voice full of judgment and warning about the bad things that are about to happen because the people of God have not lived in right relationship with God nor with one another nor with their neighbours.

It’s a countdown to conquest really; but, against all odds, a new shoot will grow from an old stump – the stump of Jesse who was David’s father and David was Israel’s first and greatest King.

And this new King – the Messiah – will receive the fullness of God’s Spirit: wisdom and understanding, counsel and power, knowledge and reverence for God and delight in doing God’s will. Through him, the poor and the needy will find favour and all that are divided will find peace and harmony. There will be no harm, no hurt in his kingdom.

Isn’t that a beautiful image?
A hope to hold on to?

But what do words and pretty promises mean when your home is burning, your child is dying; when you have no freedom; when there is no peace or harmony – only harm and hurt, hurt and harm day after day, month after month, year after year after year?

It was 700 years or so before the promised child was born – so full of Spirit; the Son of God. Born into the midst of Roman occupation and religious exploitation and poverty and need …

… for the more things change, the more they stay the same as we say so casually.

But when we step back a little further and look at Jesus’ family tree, we see, in fact, God’s promise to deliver, to rescue, to save spanning the fourteen generations from Jesus’ birth to the exile in Babylon. And fourteen generations before that between the tile and the reign of King David. And fourteen generations from David all the way back to Abraham, who is known as the father of our faith for God made a promise to him and he left all that he had known to follow God.

Forty-two generations! That’s a long time to wait for a promise; a long time to hold on to a hope when you’re hurting right now.

We will spend a lot of time with the Gospel of Matthew in Year A of the lectionary cycle, and you will see how often he draws attention to things happening in fulfilment of what the prophets said. The author wants us to know – in both head and heart – that God does what God says God will do.

But each person has a part, a place, in fulfilling these promises, including:

  • Tamar, who was nearly burned to death for being pregnant out of wedlock,
  • Ruth, the foreigner,
  • Rahab, the prostitute,
  • Bathsheba, who was so beautiful that King David had her husband killed so he could have her for himself,
  • and Mary, who was pretty much an insignificant little nobody until she was chosen to bear the Christ-child.

Everyone has a place – including those we deem unlikely, insignificant, and unworthy (hence my choice of women from Jesus’ family tree) – in the unfolding promises of God who is active in every generation.

As we hear again in this Advent season that familiar story of the Christ-child born in our midst who will come again one day to establish the perfect peace of his kingdom, once and for all, it would serve us well to wonder – and perhaps to talk about over the table:

  • what does that promise really mean?
  • what might it mean for those who are in the midst of drought, destruction, and despair right now?
  • do we walk with dread each day because of bad things happening?
  • do we set out into the world in anticipation that God will draw near to us?
  • do we offer hope through pretty words or through active participation in what we see God doing to bring comfort and healing and peace in the midst of harmful, hurtful situations?

My prayer as we travel the prophet’s path is that we will enter into each new day as if God is coming – not in 700 years’ time or 7000 – right here and right now, in the words that we speak, and the love that we share, and the space that we make at the table.

Food 4 the Road 3: The Stump of Jesse

For our first Christmas in Australia, I insisted that we find a living tree we loved that would grow, like us and with us, in this new land.

Spruce me up for Christmas.

After several futile trips to garden centres and nurseries, we finally found the perfect little Norway Spruce and planted it in a big red pot and surrounded with poinsettias to mark the season. The tree itself was so small, however, that we had to hang the lights and few ornaments that we had held onto on a metal frame around the fragile branches.

Hmmm … I think the moose are multiplying in the Christmas closet.

This morning, as I braced myself to lug it from its sunny spot by the front door into the lounge, I realised that it is actually as tall as I am – and I’ll probably need a few more muscles to get the job done.

Seeds of hope

The lovely little leaves and acorns that I bought as decorations will probably also just disappear among the branches but they are symbols to me of the living hope that we honour and nurture in the time of Advent.

Yesterday, we read in the words of the prophet Micah, a reference to the Promised One coming to a little and unlikely place. But we also read that this One still to be born will have ancient roots.

Isaiah, too, writes of these old, old origins blending the promise that is to come into a past in which God has always been faithful:

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;
 from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

Isaiah 11:1

This is a great mystery of the Christian faith: that both past and promise inform our present hopes, dreams, and choices in life-givng, creative tension.

