Showing posts with label God. Show all posts

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Mathematical Musings

In the midst of exams here, sorry for my lack of posting! I've only got one to go -- math -- and I'm writing it Monday morning. I should be practicing my probability, which is a bit rusty still, but my brain is such a muddle of fractions and decimals and equations that I honestly don't know how I can possibly keep studying. It really does seem that the more I study, the less I understand.

I'm not overly worried about doing poorly on the exam -- I've calculated that, even if I get a low mark on it, I can still retain a 90-average because of other work that I've done in the course. My concern isn't that I'll bring down my mark; it's that I'll let my teacher down. Just a few days ago, he told me that he was really pleased with how I was doing in the course and asked if he could use one of my projects to show as an example to future classes.

This was a very pleasant surprise, considering how much I've hated math all my life. Oh, I know that most everyone "hates" math -- but I'm sure that few people have ever cried every day for a whole year before math class, as I did in fourth grade (we were learning long division -- now, I have a scientific calculator for that chore!). Math has always scared the wits out of me, and, even though I've always managed to scrape by with A's in the subject, I never really understood it or felt confident in it. It's only in my final year of high school that I've managed to find an aspect of math which I enjoy. I never expected to like math -- much less be good at it -- so this has served as a nice lesson in doing hard things for me.

The problem is, I still feel like my good grades aren't really representative of what I know. In many of the units, I only got high marks because tests were easy and I happened to memorize the right notes; not so much because I understood what I was learning.

And now I'm feeling the pressure. My teacher, who thinks I'm great at math, expects me to get an equally great mark on the exam, and I just don't think I'll be able to manage it. I've memorized all the formulas and practiced all the questions, but get stuck as soon as I encounter a new question, and only manage to understand it after I check the Answer Key. Plus, my brain's really, really about to melt.

So I'm really going to let down my teacher on the exam -- and I hate that feeling! We've all seen singers release not-so-great albums, athletes do sub-par on the Olympics, writers publish disappointing sequels -- I hate to think that I'm going to make someone feel that way with my own work. I really don't like letting people down; whether I'm blogging, Flickr'ing, or working on schoolwork, I'm always worried about how my work will measure up to all that I've done in the past. In fact, that's why I quit writing for several years after sixth grade -- I wrote a few good (for my age) stories that won me an award, and I stopped experimenting, afraid that I would fail to produce something equally good.

This fear of pressure is also why I stopped blogging three times (on other blogs, not this one) and quit art in middle school. It's ruled a lot of my life. I've learned, in time, to overcome it, but it's getting the better of me tonight. And it's making me wonder.

Why do I care so much about what my teacher will think of me if I fail, and so little about what God thinks when I disappoint him? God has seen me as a devoted, trusting, and on-fire disciple, and now he sees me slipping away, running after the transient, emphemeral charms and deceptions of this earth instead of stepping closer to him. He sees me trip over the world's worthless lies, and fall so, so far below what he wants and expects me to be.

Why do I care so little?

Granted, there's no pressure. In God, I am free from pressure, competition, deadline, and stress. He wants me to work, rest, and commune with him out of my own will, not as a response to prodding or force. It's my choice to serve God, and it's my choice to care.

Tonight, I feel at peace. Whether I do poorly on tomorrow's exam, or whether I hear another "Good job, Oksana," I know that only one thing matters: it's whether or not I will hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Only one thing matters.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Pattern

i've talked of heaven's gates in terms

of geometric patterns --

the golden bars, pearl-laden and parallel --

repeating, repeating, repeating

infinitely...

their endless panoramas raced through my mind while i sat

mastering the equation

and missing the entrance.

but you

you haven't learned arithmetic yet

and your faith makes me restless.

i believe

when i see your fingers reach for mine

the lines in the palms of your hands,

which you clutched so tightly

in the womb --

these

are your patterns.

lift them, child,

leave your imprints in the air;

our unseen fingerprints are

His to breathe in

His to remember...

and He will collect your patterns,

guard them tightly between the pages of His book

save the songs you spun in worship

eternally

forever and ever and ever and ever

and always.

it is a pattern, child

and it's dancing.

Inspired by Brooke Fraser's song "Seeds." Read its lyrics -- they're amazing.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Stable

"There was no place for them at the inn." -Lk. 2:7

I used to be an inkeeper. My life was so filled with the temporary guests and transient visitors of this world that I had no space for Jesus. It wasn't that I cared about the people and things upon which I lavished so much time and care; it was simply that I could not afford to let them go. What a cost to my reputation it would be if I stopped swearing, stopped laughing at crude jokes, stopped dressing in the latest, revealing styles! Who would stop by my inn if I made room for Christ? No, I had an image to uphold: I was the keeper of an inn that invited all the latest trends, all the coolest people, all the riches of the world. A young wife gasping in labor and about to give birth to a child? A baby, still in the womb, lauded as the perfect Son of God?

Sorry, no space here.

