Catching up on a little Hepker

So, I know it's been a little while (OK, a LONG time) since you've seen anything from me on here. Blogging is a picture of life, for me -- I start off with such great intentions (to blog 3x a week, to use this to inspire my writing, to develop some discipline SOMEWHERE), and then a little thing called Life comes along, and I allow it to get in the way. Pretty soon, it's been 3 months since I've even looked at this page, let alone posted anything, and y'all have nearly given up on checking.

Making perfectionistic promises always gets in my way, so this is my declaration that I won't make any more declarations -- to myself, to the world, to anyone (except maybe God). :) I'll simply do my best to keep you all in the loop of my mind, and sometimes my heart.

For today, here's where both of those are residing:

Thinking a lot about how God calls us to get out of the way so that He can fill us with Himself. With His spirit. With the essence of something so much deeper and bigger than anything I'm capable of knowing or understanding. Three poems seem to best describe what's fermenting in my mind on this topic. (I know, big surprise.) The first is by Sir Thomas Browne, a 16th century theologian who didn't write much poetry, but who seems to have nailed it with this one. The second is my own response to that poem, and the third is by Madeleine L'Engle, also in response to Sir Thomas.

I'm not sure where God may take me on this subject. I just know it's important to me to pay attention to it.

Here's the poems:

#1
If thou could'st empty all thyself of self
like to a shell dishabited
then might He find thee
on some ocean shelf and say
"this is not dead"
and fill thee with Himself instead

But thou art all replete with very thou
and hast such shrewd activity
that when He comes He says
"this is enough
unto itself -- 'twere better let it be
it is so small and full
there is no room for Me.

#2
If I could keep blank and clean
the parchment of myself
in anticipation of thee
Then might You find me on some lonely shelf
and inscribe me with your love (and make me free)

Then, purely written,
could I unroll before men
that they might view Your love
without the blotted inky stain of my sin,
and so sighting, be blank'd themselves
ready for inscription

#3
If thou couldst empty self of selfishness
And then with love reach out in wide embrace
Then might God come this purer self to bless;
So might thou feel the wisdom of His Grace,
And see, thereby, the radiance of His face.

But selfishness turns inwards, miry, black,
Refuses stars, sees only clouded night,
Too full, too dark, cannot confess a lack,
Turns from God's face, blest, holy, bright,
Is blinded by the presence of the Light.