Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts

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.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Fragment

I woke up briefly at 5 this morning, probably from being so nervous over the first day of school that I couldn't sleep. Faintly, I could hear birds chirping and cawing, and, while I slipped out of bed, the sound grew in intensity as my consciousness awoke. I turned to my window, and, for a second, the sight arrested me.

The scene was cloacked with a rich, frosted blue. Each form was gauzy in the fog, outlined with black shadows and softly kissed by the fading starlight. A streetlamp cast a rusty, orange glow upon the road, its ruddy light fraying as it crept into the center of the asphalt. The air was filled with the sound of birds.

It lasted just a minute; then, the deep, dark blue began to lift, replaced by that misty, grey hour just before the dawn. The birds continued to call, each voice weaving its way through many other voices, echoing back endlessly from horizon to horizon. Wind tousled the pale and drowsy trees, and fell in wispy cobwebs to the damp road. And the streetlight still shone, like a beacon of silence on a planet determined to shake itself free from the night.

As I watched this unfold, words and thoughts just welled up in me... it was like entering a poem or tiptoeing through a fairlytale. I love this view.

In just a few days, the view is going to change. We're relocating to a different part of the city... or, rather, a different spot in this part of the city. So, to commemorate its beauty, I'll share with you some snapshots I'd taken from my bedroom window at various times over the last two years. Enjoy... :)

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

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

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Wherever Arms are Raised, a Battle is Raging

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Fragment

Monday, July 28, 2008

Genesis

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