"When Herod the king heard [the wise mens' news], he was troubled ... he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem." -Mt. 2:3, 16

I used to be a ruler. Herod was my name, and, although I didn't personally know this Jesus, I had heard enough about him to decide that he was my ultimate enemy. A King who would grow to be greater than me? Could anyone dare to even think of pushing me off my throne? No, I was the center of the universe. My needs came first, my glory was sought before anyone else's. Could a carpenter's son tell me otherwise? I would not stand for anyone trying to rule over me. To be my guide? To make me conform to a standard other than my own? The thought disgusted me, and I set out to destroy anything that even mildly smacked of this Son of God. Prayers and hymns were put out of my mind. The name of God I dragged through the dust, trying to empty it of its glory. I was certain that the Messiah had to exist somewhere -- in organized religion, maybe, or in stained-glass windows, in nativity sets, or perhaps in the syllables "Jee-zus." So I slayed those things, taking care that not even a fragment of them should remain near me.

I was an innkeeper and I was a ruler. I rejected my savior and persecuted my God. Salvation was for the weak; I sure didn't need it. I had all I wanted: I was rich, and powerful, and important.

Or, at least, I thought I was. But, in reality, I was a sad, sorry sight. A dirty stable, cold and worn to bits, with loose boards and a caving roof. I was smelly and full of waste. My walls were stained and my floor was a sea of wet, sticky mud. I was a foul, disorganized, broken mess.

And God chose to lay the Savior in me.

In my empty manger, God placed the Bread of Life. On my dark, shivering floor, God placed his warmth and light. Into my dirt, God placed the world's purest soul. And into my lonely silence, God placed the sacred cries of a child who would become my King.

It's then I realised that my famous inn and my great kingdom were but illusions. Suddenly, my riches seemed like dust in my hands, and I saw that all my past glory was nothing but a foolish mirage. That knowledge broke me; it hurt to feel my poverty and see my ugliness. But that night, as the star shone over me and as angels sang above my roof, I felt myself starting to become rich in a whole new way. I, the run-down stable, had become a dwelling place of God. My worthlessness was being transformed into purpose, and my affliction into peace.

The innkeeper in me vacated his rooms and the Herod I'd been stepped off of the throne, because now, the King of the galaxies was alive in me.

And, even if I'd had the whole universe laid out before me for the taking, I couldn't have asked for a better gift than that.

Merry Christmas.

Photo from JupiterImages. Verses from ESV.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Seventeen

Note: The date above isn't my actual birthday; I'm not allowed to give the real date online (parents; privacy reasons), but it did happen recently! :)

I turned 17 today.

Before I go deeper into that, let me backtrack for a moment. There's something I need to say about my "sweet 16": honestly, I'm not very proud of it. Somewhere (maybe even on this blog; I can't remember), I called it "a season of realization of my fallenness." I did a lot of things that I was, and am still, ashamed of; and in many ways the year was more a "shrinking" for me than a time of growth.

So it isn't without a little trepidation that I face a new year of life: the year when, God-willing, I will graduate high school, move to a new city, and begin university. I have many regrets about my past: I feel as if I've wasted far more of my life than I should have (and, if you look at my hours and hours of internet surfing, you'll agree) while failing to learn the lessons that are supposed to lead me into adulthood. My "spiritual maturity" level is still set somewhere between the pacifiers and the first steps, when I should be running marathons (1 Cor. 9:24). All my life, I've been rejecting opportunities, shirking responsibilities, and neglecting Jesus, and there's been a nagging hopelessness in me that this year will probably be the same.

However, just a few days before my birthday, God gave me a revelation that has been encouraging me as I enter my 17th year. It's a very simple statement, yet eternally comforting: God doesn't define me by my past.

This truth hit me while I was reading Numbers. What amazed me most about chapter 20 was the fact that God didn't care about Moses' and Aaron's track-record of faith when telling them they would not see the promised land because of their new faithlessness. Who they were at present was more important to him than who they had been in the past.

The incident brought to mind an exchange between Jesus and Peter in the New Testament: Matthew 16, to be exact. The fact that he had just named Peter the Rock of the Church and the keeper of heaven's key didn't stop Jesus from rebuking him as an instrument of satan several minutes later. Jesus was concerned with who Peter was now, not five minutes ago. In the New and Old Testaments alike, the present meant more to God than the past -- the long-lived faith of Moses, Aaron, and Peter lost importance in the face of the present.

I stopped to think about that. Even if I had been an amazing Christian last year, all my past faith and piety would not remove my responsibility for the now. The Bible shows that a faithful past can teach you lessons and equip you with Godly skills, but it cannot do the work that you must do today. It can be a well of encouragement and beautiful memories, but not an excuse to slack off ("I read my Bible every day last year; will I really lose out if I miss a day?").

But what what about a faithless past like mine? The Bible shows us that side of the picture as well -- a notorious theif hangs crucified beside a King, recieving a new life with his last breath. A persecutor escapes a lifelong hunger for the blood of saints, and his murderous hands become palms of apostolic healing. A prostitute faces judgement, wincing at wounds of her past, and is welcomed into God's family. Certainly, God can make good use of broken yesterdays.

