I direct the reader again to the Christian Peacemaker website (www.cpt.org) and i give a huge shout of praise to God for the remarkable recovery yesterday of the remaining 3 CPT members who had been kidnapped with Tom Fox. Yesterday when i heard the little blurb on the 4:00 WFMT news break, i just about actually shouted right here at my desk. I wanted to get up and, as my sister would say, do a "happy dance". i was even more gratified to hear that they had been recovered by military forces without a violent confrontation with the kidnappers. they are healthy and will be reunited with family and friends.
Thank you Jesus.
btw- for those of you wondering, i did just today post the previous entry that is dated March 13. When i logged on today to "update" i realized that i had NOT published that post- i intended to, and was under the impression that i had, so i'm not sure why i didn't. i decided to leave it with the original date since it was actually time-sensitive in its content.
Friday, March 24
Monday, March 13
What would Jesus Do?
Yes, that phrase is incredibly overused, and as a result, conveys little impact.
Yet that is the phrase that comes to mind when I think of the Christian Peacekeeping Teams.
Growing up Mennonite, the word "peace" is one that I heard extensively. It was only after going to college that I began to get even an inkling of how my understanding of this word was unique. Like sandpaper rubbing on exposed skin, my deeply held concept of "peace" continues to be abraded by the ideas of the world in which I live. This is a topic that divides with less-than-peaceful results, and this division is especially evident within the Christian community. I have even, at times, avoided discussing the topic of peace, and therefore war, with my Christian friends.
But this weekend, the secular news included information on the death of Tom Fox, one of the 4 Christian Peacekeeping Team members that have been held hostage in Iraq. And because of the discovery of his tortured corpse, the philosophy behind CPT is getting just a sliver of media coverage. Tom's deeply-rooted beliefs are coming to light, and people are being presented with an alternative to jihad.
I would like to write further on this subject, but do not have time right now. Perhaps I shall work on something for future posting. I would however, like to point the reader to http://www.cpt.org/ for information (including Tom's own writing) about this remarkable organization. Notice the question posed in the website's banner.
The phrase whispers through my thoughts in quiet remonstrance: what would Jesus do, emily? and what are you doing?
Am I just believing my faith, or am I actually living it?
Thursday, March 9
Look, mom, it followed me home!
Have you ever spent long moments along the banks of a river or stream lined with big old trees?
There is something strangely hypnotic and calming about the way the water swirls around, over, through the exposed roots. Especially the roots of deciduous trees: convoluted tangles snaking over and around each other.
Or, ever had the opportunity to feel the trunk of a long-dead tree for years exposed to the abrasive, smoothing effects of wind-whipped sand and rushing water? All silvery, soft almost like a fabric, but still hard, solid, wood- a happy recliner for a young girl looking for a place to read a book on the shores of Chatfield Resevoir. When we moved from Colorado to Indiana, some of my favorite trees were low, horizontal trunks that offered free bench seating over the river for dangling my feet in the water on hot sticky days.
Then there's the tree in Oxbow Park that i call "Le Roi Argent", The Silver King. A massive, towering sycamore tree, easily the biggest in the park, with bark peeling to reveal silvery white arms reaching into the blue skies. The King has a trunk with girth so great, even 2 adults cannot reach all the way around to touch each other's hands... Rare was the time when i would visit Oxbow without making the walk to pay homage to Le Roi du Foret. (yes, i know my French isn't very good anymore...)
So, yes, to this day i talk to trees. they make great conversation companions, and are really very helpful when one is facing a decision, or is upset, or muddling something out. i can't begin to count the number of times i have stopped and asked one of those stolid sentinels, "what stories could you tell?" My mind has wandered through history imagining the varied lives the great, old m/patriachs have lived- with their feet anchoring them in the soil and their branches reaching up toward the face of God.
Oh, for even one of them to have given a reply to my question. Roots and branches and leaves infused with the power of animation, thought, and speech.
My mom read Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit to me and my sister when we were quite young. i don't really remember not knowing the stories. Both of those authors really convey a sense of the entire world around you being alive and vibrant- a gift to our senses. And both were just a bit fanciful, in a fantasy way. And Tolkien must have appreciated trees as much as i, for he created trees that do exactly as i long for them to do.
"Look mom! The Ent followed me home! Can i keep it? "
There is something strangely hypnotic and calming about the way the water swirls around, over, through the exposed roots. Especially the roots of deciduous trees: convoluted tangles snaking over and around each other.
Or, ever had the opportunity to feel the trunk of a long-dead tree for years exposed to the abrasive, smoothing effects of wind-whipped sand and rushing water? All silvery, soft almost like a fabric, but still hard, solid, wood- a happy recliner for a young girl looking for a place to read a book on the shores of Chatfield Resevoir. When we moved from Colorado to Indiana, some of my favorite trees were low, horizontal trunks that offered free bench seating over the river for dangling my feet in the water on hot sticky days.
Then there's the tree in Oxbow Park that i call "Le Roi Argent", The Silver King. A massive, towering sycamore tree, easily the biggest in the park, with bark peeling to reveal silvery white arms reaching into the blue skies. The King has a trunk with girth so great, even 2 adults cannot reach all the way around to touch each other's hands... Rare was the time when i would visit Oxbow without making the walk to pay homage to Le Roi du Foret. (yes, i know my French isn't very good anymore...)
So, yes, to this day i talk to trees. they make great conversation companions, and are really very helpful when one is facing a decision, or is upset, or muddling something out. i can't begin to count the number of times i have stopped and asked one of those stolid sentinels, "what stories could you tell?" My mind has wandered through history imagining the varied lives the great, old m/patriachs have lived- with their feet anchoring them in the soil and their branches reaching up toward the face of God.
Oh, for even one of them to have given a reply to my question. Roots and branches and leaves infused with the power of animation, thought, and speech.
My mom read Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit to me and my sister when we were quite young. i don't really remember not knowing the stories. Both of those authors really convey a sense of the entire world around you being alive and vibrant- a gift to our senses. And both were just a bit fanciful, in a fantasy way. And Tolkien must have appreciated trees as much as i, for he created trees that do exactly as i long for them to do.
"Look mom! The Ent followed me home! Can i keep it? "
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