the first page :: havah

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i've been reading a book.

it's not all that uncommon for me to be found reading a book, actually. i'm an avid reader as well as an author. can you be one without the other, really? can you write well without the example of fluttering pages and the comparison of knowing where one has gone before you, and soared?

i'm reading Havah. this volume gifted from the heart of a sister to my mailbox this week. and i cannot put it down.

Tosca Lee put pen to paper and wrote this book, her own heart's picture of the beginning and end through the eyes of the first Woman.

Havah. 

Life. 

Eve. 

and as i pour through these pages, overwhelmed with the beauty of the first portion, my heart swells. this connection to the Creator they feel, their bonding with the One who Spoke them to life...it makes me crave this same communion with Him. because the beauty is almost overwhelming to my soul.

and then the anvil drops. and i can see it coming in slow motion because i know the story and i know what's coming and i know, oh how i know what the cost will be, and i want to scream at her to stop and open her eyes because how could she not know?

but then comes a bite. and a second. and feminine hands outstretched toward husband's lips, and another bite. and with simple movements of lips and teeth and throats, their fate is sealed in darkness. but not just theirs -- ours. every last breath becomes thicker, harder, and every last heart is now blackened with sin.

but there is hope. there is Light.

for with darkness comes a glimmer of Hope. for with the disconnection from the Holy One comes a promise of reconnection.

you will bruise His heal 

but He will crush your head. 

even in anger, God knew. and God would not let His people, His newly-broken ones, go without a hope. do we forget this part of the story? we weep with horror and wail if only if only. 

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but in a week, we celebrate that hope. 

the hope of all things new. 

for unto us a Child is born

unto us a Son is given

and the Government will be upon His shoulder

and His name shall be 
Wonderful Counseler, Mighty God, 
Everlasting Father

Prince of Peace.

and He came to save and live and walk and die as one of us, so that He might rend the curtain and let the Light in again. 

this is one of the pages in the Christmas story that we forget. the darkest of pages that we swiftly attempt to overturn in our hurry to get to the angels singing and the Child coming into virginal arms. but it's a big picture story, this thing of Jesus' coming. 

because even her name -- Havah -- it means Life. a promise from the beginning, a hope so sure as to not be shaken. 

and Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight

the clouds be rolled back as a scroll.

the trump shall resound and my Lord shall descend

praise the Lord, praise the Lord

oh, my soul.

the place of Advent

i forgot that Advent was so close.

it was such a big deal when i was a little girl. the pink and purple candles sat in their wicker wreath, wax dripping every Sunday when a new candle burned.

then i got married and moved into my own home. and i forgot.

i forgot the importance of this expectation.

this coming into place, this arrival of the Son of God.

i forgot everything i had been taught, about the sacredness that can be found in the silent moments of flickering candle flames.

and so for three years, i have had no candles to light and no verses to read. it has been as though the events of my childhood swiftly faded into the modern haze of overcrowded schedules and too much planning.

and then this year, it's been following me. i've read blog posts about the subject, seen commercials laden with reminders. it's a whisper, a reminder, the hand of God touching my heart

remember Me. 

and my soul groans with sorrow and guilt.

if it was anyone else, 

would i have forgotten?

or would i have laid my steps out carefully, preparing to greet this coming mortal?

but the King of Glory comes, and i forget Him.

and so this year, i'm finding candles and setting them out. my reminders, my beacon lights to the coming King.

these lights, one by one by one, lit in the darkness to set my yearning soul aglow --  a simple way of speaking to the silence,

i'm waiting for You. 

this heart is open; there is room here.

Return

Pick a star on the dark horizon / And follow the light / You'll come back when it's over / No need to say goodbye... ~Regina Spektor, The Call

Yes, this is another post about Narnia.

And I'm not even a little bit sorry.

To be honest, I didn't plan on writing another post about this magical land that has inexplicably woven its spell over my heart and soul.

But then I went to the blog of a friend and read her newest post (which you can read at http://avoiceofpraise.blogspot.com/)...and that set me off again.

Because there, in her own post on the land of Narnia, she opened another tiny wardrobe door to my soul...this one not quite as happy and fanciful as those in the past.

It was the idea of never going back.

For as much as there is a sense of beauty and passion in each visit to Narnia by each little group, there is always that moment...first tasted by Peter and Susan, and then heartbreakingly continued with Edmund and Lucy...

...that moment when they are told "you will never come back to Narnia."

To be honest, Peter and Susan's final moments in Narnia never struck such a wrenching chord in me as those of Edmund and Lucy.

Perhaps it is because Peter and Susan never seemed to need Narnia the way that their two younger siblings did.

Peter was the oldest. Proud and strong, the High King. Once there, he immediately staked his claim as a King. It was almost as if he didn't need anyone else.

Susan was the oldest girl. Beautiful, gentle, and beloved almost immediately. In fact, her pride never died, and she was the only one of the four who, once home for the final time, abandoned Narnia entirely.

It was Edmund -- the broken traitor, the forgiven one. It was Lucy -- the innocent one, the first believer, the one with the closest connection to the Great Lion Himself. These are the two that needed it more than anyone else.

And they are final of the Kings and Queens to be told that their time had come to its end.

But I will never deny that Aslan had a plan. I will never take away His credit. He knew what He was doing.

He knew they had lives to live, futures to embrace...and he knew their time in their own world would be short-lived.

For soon, they would come to Him forever.

They would pass through the Shadowlands in a loud and twisted train accident...they would pass over the silver wave, and come to Him forever.

They simply had to wait.

And while their first visits were beautiful, this final resting place was beyond all words and all imagining.

So for myself, I will visit Narnia while I may...reaching out fragile fingers from this world to the other, touching only the barest corners...

...patiently awaiting the day when I will crest the silver wave, and make my home in Aslan's Country forever.

I wait for the dream to end.

I linger at twilight...for I cannot wait for the morning.

It started out as a feeling / Which then grew into a hope / Which then turned into a quiet thought / Which then turned into a quiet word. / And then that word grew louder and louder / Until it was a battle cry. I'll come back / When you call me / No need to say goodbye...Regina Spektor, The Call