Our pasts -- with all their shame and all their glory -- are in God's hands; to us, he gives a daily gift called the present, and that is what we must focus on. "Today," he tells us. "Today ... do not harden your hearts." So, even though my life so far has been less-than-satisfactory, God isn't going to let it haunt me. He has put away my past, and yearns for me today.

Today.

Today I turn. Seventeen, but not only that.

I turn to Him.

Love, Oksy

Picture from Jupiter Images.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Gary

In my 3-and-a-quarter years of high school, I don't think I ever saw him talk to anyone.

I had him in a couple of my classes. Every day, without fail (excluding test days), he spent the entire period with his head laid down on the table. Sleeping. Or so it seemed -- I mean, it's not like anyone ever bothered to check. He wasn't on my mind a lot -- or ever. I only thought about him when a teacher would ask off-hand in the middle of a lesson, Is that Gary sleeping again? Had he been oblivious to the giggles and the laughter as jokes about him cracked over his head? I knew that he wasn't because, sometimes, he'd lift his head and look up long enough to show that he was not asleep. Yet that didn't stop me from laughing along.

When he looked at you, his eyes would flinch nervously -- or defiantly -- from yours. His expression was fierce. And utterly silent.

I never thought about him. No one ever did. Until Thursday, that is.

On Thursday, Gary brought a home-made bomb to school.

The police were called in. His locker raided, his belongings confiscated, his school records stamped with "Expelled."

It's probably the last I'll ever see of him.

However, it certainly hasn't been the last I've thought of him. My first thought, right when I heard the news, was probably the same one that's running through your mind right now: My gosh -- that could have killed someone! Was he crazy?! How could he?

My second thought was: Well, what did you expect?

The bomb he brought was no joke: no little sparkler or mini-firework. The bomb could have left people blind, disfigured, or worse. But what did I expect? The guy who was, to us, nothing more than some wierd kid who always slept and never talked -- did I expect him to see us as anything more than a homogenous group of jeering, uncaring teenagers? Could I really expect someone upon whom we had never bestowed any value to see our value? We had no regard for his life -- why were we so surprised to find that he had no regard for ours?

In no way am I condoning what he did, or planned to do. I'm merely saying that we'd been doing the same to him for many years, minus the explosives. And I did nothing to set myself apart and show him the love that God has for him.

Thursday evening, I put these thoughts aside for a while to surf some blogs. On one of them, Casting Crowns' "If We Are The Body" came on in the flash music player. I sang along, swaying my head and lifting my eyes at all the appropriate moments.

To God, that must have been one of the most ironic moments of history.

"But if we are the Body

Why aren't His arms reaching?

Why aren't His hands healing?

Why aren't His words teaching?

And if we are the Body

Why aren't His feet going?

Why is His love not showing them there is a way?

There is a way..."

In my 3-and-a-quarter years of high school, I don't think I ever saw him talk to anyone. Certainly not to myself.

Or maybe, I was the one. Who never stopped to speak. Never stopped to listen.

Name of student changed to protect his identity. Photo from JupiterImages.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Wherever Arms are Raised, a Battle is Raging

Moses lifting his hands on the hilltop. There's something about that scene that gets me every time. I can see it right now, even as I type -- the powerful, electrifying strength with which he raised his arms for the first time over the raging battle scene -- the pain that gripped them as they grew unrelentingly heavy and fell to his sides -- the weight of his body slumping down upon the rock -- the weak, numb arms falling into the hands of Aaron and Hur -- the gleaming arrows whipping through the blazing atmosphere -- the victory proclaimed by sunset.

It's so awe-inspiring: that the stuttering, awkward man was chosen to stumble down from the montain of billowing smoke and proclaim the law of God before his people. That the same old man -- overcome by weakness, desperately yoking his tired arms about the shoulders of his descendants -- led his nation to victory. That the man who cried, "Send someone else!" out of the depths of his fears and insecurities would be told, "I send you."

I stand in wonder of the God who pours his strength into our weakness; who does not despise our messy, blundering offerings; whose makes victorious those who have no strength to hold up their own hands.

I see glimmerings of Moses everywhere: in the young man lifting his arms during worship, overcome with waves of doubt and condemnation; in the young woman raising her hands in prayer, crying as she looks back on the life that's brought her to her knees; in the mother raising her newborn above her head and feeling a piercing pain as she remembers the father he will never meet.

Wherever arms are raised, a battle is raging.

Arms raised, falling, crumbling collapsing, descending, embracing, supporting, rising, linked, outstretched, interwoven, unrestrained...

Wherever the day is dying, hope is fading, and sunlight is languishing, the God of light waits to lavish victory upon his people.

I think of Jesus. His arms straining, his body heaving, his weight pulling his hands above his head; his head falling. As the sun began slipping silently towards the horizon, the world saw two arms raised in helpless defeat.

But they weren't. They had been raised in petition, stretched out in forgiveness, lifted with reckless abandon in passionate worship.

