A Peculiar Penny

[Contains a Jane Eyre spoiler]

I have many shared hobbies with little boys and old men, but my favorite is my hoard of coins... and saving dropped pennies.

Lucky people collect fear as collateral. 

It is the defining force behind antifragility; when you want to run away: stay put. 

Make best friends of she whom you hate when that hatred stirs from the deepest pit of jealousy. Don't become her and she will become you.

It's a mark of maturity. 

Can't sing? Better learn before you get to heaven. 

Your darkest nightmares are designed to become your dearest dreams. 

Lucky people choose their passions out of seemingly cold and hopeless options. They say yes and no very often, without prejudice or with very much judgment. 

They are the friend everyone wishes to have. They make pain quirky and they always have a penny when you need it.

It is the unlucky who believe "moments" and "sparks" just happen. Such people sit by the true dark, dead hearths. 

Fire doesn't happen by magic alone. 

Mysteries alone are toxic. 

Sometimes I am a man wasting away hours searching out some frivolous question. Other times I wish to be the woman that is mysterious, quiet, alluring. As a child I'm still put to awe by the wonder of old things first seen. And yes, I too as the aged forget excitement and bitterly think, "There is nothing left to learn."

Mysteries alone are deceptive. Pennies in and of themselves are useless. Liberty is nothing if not utilized. Hope needs honor. 

I finished Jane Eyre last week. A profound book that shatters many notions and leaves you with one: all that matters is the gospel. 

Midway I decidedly despised the male prospect. He begins testing Jane's worth through games intended to arouse her jealousy. A gypsy woman (who turned out to be Mr Rochester) took Jane aside. Just a test of loyalty, just a test...

To use trickery to test another's loyalty proves only one thing: that the trickster understands neither loyalty nor love. 

What if she were testing him, too? What of the secrets that invalidated him? It was mysterious, clever, and dark.

It is impossible to gain trust through deceptive means. Vagueness and these sort of mysterious games only leave one abandoned by an unlit hearth to ponder over echoes of disgust, "Oh, him? He is unreliable."

But how are we to test people? 

God designed nature fully capable, and he does not need you as Testmaster. Be as wise as a serpent, certainly not a blind bat, and read the results of God's handiwork. 

"Oh, Lord, how great are thy works! And thy thoughts are very deep!" (Psalm 92:5)

Aspects of the gospel are said to be mysterious, some of it causes much division and strife contrary to the spirit of "And above all things is Charity."

Tacit Christian theology may encourage bitterness toward fellow Believers and God. Or we can forget the mysteries of our minds and "in perfect love cast out all fear" (1 John 4:18)

"And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly to make known the mystery of the gospel." (Eph 6:19)

We are not a keeper of dark secrets. We are the light that will not be hid under a bushel. We do not wait for others to commit... we are joyful, and bluntly so. We do not bow to feelings: we dress in sackcloth and feast.

We boldly reveal love.

As a woman I do desire to be mysterious, or at least fascinating. 

Deep down most girls just want to be Cinderella. 

"But ye are a peculiar people," said Peter. 

Peculiar, not the twisted obnoxious sort. Not the kind that plays mind games. The sort of person that offers continual sweet smelling incense so that when bystanders breathe they sigh in wonder and satisfaction.

Mysteries can't be created. They simply exist. We are fascinated not by the fact that mysteries exist, but by the light that chases away any dark desire to keep love in bondage.

A warm, inviting light, not a cell phone light. Nobody likes that sort.

At last I've learnt a secret of Cinderella, dancing in a room of stained glass windows. I felt beautiful and seen. 

The first mystery came with no effort, no cowering, no games. She entered and she showed herself. Because of that she was mysterious...

Her magic didn't end at midnight; the magic began just after the bell finished tolling. The shoe was dropped. A moment of another sort of mystery clouded all hope. 

Yet... the lies and fear was not from her, but from those that hated her. 

To be fascinating, Cinderella needed no deception. A revealing of self; a unity of earth and elegance. Raw light made visible.

And then begins a new sort of mystery... the kind that makes one laugh with wholesome joy. But this mystery is observed by yearners only. This mystery isn't striving to be, or even aware it is. It's too focused on light and love. 

It was the epitome of the mystery somehow because it was known and witnesses; this love manifested into light and being. 

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity"

Mysteries aren't toxic when their companion is truth. Which do you desire most, mystery or truth? Alone both are insufficient. Together they make us as children at our Master's feet

"Tell us a story."

Pick up pennies... drop them. Accept and give hope. Trust, do not test. When you desire to hate, instead love. This is what it is to be fascinating. This is what it is to be the salt of the earth, delightfully alluring. Do not yearn for the unseen; allow others to see you. 

For then shall they see God, and you shall know the Kingdom of God.