I’ll elaborate on that a little more tomorrow, but today I’d simply like to link you to a song by Heather Price entitled “Seed of Hope” which is a prayer for our environment in a time when we celebrate new life and beginnings and also recognise the ongoing hardships of those threatened by drought and bushfire.

Click on 07 Seed of hope on the website: https://heatherprice.com.au/downloads/carols-in-the-sun/

Food for the Road 2: Little and Unlikely

These beautiful advent calendars are two of my favourite Christmas decorations. Aren’t they lovely? Don’t you just want to peek inside at the mysteries they hold; mysteries to be revealed one by one each day in the journey to Bethlehem and the Christ-child in his cradle?

I can tell you right now that if you did slide out one of the drawers to discover what lies within, you would be very, very disappointed.

Each Christmas, with great intentions I declare that this will be the year that I find 24 (times two!) little treasures to point the way to what it most important (which is what good prophets do) and – every year – I simply don’t get around to it because of: lack of time, or lack of money, or a total lack of inspiration!

But, this year, thanks to a small prophet writing about a small place being of great significance to the whole, wide world, I’m inspired to do things differently.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times.”

Micah 5:2

The words of the prophet Micah are spoken to the people of Israel at a similar time to those of the better known prophet Isaiah, and the message itself is quite similar (though very brief in comparison). But Micah writes from a very different context: from a tiny village in the countryside where the life and death of the marginalised and the poor are determined daily by distant and greedy rulers, judges, priests, and even prophets. It is because of them that all will be destroyed, he warns.

Yet God’s future plans will not be ruined by the desolation of God’s people.

One day, the greatest of all kings will be born to a small family in the small town of Bethlehem. God will use the little and unlikely to change the world.

So, today, I labelled my lovely advent calendars: “Little” for the tree (which is very miniature in comparison to the Norwegian fir tree that we’ll decorate this week), and “Unlikely” for the reindeer-moose-thingy because – though undeniably cute – he seems completely inappropriate for our Australian context.

Into “Little” I popped a small scroll of something little that I can do that will make a small difference to another person’s life in some way. The first task was inspired by a very particular person and a very particular need but I’ve generalised the idea: Reach out in a sensitive way to someone who usually keeps others at a distance.

Into “Unlikely” I popped a small scroll containing a big prayer. With today being Cyber Monday, I prayed for the cancellation of debt and a financial breakthrough for individuals and families who are victims of our consumer culture. It seemed like a pretty impossible thing to ask for but … “though you are small ….”

Each day in Advent, I plan to add a scroll to both, detailing a little task that can make a difference in another’s life and a big prayer that seems so unlikely of coming true that we may not think to ask for it. And each day, I plan to offer both.

At the end of the Christmas season, the boxes will be full instead of empty.

So next year when each drawer is opened (whether with my family or my church community), there will be inspiration of simple gifts that we can give one another, and huge hopes to hold onto, and even – I hope – opportunities for thanksgiving and celebration as we discover that God is working in our world in marvellous and unlikely ways.

Note: even if you don’t have fancy advent calendars that you’re trying to put to good use or want to do this in a different season, you could label two jam jars and fill them with colourful post it notes.

Food 4 the Road 1: Prophets

At the start of the Advent season, we light the candle of the Prophets.

Prophets are people who come so close to God, and God comes so close to them, that they know what is most important.

Jerome Berryman, Godly Play

Generally speaking, prophets are not popular people.

It’s understandable really. Either they are throwing out some quite confronting warnings about where particular life choices might lead us (generally ending in despair, destruction, and death), or they’re painting such impossible pictures (like wolves lying down with lambs or an-all-you-can-eat-banquet at no cost or dry bones coming to life again) that you have to question their sanity.

It’s important to note as we celebrate our “prophets of old” in this month that prophets are not just people of the past.

Have you ever met a prophet?
How do you know?
How were they received?
What difference did their words make?

An important task of the Church today is, in fact, to exercise a prophetic voice in the communities and societies and countries in which we gather. In other words, part of our calling as Christians is to offer warning about where particular life choices might lead us and/or to paint seemingly impossible pictures of God’s future for the whole world with great hopefulness and expectation.

These are not to be our own desires or judgments ill-wrapped in “godly language” to suit our own causes or sense of what is good and right but pointing people to the One who promises the renewal and reconciliation of the whole earth.