And now, supported on either side by two dark, gleaming nails, they were raised in victory.

The battle was won.

Images not mine; copyright goes to their respective owners.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Live and Let Live

I saw that video a while ago, and was really moved by it. I watched it again, and again, and again, and soon enough, the bigger picture began to unfold. Why is it that we so often avoid things because of our limitations, incompetence, or inabilities? Why, when there are so many other people who can be our support and help us do the things that we alone cannot? Is it just because we want to steal the show? To be the only spotlit, center-of-attention performer -- or else not perform at all?

Seeing this video makes me wonder how much could we do if we could only let others be for us the things that we are not... and do for them what they cannot do. It seems as if we live our lives fruitlessly trying to perform an arabesque without a leg to lift, while our healthy arms dangle uselessly. We try to choose what we want to do, when God has already chosen other roles for us -- roles that might not be as glamorous or fun as those of others, but roles that are perfectly allotted by God to make the Christian body into one complete, unified being.

I mentioned a while ago about the hard (for me) decision to become a writer. I had been jumping from one thing to the next -- trying to teach myself piano, trying to master wheel pottery, trying to learn to sing, trying to learn Italian on my own -- and ended up leaving my gift for writing stagnant and under-nourished. I was like a gardener who planted a hundred different seeds, and spent so much time jumping around from one to the next that none of them ended up growing.

I'm all for trying new things, but there's a difference between a focused, concentrated effort on several key projects, and spreading yourself too thin. I think that, if -- figuratively speaking -- God gave me a "hand" so that I could be a hand to those who have no hand, I should focus on using that hand instead of bemoaning the foot that I don't have... there are others who "be" that foot for me. That's how we are made: there are no trials that have no way out, no deficiencies that cannot be filled in by others.

One of the central characterstics of a servant is to do your part to the best of your ability, and let others do their part. I mean, Jesus, who has absolutely no incompetencies, imperfections, or inabilities, still allows and encourages us to be his hands and feet. It's not that he needs us to do these things for him -- it's that he entrusts us to do his work here on earth. He lets us do it so that we can grow.

I guess we sometimes misinterpret messages such as "expand your horizons," or "do hard things," and turn them into instruments of selfishness. It becomes a race for quantity, not quality. You learn to sing, though you nave neither talent, nor desire, nor passion for it -- you just want to put your hundredth accomplishment on the list of "Things I Can Do." Your lackluster efforts are copied by other people who are looking for easy ways expand their lists. The standards of quality in the music world begin to fall. People who are passionate, anointed musicians get discouraged by the low standards invading the industry, and either fall to meet those standards, or choose a different path.

And all this time, your God-given talent for drawing is left neglected and forgotten by you.

Wouldn't it have been better for everyone if you'd fulfilled your role and let others fulfill theirs? You see, that's what Jesus does -- he lets us do his work so that we can grow from it. Sometimes, you've just got to give up the microphone to the people who were meant to sing -- who will actually grow by singing.

The young woman in the video didn't try to perform lifts using her one arm -- she let the man do that, and he ended up strengthening his arms. Likewise, he didn't try to do jumps and footwork that required two legs -- he left that job to the young lady's strong legs. Together, they reinforced their strengths and filled in each other's weaknesses.

And it was beautiful.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Life is But a Dream

I had a dream today. In it, I was working on a painting for a school project, and somebody I am very close with came up to me and tried to help me. She was more of a hindrance than a help, though, and -- long story short -- she ended up mixing the entire contents of two bottles of paint together so that I no longer had the most important colour I needed to finish the painting with. I lost it. "Get away from me!" I yelled.

Then I woke up. Gee, I thought, that was nothing to get angry over. It was just a dream.

That's the point, God gently told me.

If this had been real life, I can bet you this whole blog that I would have probably reacted in a very similar way. But 'real life' -- this life -- is but a dream compared to all of eternity. Do I really want to look back someday and think, what a thing to get upset about. What a superficial, fleeting, transient matter to get caught up in. How quickly it passed -- how unnecessary was my anger!

Yes God.

That's the point.

Love, Oksana

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Me from my

I've been studying Psalm 34 lately; going through it line-by-line to really savour the meaning of each word. As I was reading, several verses reallys truck me, and have been tumbling about in my head ever since like stones when they are being polished into gems. By now, a clear-enough message has emerged from the rough, but I'm still struggling to find just the words to explain what I mean. I'll try to do my best...

Here are three verses from Psalm 34, each following a distinct pattern:

4: "I sought the Lord and ... he delivered me from all my fears."
5: "The Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles."
19: Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the LORD delivers him out of them all."

I've generally been in the habit of asking God to take my fears, afflictions, and troubles, from me. This Psalm opened my eyes to the fact that, if I want God to change something in my life, I'm the one who has to be moved. You see, God does not deliver your problems from you, he delivers you from your problems, by taking you to higher ground. If you want deliverance, you can't just open one small part of your life to God: you have to let him change everything that has been affected by your sin, and that means he's going to lift you out of your comfortable world and into a place where none of your past can enter.

