“Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words . . . So will the King desire your beauty.” (Ps 45.11-12)
If you feel like you absolutely have nothing to give today, read this for some encouragement: Just bring what you have.
Ann Voskamp’s take on this psalm: “When it’s hard”
And a little bit more from Peter Kreeft’s book, before I go:
97. The Burning I
Prayer is not only conversation, it is transformation. It is not only light, it is fire. And the closer you get to Him, the hotter the fire gets. Words begin to melt. The first word that melts in His presence is the word “I”. That is His unique name. The closer you get to Him, the harder it is to begin a sentence with “I”. It melts in the fire of “thou.”
104. How to Be Wiser, Happier, and Better in Seven Minutes
If you’re not interested in these three products, don’t read this. If you are in the market for them but skeptical about getting them in seven minutes, read on.
The answer is three words: count your blessings. It’s so simple it’s embarrassing.
I mean this literally. Just thank God for seven specific blessings. Don’t ask Him for anything, just thank Him.
If you want a structure, here is one: tell God you are grateful for the following seven specific things. (They can be small things; small things are best because we don’t usually notice them.)
- one specific, concrete thing in the world
- one specific, concrete thing in your life
- one specific event in the world
- one specific event in your life
- one specific person in the world
- one specific person in your life
- one attribute, aspect, or deed of God himself
Results guaranteed.
More from Peter Kreeft:
69. Therapy for Fear
When you feel afraid, look at the very first thing you see, right there in front of you: some small thing like stone or a finger or a bug. Look at it, don’t just think about looking at it. Really look. Take time. Take a whole minute.
And listen. You might hear something in it or behind it whispering some big secret to your big secret mind, some secret of which it is one of the billions of messengers, the secret of a beauty bigger than the universe, of which everything is a tiny part, including this little thing right in front of you.
Now this thing you are afraid of, this, too, is a little thing. And so are you.
God loves little things and takes care of them. Sparrows, hairs from your head.
He is bigger. He is stronger.
I love this one!
#81. Last Resort
Sometime the only possible solution to a problem that has you ont he verge of self-inflicted baldness or holes in teh wall is the following prescription:
1. ten deep breaths
2. a hot bath
3. one large glass of good wine
4. and a good night’s sleep
After patience, philosophy, and prayer all seem to fail, try listening to your body.
Peter Kreeft wrote a book called Before I Go, Letters to Our Children About What Really Matters. Any of you who have read him are probably as impressed as I am with the scope of his topic matter as well as the excellence of his writing. This book was written specifically for his own children. I would love to share some of his shorter entries with you over the next couple of days. I’ll start with #140 and #141:
140. Pages Stuck Together
These two pages of my little notebook stuck together, so I can’t write on them. Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes the reason is to remind us that we don’t know the reason.
141. How Communion Works
In it God says to you: Put the lips of your faith to my heart and drink my blood. It alone will save your life. I give my life for yours in this holy exchange, this holy communion. I suck the sin, the poison, out of your heart, if you let me. Open your heart to my lips and I will do it. And open your lips to my heart and I will give you a blood transfusion.
Okay, just one more:
124. Surfing Wisdom
Life is made of waves. (Everything is.) It comes in crests and troughs. It’s easy to ride the crests; the real test is the troughs. Expect them. Ride them out. That’s part of our job description. Imagine a fire fighter who was surprised, angry, and resentful every time the fire alarm bell rings.
To be continued . . .
I’m still delving deep into Amy Carmichael’s commentaries on the psalms. I can’t help but share the precious tidbits I keep finding. Here are her comments on that transition we find in the psalms from weeping to praise, that encouragement to look straight up and praise God with a song (when we least feel like it . . .):
“I have been noticing how in the Psalms every experience of distress turns to a straight look-up, and praise. I had not noticed till recently that the Psalm of the weaned child (Ps 131) ends like that: ‘O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and for evermore.’ And today I read Ps 69, and there again I found the look-up that ends in praise. Kay translates v. 10, ‘I wept soul-tears’, and that is just what it is like at times, when all we have done to help another soul seems to end in failure. Even so, ‘I will praise the name of God with a song, and will magnify Him with thanksgiving’ (v. 30).
“Surely this emphasis on praise in the Psalms is because to turn from discouraging things and look up with a song in one’s heart is the only sure way of continuance. We sink down into what David calls mire, slime, deep waters, if we do not quickly look up, and turning our back on the discouraging, set our faces again toward the sunrising.
“Perhaps that is what v. 32 of that Psalm means, ‘You who seek God, let your hearts revive.’
“I found all this very reviving. It led straight to ‘They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength’ [Is 40.31], and ‘Let them that love Him be as the sun when he rises in his might’[Jgs 5.31].” (Edges, p.159)
A guest post from Ann Voskamp for those of you who struggle with a relationship with a family member: “One thing that helps any relationship”
Birds
That God made birds is surely in His favor.
I write them as His courtesies of love.
Hidden in leaves, they offer me sweet savor
of lightsome music; when they streak above
my garden wall they brush my scene with color.
They are embroideries upon the grass.
I write the gayest stitched-in blossoms duller
than birds which change their patterns as I pass.
I nurse a holy envy of St. Francis
who lured the birds to nestle at his breast.
Yet I am grateful for this one which dances
across my lawn, a reckless anapest.
Subjects for gratitude push up my living
praise to a sum that tempts the infinite;
but birds deserve one whole psalm of thanksgiving
and these words are my antiphon for it.
Jessica Powers (1956)
Witnesses to Hope 