During Advent, when we are particularly aware of God coming close to us in Christ, we have the opportunity to come so close to God that we know what is most important, that we have something to say in the world that can make a dramatic difference.

How can you come close to God over this special season?

Over the next six days we will enter deeper into the mystery of God-with-us through the prophets, beginning with Micah who sets us firmly on the road to Bethlehem:

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times.”

Micah 5:2

Prayer

God of Promise,
we hear, in Christ, your greeting
to the universe as we enter into this season of mystery:
“Hope to you:
hope for healing,
hope for refreshing,
hope for a world made new!”

We confess, today, how hard it is to pay attention to the signs of your presence with us –
or within those who are radically different from us.

We acknowledge, today, how easy it is to speak criticism
or judgment or bad tidings
above good news and affirmation and promise.

We turn away, today, from the past that holds us captive
in the place of pain and despair,
as we turn in the light of your revelation
and the movement of your Spirit
to your vision for this new day,
for a world made new.

Open our hearts to the words of the prophets – past, present, and future –
as we seek to be signs of Your hope in this season.

In Jesus’ name.
Amen.

A pilgrim people

A reflection on Christian identity after my Uniting Church Studies course….

The Church is a pilgrim people,
always on the way towards a promised goal;
here she does not have a continuing city
but seeks one to come.
One the way
Christ feeds her with Word and Sacraments,
and she has the gift of the Spirit
in order that she may not lose the way.

Uniting Church in Australia, Basis of Union, paragraph 3

As a pilgrim people,
the Church is always on the move
– not in the sense of aimless wandering
or walking just for walking’s sake –
but with deliberate intent,
advancing towards the ever-approaching kingdom
of Christ’s shalom
for all people
and for the whole earth which groans
in distress and in anticipation.

As a pilgrim people,
the Church is aware that we walk
in the footsteps of Him-who-leads-us;
that we must follow in His way
as it leads over mountain tops
and through deep valleys.
Such journeys are never easy
for they require trust and obedience
when the road is steep and challenging
and the end nowhere in sight.

As a pilgrim people,
we take responsibility for
the grandmothers and grandfathers,
the aunts and uncles,
the sisters and brothers,
the children and infants,
the neighbours who walk with us –
carrying those too weak or ill to continue on their own,
matching pace with those a little – or a lot –
slower than ourselves;
even stopping with strangers in the hope
of being of help
and of them continuing with us on our journey home.

As a pilgrim people,
we have songs to sing,
and stories to share
of God’s power and provision –
every step of the way.
These songs,
these stories,
are at the heart of the hope that keeps us moving
though resources may seem scarce
or our strength inadequate,
for they remind us of where we’ve come from
and inspire us
with what God is guiding us towards.

God’s people have always been a pilgrim people;
not fully settled in this place and time
but always watching
and waiting
and walking
towards a new heaven
and a new earth:
towards the day
when we will finally be welcomed home by name.

Lenten letters

To my fellow pilgrims in this season of Lent

I love this time of year!
Palms. Passion. Pentecost.
The autumning of the earth as the temperature cools. 
Leaves donning their gold and orange colours.
Kevin baking his famous chocolate pudding for dessert.
Darkness deepening, lengthening,
inviting us to slow down and rest. 

It is, for many, a time of anticipation – an all-around-us reminder of the turning and re-turning rhythms written into our world by our Creator. Tess Ward, in her prayer book The Celtic Wheel of the Year, offers this profound praise to be offered on rising and resting in these autumn days:

Blessed be you Balance-Holder,
unafraid of the dark from which all newness must begin,
giver of light that draws us on and out into fullness.

(On rising)Help me to balance my need for outgoing
and restoring this day.

(Before resting)With thankfulness for my going out,
restore to me my rest this night.

The story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32) is the focus of our worship in this fourth week of Lent. It is a story of turning and re-turning; of a young man cutting ties with his family to seek adventure and pleasure and independence but finding himself full of loneliness and longing for that same family when times are hard and work is undignified and unrewarding and friends are fickle. Finally, when he is able to overcome his pride, his feet follow his heart which has turned towards the warm memories of home. He returns to his father’s embrace – and his older brother’s angry face. 