To illustrate this better, take a moment to imagine a beautiful, comfortable, luxurious room. It's a room that's practically perfect in every way, except for one little thing. A skunk has decided to make one of its corners his residence.

You're left with two choices. The first is: take the skunk out of the room. Which -- as you'll know if you've ever had the good fortune of coming near a skunk -- certainly won't make the room smell any nicer! The second choice is to relocate yourself and move to a place where the skunk can't follow. You've not only left the source of the problem, but you're also leaving everything that has been affected by it, as well as sparing yourself any future trouble.

In a spiritual sense, it's the same thing. If you want to be delivered from a sin, you have to realize that your whole life, not just part of it, has been affected. Which means that you can expect a huge upheaval in everything that has been comfortable and familiar to you. God isn't going to weed out the sin and leave you in the same place as you were before, he's going to pluck you out of that situation completely and draw you to a place that may be completely different from anything you've ever known. A place that is closer to him. A place where not a single scrap of your past can survive.

This speaks to me right now, since I've had several problems with my approach to Multi Media Ministry, my e-zine: I feel I'm not glorifying Jesus through it as I should. And I spend so much time making lists of things I need to change and pointing out specific errors and whatnot, when God just wants me to leave behind all of my comfortable, familiar, preconcieved ideas about what this ministry should be, and let him take it to a place that I can't quite comprehend, control, or imagine yet. It's not the problems that need to be removed from my e-zine, it's that the e-zine needs to be moved closer to God.

The only thing I can do is let go.

Love, Oksana

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Lesson Learned.

As I was walking into my apartment building the other day, I saw a frail, elderly man walking up to the elevator. I noticed that he had deep blue eyes; they stood out against his pale skin and fine silvery hair, but they seemed a little unfocused -- uncertain. He clutched a newspaper with his plaid sleeves.

In our building, we have one big elevator on the left, and a small one on the right. Between them is the call button. The man entered the lobby from the left, passing the large elevator, and pressed the button. He didn't turn to watch the elevator he had walked by, as if he only expected the other one to open. Instead, he turned his head towards the large panoramic window by the door, and commented, "It sure is windy out there." Behind him, I saw the large elevator open with a "ding!" and, after a few seconds, close. He didn't hear it: he was waiting for the other elevator, and watching the wind.

I felt like going up to him and giving him a big hug. I didn't, but that's what I wanted to do.

As I thought this over later, God spoke to me about my own approach to life. The sweet old man's situation seemed to be a reflection of my own:

I ask God for a blessing, but I've already decided in my mind what form I want that blessing to take. I'm so busy waiting for what I've determined is right for me, that I don't realize it when God opens bigger doors for me. That, or I'm too caught up in the winds and storms of the outside world that I forget to focus on what I can do in the safe arms of God.

I think there's a lot to be learned from the mundane little occurances around us. What have you learned today?

Love, Oksana

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Track 6

I'm probably not going to do a track-inspired post for Track 5 of the Matthew Perryman Jones CD... The song is called "All the King's Horses," and the only memory/thought it brings up is a situation involving two other people that I'm not going to post about on the world-wide-web... so here's track 6 (my favourite song from the album!)...

Lord, I feel the weight of a mountain

Pressing down inside my soul

I can see the pillars fallin’

There ain’t nothin’ left to hold

The reigns are broken too

I can’t steer this

There’s nothing I can do

Except to throw my arms out

Take me to

A place where love can mend these wounds

Where mystery can dance with truth

And the broken soul finds refuge...

Lyrics from "Refuge," by Matthew Perryman Jones.

This year was a real eye-opener for me: a season of realization. Realization of my own fallenness. I failed God in just about every way a human can fail him. I also hurt a lot of the people around me, needlessly (not that people ever "need" to be hurt, but they really didn't deserve it at all). When I did manage to be polite and kind towards others, it was only outward; inside I was losing hope fast. The standard I held myself to kept slipping lower and lower with every new sin I added to the list. My grades slipped horribly -- for the first time in my life, I actually toyed with the idea of skipping an exam (which, thanks to God's grace, I did very well on, despite having only a single afternoon to study a 400-page textbook).

I was so relieved to escape into summer. I knew vaguely that I wanted this summer to bring me closer to God, but I didn't expect all the changes he's made in my life in these past two months. Wow -- two months! It seems like a lifetime since July, when I let the Son sweep me off my feet and ask me: "How much do you really love me, Oksana?" No, scratch that. He's always been asking me that, ever since I told him I'd be his forever. What made this summer different was that I was finally broken enough to answer him honestly.

Now it's time to be honest with you, and tell you a secret: I have not read the entire Bible. I've read the NT and most of the Psalms, and started 3 different yearly Bible-reading plans, but got so far behind on each that I never made it far past Numbers. This summer, I felt compelled to begin reading it again; for different reasons than in the past. Before then, I'd read the Bible just to have it done with, to fit in with more mature Christians and appear more knowledgeable. Obviously, that wasn't my conscious thought-process each time I began to read it, but there was a lot of pride involved. This summer, I didn't print off reading plans that I knew I'd never be able to keep. Instead, I took a few blank pages of paper, and really began to dig deep into the word. I spent an entire afternoon making notes and meditating on half a chapter of Genesis.

