Skip to main content

when i am moved - Resurrection Sunday


as i begin to write this entry, i look down on my lap to see a 15 week old beauty, nestled so sweetly and perfectly in a blanket, sleeping ever so peacefully on my lap. i am moved constantly by her delightful sounds and giggles, her undeniable cuteness, and the way her little mouth purses to attempt to speak, and then to pout, and then to smile and attempt to speak again. she has moved me by her pure innocence and her helplessness and her resilience, by her need to be near me and to hold me and to feel my skin and to hear my heartbeat.

i think of her sisters and how often they have made me shed tears of joy and of wonder also. how they have moved me simply with one word, often said at just the right time or the awfully wrong time, and how their complex personalities and intense love often make my heart feel like bursting. i am moved by their passion for all that is good, and their intrigue about why things are wrong, their prayers and their screaming arguments, their logical banter and their irrational demands, their simple and strong beauty, and their love for this life with which they have been blessed.

i have been moved by much in this world. i have been moved by tragedies i have only read about, and those i have seen or heard first-hand, loyal friends and those who have left, moved by seasonal grief, the passing of loved ones, the birth of new life, the encouragement of family, the laughter of my siblings, the compassion and provision given by parents, the success of those i love, and those hard moments of failure, the devotion and commitment from the sincerest and most honest man i have ever met, and the tears of those i value in my life, both of sadness and of happiness.

though i am rational and strong-willed, i can often be emotional in an intense burst of empathy, of sympathy, of gratitude. i have been moved to action often, whether it be charity, or prayer, or promises, or service.

no matter how much i experience in this life, no matter how many moments of sorrow or of gladness, i pray that nothing would ever come close to moving me the way Salvation does, i pray that nothing would steal my heart the way Christ's Love does, and that nothing else would bring me to such depths of total honesty and confession, complete dependence, authentic reflection, and deep gratitude.

though i should accomplish every goal i have ever set my eyes upon, or taste the loss of what i have held so dear, may nothing in this life move me more than the Death and Resurrection of my Savior.

for me, there is nothing so sweet, so pure, so sacrificial, so worthy of my love, devotion, and praise, than this: the idea that Jesus gave up His life for us. Let this always move me: the truth of His willful and determined road to Calvary, and his Glorious Resurrection to ensure that death would no longer antagonize man the way it once had, and the humility and strength of His Mission and His Life and His Love.

may my heart always skip a beat, my eyes always offer tears, and the depths of my soul always cry out with thankfulness, moving me into a life of pursuing His Kingdom.

this is a move that pulls me away from this world, deeply into His Service and ever toward His Heart.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Most Beautiful Mama

My mama has always been beautiful. It is a beauty that is natural and effortless and is the type of beauty that filled my heart with longing when I was a child. I can recall staring at how flawless the even color of her skin was, how adorable the few freckles were on her cheeks, how symmetrical her nose was. I remember thinking how absolutely perfect she looked in a sari, her pleats folded so pristinely, and the tuck of material into her waist seamless and smooth.   I would often feel the softness of my mother’s hands. Hands that had delicate fingers that moved with precision and purpose. Hands that kneaded chapati dough and even held tight to a lawn mower. No matter what she did, her hands were always soft, always welcoming, always beautiful. But she never liked to focus on her own physical beauty. My mother’s true beauty comes from within.  I understood certain aspects of this inner beauty when I was a child. The beauty that comes from her servant’s heart and her work ethic -

conversations.

i find myself thinking a lot about the condition of this world, of this nation, and of the hearts of man.  i just open my eyes and really look around or open my ears to truly listen, and i cannot help but face the reality of evil. the reality of corruption. the reality of prejudice. the reality of inequality. the reality of bigotry. the reality of entitlement. the reality of self-righteousness. the reality of immorality. the reality of sin. i have struggled with the presence of these realities for a significant part of my life, and  maybe to some degree for all of my life. but now i struggle with them beyond my identity as a woman, or a child of immigrants, or an educator, or an indian-american, or a Christ follower. i struggle with these harsh realities as a mother. you see, we are trying our hardest to raise three people who will one day change their world. i believe that they can, and i pray that they will. these three little girls have hope in their souls and eternity i

i am left...

it was a grocery store in buffalo.  and it was a church in laguna woods.  and it was an elementary school in uvalde, texas.  it is all the times in between and all the times before.  and God please help us, it is all the times after.  i am left with my mind in a jumbled mass of arguments and anger, my heart a knot of ache and pain. i am left with my soul stretching its voice to plea. i am left as i attempt to send my children off to school and myself to walk into my own classroom with my will torn to shreds... barely a thread hanging onto any purpose at all. i am left weeping before bed, sobbing on the way to work, shuddering at the thought of this happening and america continuing on like usual.  i am left scrolling through pictures of beautiful humans that will never breathe again, left reading posts of those who miss the laughs of their cherished, left staring at photos of special occasions, a frozen moment that was supposed to be one in a series of many more. left searching for the