“It’s not fair!” is the anguished cry of the good and faithful son who had stayed behind to work the land with his father and restore their fortunes for little recognition or reward. And there he stands – outside his home, arms crossed in wounded indignation, denying himself the opportunity to share in the joyous feasting that is taking place just a few feet away. The son who had gone out is now restored. But what about the son who had stayed? 

Palms. Passion. Pentecost. Autumn. Turning and re-turning. Dark and Light. Going out and restoring. These are the rhythms written into our world, our life, our church by our Creator, or – as Tess Ward names God in her prayer, Balance-Holder.

I wonder how often we miss out on real joy
~ because we refuse to move and sway to these divine rhythms,
~ because going out seems risky and uncomfortable,
~ because we’re fiercely protecting what is ours,
~ because we want things to stay exactly the same.

May this week bring you opportunities to perceive God in motion and the courage to come to life in big and small ways as the Balance-Holder draws us on and out into the fullness of life together. 

Yours, in Christ,
Yvonne 

Into the deep

Peter’s story – Luke 5:1-11

They say that the definition of insanity is doing exactly the same thing in the same way and expecting a different result. But what was I to do? When the stranger stepped into my boat and demanded that I push off from the shore I thought that at least I could make a little coin after a long night of catching nothing.

You see I’m a fisherman by trade. As is my father. As was his father before him. I come from a long line of fishermen who have lived by the tides and, sometimes, died through the fickleness of the sky and stormy sea. 

Over the years our business has grown. Each night, my brother Andrew and I take out our boat with some hired men to fish for tilapia and carp and sardines which we dry for sale or export as fish sauce through the Mediterranean. The Romans just can’t get enough of it! Which is about the only upside to their occupation of this holy land, I think. 

Often, the sons of Zebedee – James and John – accompany us. We like to think there’s safety in numbers but out on the sea when a squall suddenly blows in, no one is safe really. That’s why, each evening, before we head out some of the help cooks a light supper over a fire on the shore while we carefully check; first, the nets so that nothing will escape them through some small hole; then the boats so that no lives will be lost through some small carelessness. 

We take our time. The boats are 8 metres long and 2.5 metres wide and we run our hands over every inch of oak and cedar that stands between us and the deep deep sea.

This night was no different. We chatted as we worked getting hundreds of feet of netting stowed away tightly, wondering how much we would catch, wagering which boat would net the biggest haul, bickering cheerfully over which direction to head out in as the sun began to set.

But the laughter faltered as the hours passed and, time and time again, we muscled the long nets into and out of the water. Time and time again, we pulled them in empty, rowed a way aways, and tried again. 

The silence deepened with the darkness until I wondered how long a night could last. How many times could I move and sweat and hope and guess in the vast emptiness? 

The sun’s first light was not a blessing but signalled, at least, an end. Yet the faces around me were grim with the knowledge that there was nothing to take back home for breakfast, not this day – and maybe not tomorrow nor the day after that. Because business can’t be good when you have nothing to offer.

James and John reached home first. They were already rinsing their nets when we pulled up beside them. I thought to myself, “They look so worn out; so weary.” 

That’s when I noticed them – a large crowd, loud and lively. Their energy and joy rubbed salt into the wound of our emptiness and despair. And that’s when the stranger stepped in. Uninvited. “Someone famous?” I wondered, as he spoke to me about using my boat for a bit to teach from.

As he spoke to my friends and neighbours – for I knew many of the faces transfixed by his words – I felt some of my tiredness ease, some of my anxiety settle. He spoke of a kingdom not like any kingdom I had ever heard of, or dreamed of, where sorrow and suffering was replaced by God’s shalom shining upon everyone. 

And I started to think “It’s really quite nice being out here with him – on the water under open sky and the warmth of the sun for a change, instead of in the dark working and waiting and hoping and praying for a good catch and a safe return and a fair price at the market.”

But just as I start getting comfortable, he turns to me and orders “Launch out into the deep.”

The men grumble. They remember that they’re tired. They just want to go home and get some sleep. So do I, really, but he promises a great catch and I want to see if he’s for real. So I agree. 

We row, we cast, we pull. But the nets don’t move. Backs strain; a few curses fly. I wonder if they’ve gotten caught on something – here in the deep and unfamiliar waters to which he guided us.