I started to eat the Bible.

Not literally, of course. (When I was 1-3 years old, I did eat books. Apparently, it's not that uncommon -- eating non-food items is a condition called "pica" and happens often with little kids... and I ate all the paper I could get. Back to topic...). By "eating the Bible," I mean satisfying my hunger for God. I didn't just skim, I tried my best to savour and understand every word... give each God-written phrase the attention it deserved. A month later, I'm still in the middle of Genesis, and I don't feel the need to rush it. I've learned tons, some of which I will post on this blog, some of which I'll share in my e-zine (which, by the way, needs some contributions -- see this link for details). I feel refreshed and ready to pursue a better way. It's time to put all my 'lessons learned' to use.

School starts tomorrow, and I still have some thinking/praying to do, so, 'till then, as usual...

Love, Oksy

Sunday, August 24, 2008

The Preenses

I discovered this 'gem' in an old workbook of mine from first grade. Most of the spelling and grammatic errors have been replicated in their entirety.

Onc's upoun a time there lived a beauty who had a green dres and black boots. She was looking like a St. Patrick preenses. But she wasen't marite. She was a grate beauty, oh wat a grate pursine. Rily she was looking like a preenses even if she didn't have a kroune. I want to look like her when I grow uq. One day she walk'd by her kastle. She walk'd and she saw a preense standing by. "I am yore frand," siad the preense. "I never had a frand," siad the beauty. So they marite together. They lived together happy as can be!

I can just hear the applause. ;) Thank you, thank you...

Firstly, a disclaimer: This was written about a year since I came to Canada, and about 5 months since I actively started to learn English... hence the horrible spelling. Yet, as frivolous and Disney-ed as this "story" is, there's more to it than meets the eye...

The reference to St. Patrick puzzled me when I first read it. St. Patrick princess -- wha? Then, I looked at some of my other stories... they were all about Valentines Day, Christmas, Halloween... I realized that I had been absolutely smitten with "Canadian" holidays like St. Patrick's Day, things that were not celebrated in the Ukraine. I don't know if it was so much that I enjoyed them, as the fact that I just wanted to belong. To belong to a world that was new and didn't understand me. I felt that if I reached into these holidays and celebrated them like everyone else did, I'd gain something that would make me the same as everyone else.

I guess that's what people mean when they say things like, "Christmas will bring us all together." At Christmas, everybody is longing to share -- share a feeling, an experience, a season. Christmas is that magical time when even the most simple people decorate their homes, even the most introverted people give strangers smiles, even the most stingy people buy gifts for others. Everybody is willing to step outside their comfort zone and into a place where they can belong... but then, like the snow, that fragile, crystalline Christmas spirit melts away as quickly as it came. How impermanent that magical, happy feeling is, when it's based on material things!

Getting valentines and cutting out green shamrocks did nothing to make me feel like I belonged in first grade, in Canada, or in this world. Only love could do that. That fateful dialogue at the turning point of my story: "I am yore frand" -- "I never had a frand," speaks volumes about my own feelings back in first grade. I must have set the record for the loneliest six-year-old ever to grace the classroom... I cried in class every single day, to the point that I almost got kicked out of school for distrupting other students. I still don't know why I was like that, but I'll venture a guess: I just needed a friend. When I joined a different school for second grade, I found some wonderful people who were willing to share their recesses, snacks, and schoolyard secrets with me, and I barely shed a tear all year.

Perhaps I'm over-analyzing, but even the simplest, smallest, most mundane, most forgotten things in your life say something about you: the state your desk is in, the way you are sitting, your tone of voice when you told your mother you love her, the story you wrote back in first grade... it speaks about who you are. It's so much fun -- fun, and a little sad at the same time -- to look back and find all the little things that I now see in a totally different light. Some of these 'little things' are already in the trash, forgotten... by me, at least. But not by God.

He remembers and treasures up our every thought, want, and need, and gives us according to our needs in his perfect time. It took me several years to understand the real meaning of the holidays I celebrated. It took me several years to find some real friends who would stick with me through thick and thin. It may take me several years more to find my Prince Charming, if that's part of God's plan for me. But I think it's safe to say that, already, I'm living "happy as can be!"

Love, Oksana

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Track 3

Put your defense down
open up your heart and lay
all of it out
I know how hard it sounds
but loneliness will have its way
in feeding your doubts

waiting on the light
waiting on the light to change
I’m chasing out the lies
chasing out the lies
that keep you caged
I’m waiting, waiting on the light to change

No matter what’s inside
There is nothing you can say
to cause me to hide
You know I’m broken too
I’ve fallen far, I lost my faith
been found and made new...

