Credo ut Intelligam

Walking in a Winter Worryland

2011-12-11T18:38:00.000-08:00

I'm a worrier by nature. I never really knew this about myself until a few years ago I was talking to my sister about one of her children. She was describing my niece to me and she said, "She's a worrier...a lot like you." (I took me a minute to figure out that she said "worrier" not "warrior". That was disappointing, but far more accurate, I suppose.)

In retrospect, though, I had to admit she was completely on point.

When my dad was late coming home from work, I assumed he had been in a horrible accident.
When I can't get a hold of a family member, surely some great danger has befallen them.
When I get a phone call from someone out of the blue, I'm positive they're going to relay some tragic message.
I won't even tell you the thoughts that went through my mind when I was in VA and I couldn't get a hold of my husband in TX all night. (I put him on NyQuil probation after that one.)

My husband told me last night I come up with the worst possible scenario on my mind and then act as if it's the reality of my life.

So here I sit, totally stressing myself out about things over which I have absolutely no control and, frankly, things that I'm not even sure are the case. And I say to myself worry is a sin. I remind myself to cast all my cares on Him. I'm trying to present my request with thanksgiving and then let it go.

But I still have a knot in my stomach.

How do we really, genuinely, completely lay our anxieties down? I'm sitting here in a rare, quiet moment trying to be the good Christian who trusts her God.

But my head is throbbing.

In my prayers I plead with God to help me trust Him. I know He is good. I know He cares. I know His hands are capable. I know my hands are not.

But when I think about it, my heart races.

And then I read some words that pierced through the dark, anxious cloud hanging around me.
Our lives are full of supposes. Suppose this should happen, or suppose that should happen; what could we do; how could we bear it? But, if we are living in the high tower of the dwelling place of God, all these supposes will drop out of our lives. We shall be quiet from the fear of evil, for no threatenings of evil can penetrate into the high tower of God. Even when walking through the valley of the shadow of death, the psalmist could say, will fear no evil; and, if we are dwelling in God, we can say so too.
~Hannah Whitall Smith

You see, it makes all the difference when I consider my vantage point. I am not lying on the ground being buried under the troubles of this life. I am high above the worried world, safe and secure in the Shelter of the Most High God. What, for crying out loud, am I so very afraid of?

My tummy is still a little fluttery. My head definitely still hurts. I'm very much looking forward to getting some answers and putting this all behind me.

But, under the wings of God is a very good place to be. There is rest here. There is comfort here. There is a nice, gentle breeze up this high. And I'm very willing to scoot over if you want to join me up here.

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

~Psalm 91:1-2,4

Tummy Time

2011-09-26T12:34:00.000-07:00

The problem with being a baby is that you have to do things you don't like. For the sake of your "development" your parents and even your doctors subject you to frustration after frustration. In some sick, twisted way your struggles somehow build up your strength.

Not the least of these struggles is what is referred to as "tummy time".

Tummy time is that part of an infant's day where he is left face down on the floor and required to flail, whimper, and wipe his nose in his own snot and drool in order to build up the muscles in his back and neck. This job becomes increasingly more difficult when you have "off the chart" noggins like my sons do - poor kids.

As 6-week-old Jeshua was lying on his belly, starting to climb the Mt. Everest of frustration, I thought I would give the sweet guy a little morale booster because, let's be honest, it's almost just as frustrating to watch someone you love be frustrated as it is to be frustrated yourself.

I laid down on my stomach facing him and put my face right in front of his. I started saying great cheerleader phrases like, "Keep pushing! Keep pushing!" and "I know it's hard, but you can do it," and "You are working so hard. I'm so proud of you!"

And then, as is often the case, I learned something in that moment with my baby.

"This is what it means to encourage."

The Biblical idea of encouragement isn't just telling people you're-doing-great-keep-at-it-never-give-up-I'm-praying-for-you-atta-boy. Yes, verbal affirmation is great and often invaluable, but it takes even more to truly encourage someone.

It takes getting down on your belly with them.

The Bible's idea of encouragement is to come alongside someone, to spur them on, and to literally "give courage" to them. It has the idea of walking with a person, side by side, in a common direction. To truly encourage someone you can't stand at a distance. You have to be next to them, belly down and chin up.

When a friend is having a hard time in her marriage, get down with her and say, "Keep pushing! Keep pushing!" When your child is being left out because she doesn't agree with what's "cool", lay beside her and remind her, "I know it's hard, but you can do it." When your husband feels like he can't keep up with his job or his studies (or both), put your face in front of his and tell him clearly, "You are working so hard. I'm so proud of you!"

Encouragement doesn't come from the sidelines. We have to jump out of the cheering section and join our brothers and sisters in the trenches - there speaking the truth that will give them strength, boldness, and the courage to press on.

But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness.
~Hebrews 3:13

On a mission

2011-02-04T17:26:00.001-08:00

I have never had a mission statement, but I've always thought it sounded cool. You know, to be able to say, "Yeah, my mission statement for life is _______________," and then say something super-spiritual that perfectly (and ideally) sums up my relationships with God and others. I've tried to think of mission statements. I've tried to narrate my calling as a person. I've mentally written, edited, and scrapped many different mission statements all without really putting too much thought into it...or much prayer.

