The “Achey Breaky” Thing Going On. . .

This Post is dedicated to the loves that are so precious, so dear to me, so poignant, so tender that they ache my heart with their weight of Glory. . .

I’ve got what I call the “achey breaky” going on inside of me today. Oh there are plenty of “things” contributing to “it.” But it’s really about me. It’s longing I cannot put words to. . .It’s sadness that is like an overcast day. . .it’s desires that grow. . .for goodness, for Glory, for beauty. . .

On days like this, I seek out God, and just reach up to touch. I am so tactile, I just need to touch and make sure He is still here. I seek out music that I can allow myself to fall into without anyone noticing, “I’m gone.” I seek out C.S. Lewis, because his passion for life, love and friendship speak my language. I can remember feeling this way sometimes in ministry. . . .wanting more for each and every woman I came in contact with. . .but waiting so on the Lord. Waiting, that is more than just a Blog, that’s a book in and of itself.

So while, we share the “achey breaky” heart space. . .Am I safe to assume I’m not the only one here, at this moment in time??? While we wait on the Lord to reveal where our ache leads. . .I share with you this quote, C.S. Lewis. . .The Weight of Glory. . . .

“In speaking of this desire for our own faroff country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth’s expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

I love that whole quote, because he so candidly speaks about passion. Desire. . . .This really strikes a chord in me. . .Lewis, In the Beginning. . . .“In speaking of this desire for our own faroff country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves;. . .” End Quote. Each and every time I write. . .I feel that way, that I am trying to rip open the secret in myself and each one of you. . .Do I dare put even a word to it on the page of my heart today?

Then again Lewis’ Ending. . .For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” End Quote. It is not a thing itself, in a friend, in a healing, in a renovation, in a presence of a loved one, in ministry, in a promise that I ache. . .I ache (and I hope you do too. . .) for the scent of a flower that fragrances just beyond my sense of smell. I ache for the perfection of a note not yet played in the unfinished symphony of my life. I ache for a journey to a country I’ve not yet stirred up the dust with my steps.

And so, dear ones. . .we have the hope of Glory in the “weight/wait. . .”

Website for this image: phyliss-phyliss.blogspot.com

Website for this image:
phyliss-phyliss.blogspot.com

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