Lyrics from Matthew Perryman's song "Waiting On the Light to Change."

"...loneliness will have its way in feeding your doubts..."

That is so very true. With God, you're never, ever alone, yet his word stresses the importance of fellowship with other people. God is love, and we are priveledged to be entrusted with the task of reflecting his love into the lives of others. I think the best way one can 'prove' his existance to somebody is to love them.

I wish I were more loving to the people closest to me... my family, for instance. It happens that many of them don't share most of my beliefs, and I keep forgetting how I should be treating them. Some things, like fellowship and marriage, are reserved for people who are like-minded. But love is for all. I need to remember that... and I'm so grateful for the humbling effects of Christ's example of love, which reminds me daily how I should be.

"...I'm chasing out the lies that keep you caged, and waiting on the light to change..."

I love that part of the chorus. I often fall into the trap of trying to deal with the big situation, getting overwhelmed, and giving up; when I could just stick to my part, giving everything I've got, and let God change the light. Of course, constantly "chasing out the lies" isn't glamorous or comfortable work, so this lesson is easy to forget.

Track 4 coming later...

Love, Oksana

Monday, July 28, 2008

Genesis

I was reading Genesis today, about Noah and his ark, and the flood. Old stories that God is telling my to dig deeper into. As I read chapter 9, verse 16 -- "the rainbow shall be in the cloud, and I will look on it to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" -- something hit me for the very first time. The rainbow, that little wonder of nature that has slipped into the commonplace and flits by, unnoticed, is God thinking of us. Not that God is ever not thinking of us, but isn't that a comforting think to know? At that very moment the rainbow appears, God is thinking of us. Just something to remember. :)

Speaking of storms, I'm going to share something I wrote for Writer's Craft this year; a descriptive piece. I cut out the beginning and most of the middle; hope you enjoy.

At midday, the parched lips of the forest canopy part a little, inhaling the afternoon. The echo of a distant storm escapes from the sky and makes its way down to the roots of the cold earth; the trees shiver. Far away, thunder begins to roll towards the forest. Little rustlings from the ground show that animals have picked up the signal. A squeak here, a chirp there, and message of the brewing tempest has spread across the earth. Like a resurrected soul, the forest comes alive with movement. Tiny ears perk up and little eyes gleam as creatures rise from their stupor and begin to scurry. Filled with the rhythmic beat of their footsteps and the drum of the impending storm, the forest becomes a wild and pulsating entity beneath the sky.

Rapidly, and with great force, the storm approaches. Rain soon begins to fall upon the treetops; winds start to whistle through the branches and send them shuddering and waving against the sky. The sun falls, unheeded, into the horizon.

Suddenly, a crash of thunder tears through the forest, bending boughs with deafening force. Cold rain breaks from the sky in a violent torrent. The forest stumbles dazedly for a moment, then comes alive with electric energy. Glittering rain runs over the ground, filling every little footprint with water, until the earth is covered with tiny, quivering reflections of the moon overhead. Rain spills into the cupped birds’ nests, rain flows through the grooves of tree trunks, rain invades the narrow creek, rain trickles between pebbles and splashes onto the bitter ground.

Hours of thunder and lighting pass before the dark clouds gradually begin to draw apart. Slowly, slowly, the drops cease to fall; peace comes with the midnight, and every branch is silver-gilded beneath the stars. Somewhere, an owl calls, hoarse and hollow; the cricket with its rusty voice pours out a mournful serenade. Birds return to their nests and find themselves sitting in a pool of cold rainwater. They chatter angrily for a minute, then settle in with a resigned sigh. Hidden in the darkness, little mice scamper back into their holes, splashing through the puddles in the cold, wet earth. Then, the movement begins to slacken. The mist slowly rises back to its habitual position, the trees resume their silent storytelling. Flowers close drowsily, pressing their petals together for the night. As the sleep-holes of the forest creatures slowly fill, a dim and melancholy hum begins to emanate from the earth; the sound of their breathing rises up from under the frigid exterior of the soil. Other than this, all is silent once more.

Night steals down from the sky, silently coiling about the trees and gliding, snake-like, through the tall, wet grass. Deep within the whirling galaxies, stars dance in flickering constellations. Remote and distant on the eastern horizon, Mars begins to rise as a speck of smouldering crimson. And so the forest stands, beneath the hypnotic moonlight.

Love,
Oksy

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Once

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"I wish I didn't have to make
all those mistakes and be wise

Please try to be patient
and know that I'm still learning

I'm sorry that you have to see
the strength inside me burning..."