And then, a gleam of silver; no! a silver stream – never-ending – shining in the sunlight. We pull and we pull but the nets are so heavy we can’t get them in ourselves.

“John!” I shout. “Over here James!” Andrew exclaims – and our partners rush to join us. Soon our boat is full of fish. And so is theirs! There’s no room to work, to sit, to put the nets without us sinking. 

That’s two tonnes of fish! A month’s wage!! Never had we caught so much … never all at once. It’s impossible. A miracle. A promise fulfilled just as this man Jesus had said. 

I can’t help it. I fall to my knees with astonishment. Who is he that speaks with such authority of what will be? And why would he choose to get into my boat, into my life; to lead me into the deep, to this place of unimaginable blessing? I am full of wonder and shame and the awkward realisation that I am just a sinner unworthy to enter his kingdom, a fisherman unfit to be in the presence of such greatness.

Yet that is all he asks me to be: a fisher of men. 

“Come follow me,” he invites us. “Just as you are. And I will make you into so much more than you have imagined. If you have courage to launch out into the deep, to leave behind you the ordinary and the everyday of what you have known, to do the same thing in a different way, you will find a purpose and a power to your life that you thought impossible.”

And so Jesus comes into our lives today.

While we are doing the routine work of cooking or cleaning or tidying up, he comes.
While we’re earning our living, he comes.
While the very life we seek is slipping through our fingers, he comes.
When we’ve tried our best and have nothing to show for it, he comes.
When we’re tired and frustrated and ready to give up, he comes.
When the night seems long and the day doesn’t bring relief, he comes.

And every time, he comes, he calls with the invitation:
“Thrust out into the deep.”

Sometimes, we resent him for it feels less like a request, and more like an order. Sometimes, we’re slow to respond because we just want to rest for a while. Sometimes, we doubt that he has the power to keep his promises. Sometimes, we don’t even hear him because we’re too caught up in the push and the press and the noise of the crowd. Sometimes, we’re afraid to leave behind what we know, what we’ve accomplished, what we’re comfortable with. Sometimes, we stubbornly demanded that we be blessed before we bless another.

But each day, light dawns. 
And Christ shows up on the shore.
And he knows where we’ve come from 
and he meets us where we’re at
and he climbs into the midst of our circumstances
and he points to the deep unknown
where the miracle waits
and the growth
and the promise
and the glorious liberty that awaits each child of God 

who chooses not to be
desk bound,
root bound,
earth bound,
bound by sin,
bound by shame,
bound by fear.

Into the deep …
a deeper awareness of the world,
of our neighbour,
of the stranger struggling through life’s storm …
of who God is – to us, to them – 
of who and where and how God calls us to be …

Into the deep …a deeper experience of God’s kingdom coming closer,
of mystery and possibility,
of freedom and grace, 
of the transformation that takes place – not through planning or dreaming or willpower – but through the Spirit of God with and within us.  

Into the deep …
will you follow?

Between water and fire

I have shared before how, at the age of 14, a word of prophecy was spoken over my life which left me a little skeptical, and a lot afraid:

But now, this is what the Lord says – he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:

‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

Isaiah 43:1-2 (NIV)

Today, as I was reflecting on the foundation of my faith story as part of a six-week in-life retreat, I had an epiphany: that it has often been in the most difficult moments of my journey (the desolation) that I have grown the most in faith and humility and obedience.

The image above came into my mind of how God has held me through it all; for there have been fires and floods aplenty.

So … for those who – like the Wise Men that we remember today – are setting out on an adventure, answering God’s call, or just taking life’s journey step by small step with little or no certainty of how they are going to get through today, let alone tomorrow, a promise and a prayer:

God of Israel, God of Jacob,
God who creates, who names,
who forms, and transforms,
let me live this day in the space between
the blazing fire of Pentecost
and the cool waters of baptism.

When life’s flames threaten to burn,
and the floods to sweep me way,
keep me from fear –
for I live here:
safe in your hand.

Hold me in this place –
despite the discomfort:
here where the fire tests and purifies and refines me
but can do no harm;
here where the waters wash me clean and smooth out my rough edges
so that I rise reborn but never undone.

And may I live through all –
the light and the dark,
the joy and the sorrow,
the searching and the knowing,
the wrestling and the growing –
to proclaim Your faithfulness
to all generations,
Great God who never lets me go.