- from "The Hill" by Marketa Irglova

I was so thrilled when Glen and Marketa won Best Song at the Oscars... their performance and speeches were the two most genuine and beautiful moments of the show. The whole soundtrack to "Once" is brilliant, actually. The raw emotion and soul, as rough and imperfect as it is, leaves no room for pretense at all. That's why so many people have loved this CD and movie. It captures the essence of a human experience shared by almost everyone, and when you see or hear it, it cuts straight to your heart and you relate deeply to it. I actually haven't seen the movie yet, but I plan to someday. At this point, I don't feel the need to... I want to take in the story that the music tells, before putting visuals to it. And there's still so much of it to take in! Deep stuff. :)

By the way, speaking of deep, I just got through an awful cold, thank God. One night, it was pretty bad, and my throat was so irritated that every breath I took scratched like sandpaper at it. Obviously, I couldn't exactly sleep, or do much else for that matter. Which got me thinking (this is where it gets "deep") ... when my breathing, which keeps me alive, is damaged in even the slightest way, I can't function to my capacity, even to half of my capacity. I can barely function at all!

God spoke to me in that still small voice. And, being sick, I let my guard down and didn't shut it out. Here's what I learned and want to share.

If my relationship with God -- the thing that keeps my spirit alive -- is damaged, I can't reach my potential. I can't live the abundant life Jesus wanted me to live. And, considering that my relationship with God is damaged (on my part) about 99.9% of the time, I'm not living the abundant life, am I? On the average day, I'm living the semi-abundant life, and I've gotten used to that. I've become accustomed to not reaching the capacity God gave me. God paid with his own life to give me that abundant life -- and I don't even bother to try living it?

That night, I really, really, really wanted to breathe. I also wanted to get right with God.

Oh, and he healed me the next day.

Love, Oksana

Sunday, January 20, 2008

CARRIED

Finals are finally over, and I've got a few days off before Semester 2 begins. Life has been really strange for me since exam time started. I've had incredible blessings, I've had some pretty bad times as well. Many times, sadly, I traded God in for superficial things, only to com running back to him like the prodigal son who saw how empty his life had become. At the end of the day, I feel so blessed. I've experienced God's saving power, healing power, and "carrying power" -- he carried me unceasingly over the last few weeks.

I feel an incredible stillness and peace in the midst of this storm, a confidence that comes from knowing that God is stronger than this.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Untitled

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i am the snow
shining crystalline, free --
i watch people walk by
leave their footprints in me...

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I'm always a bit surprised when people tell me they don't like winter. For me, winter has always been a time of wonder. The symmetry, clarity, brightness; the perfect black against the perfect white - I can't help but marvel at God's sense of style! It sure rivals any painting or poem I've ever seen or read.

I wrote a little article on the subject of 'Snow in the Bible' for my ezine, which you can view here. I'll quote an excerpt of it:

The Bible says, in Psalm 25, "Like the cold of snow in the time of harvest is a faithful messenger to those who send him; he refreshes the soul of his masters." It is true that snow can be severe, cold -- but then, the word of God is not always easy medicine to swallow. It challenges people to get out of their comfort zone, to throw off those blankets and winter coats, and to feel with fearless, open hearts the true refreshment of God.

If there's any season that reminds me of how good God is, it's winter... and it's not just because of Christmas, though that's a big part. It's mostly because the warmth of love stands out so strongly against the cold, cold wind.

Katie Melua sings 'Wonderful World' with the late Eva Cassidy.

With thanks to Eric from YouTube

Love, Oksana

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Here's to the Mysteries

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Two times so far, I've taken photos that I thought were nothing special, but when I reviewed them, I saw that I had photographed something I hadn't intened - a mysterious figure emerging in the photo. Those instances, for me, are rare but they're possibly the most rewarding part of photography: they remind me that I captured in one split second a special moment that would have otherwise been missed forever - without even realising it! And the funny thing is, in both of these photos the subject wasn't really that interesting to photograph - I had picked up the camera on a complete whim.

Makes me think of how intricate God's work is, that everything - a beam of light or a tiny branch, has a special purpose to serve for someone in the world... sometimes, a purpose as simple and small as making them smile. :)

If you click on the picture above, you can see the full-size, uncropped and barely edited image. I was taking a photo of the column of light (known as a "sun pillar"), but when I uploaded it to my computer, I literally screamed (not in a bad way), because I saw that if you looked at the sun as being a head, the light on the underside of the cloud formed two "wings," and that sun pillar became the body of the figure! I was completely amazed... it was like a little glimpse into heaven with with its angels of light, holding out their wings in a blessing to the earth. I don't really find any "prophetic" meaning in this photo; for me, it isn't a signal of an event about to happen. It's a reminder, rather, of something that has always existed, even before time began, and will keep existing forever: the love of God.

By the way, when I showed the photo to someone else, he told me he could see a swan with its head underwater on the bottom right of the photo. And now that he mentioned it - so can I! It makes me smile every time. :)

I was taking a boring picture of what seemed to be a boring branch on my way home from school, then when I reviewed it, I realised that there was a little number 3 growing out of the main branch. If you follow along the big branch with your eye, you should be able to see it - there's a little leaf sprouting from the '3.' I thought it was a sweet little detail, and I can't wait to uncover more such 'mysteries' as I take more pictures!

Love, Oksana

scraps of life... photos, poems, and images of this world through my eyes.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Friday, November 14, 2008

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Monday, July 28, 2008

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Monday, December 31, 2007

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

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