I was reading a blog the other day written by a woman with 7 kids on how she manages her home. I have one kid and a small 2 bedroom apartment and I have trouble managing my own home, so of course I wanted to glean any tips and tricks I could. She talked about chores, and about meals, and about schooling, but what stood out to me the most was toward the end of her post. Someone asked her how she was able to balance time with the Lord with her busy life and she began to talk about her mission statement.

She and her husband are extremely gifted and passionate evangelists. They love to entertain guests and show them the love of Christ in their home. At the same time, the Lord has seen fit to bless them with seven children who need her nurture and care. What started as a passing comment by a friend ("You were made to have babies") turned into her mission statement - "I've called you to bring forth life".

What a mission! What a statement! What a grand and humbling calling from the Lord.

See? This is why I want a mission statement!

I read another post yesterday entitled simply "Designing your Mission Statement" and the advice she gave was to list your roles and give a brief description of them in order to better understand the jobs God has given you as a person. She says, "Ask yourself this question: what are the important roles in my life?"

I am:
Abby
A daughter of the King
Nathan's wife
Judah and baby's mother
Homemaker
Bible study leader
friend

Then she suggests that you move on to "dream" - to make goals for yourself in each of those roles.

Abby - to understand myself as a person. To know how I think, what my hangups are, my strengths and my weaknesses in order to be the "me" God desires.
A daughter of the King - to know God more fully and more deeply. I want to be constantly learning, constantly growing, constantly understanding more about the Lord than I did yesterday.
Nathan's wife - I want to support my husband in whatever way he needs. I want to be his biggest cheerleader, his best friend, his faithful champion, and his trustworthy confidant. I want to help him know the Lord more fully because of his relationship with me.
Judah and Baby's mother - I want to protect his health, foster his learning, and challenge his understanding in whatever ways I can. I want to be a faithful instructor about life, people, and most importantly the Lord. I want to help him see and know more about the world around him and the God who created him.
Homemaker - I want to run a place of peace and order. I want this to be a place where everyone, family and stranger alike, feel safe, nurtured, and free.
Bible study leader - I want to help people see and know God more fully. I want to help people get excited about the truths of Scripture, and I want to challenge and encourage them to apply those truths to their lives. I want people to be constantly deepening their relationship with the Lord, and I want to use my passion to spur them on to growth and depth.
Friend - I want to be a person of encouragement and grace. I want to be life-giving, not life-sucking. I want to feel the freedom to love others and to be loved by them. I want to be a source of peace for them.

The next step is to "Define your roles" - look at each of the roles above and think of 3-5 ways you can meet your goals in those areas.
Abby:
Taking 15 minutes each day for myself (writing, a bath, reading, etc.)
Journal through FANOS (feelings, affirmations, needs, ownership, sobriety) at least weekly

Daughter of the King:
Bible study and journal every day
Quietly listen to at least one worship song every day

Nathan's Wife:
spend one-on-one time with him talking through our days every day
Ask how things are going at work and at school
Talk about the sermon every Sunday after church
Pray for him every day - ask how I can be praying for him and tell him how I've been praying for him

Judah and Baby's Mother:
Spend time every day praying with Judah
Spend time every day talking about and showing Judah God's creation (including the new baby)
Sing worship songs with Judah and teach him Scripture
Being intentional about affection and family time with our kids and in front of our kids

Homemaker:
Spend time learning and applying how to live healthier lifestyles (meals, exercise, sleep habits, etc.)
Invest time in saving money
Keep the laundry done and the kitchen clean
Have a guest to dinner once a month

Bible Study Leader:
Spend time every day in whatever passage we are studying that week
Spend time every day praying for the girls in the Bible study
Have one-on-one time with someone from Bible study once a month

Friend:
Talk to one in depth and at length once a week
Give/send a card or letter to someone once a month

This blog post has taken a couple of weeks to write, process, pray through, and evolve and in that time I feel like God has really been making it clear to me what His purpose is for me at this time in my life. I feel like I can clearly hear His words to me, His heart for me, and the mission for which He created me. You ready for this?

"I have called you to encourage and cultivate growth."

Physical growth. Intellectual growth. Emotional growth. Spiritual growth. God has called me to spend my life growing, I have been made and redeemed to lift others up and to help them grow.

So let it be written, so let it be done. I am now a woman on a mission, and I have found great freedom from things (perfection, for one...being Susie Homemaker, for another), and freedom to things (like spending the entire morning in our pajamas rocking out to Justin Roberts "Songs from the New Testament").

If God has given me a purpose, and if God has given me the means by which to fulfill that purpose, and if God has given me the opportunities to fulfill that purpose, then why should I go about my life wondering if I'm really using my time wisely or if I'm doing "enough"? "Enough" is doing the things God has given me each day to humbly reveal His glory in my life.

"Enough" is what I plan to do today, and I'm going to start by encouraging my son to eat something other than yogurt. I feel like we are both going to do some growing this afternoon.

Reflecting God's Creative Side

2011-01-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

"What's your creative outlet?"

I started asking my friends this question a few years ago when I first came to seminary. I figured everyone had to have one. Apparently, not everyone thinks this way.

I'm not a linear thinker. I'm not an analytic thinker. I think I'm a thinker, but just not what you would consider a "thinking" thinker. I tend to have a whole different way of thinking - a more "scenic route" kind of thinking. How I ever made it all the way through graduate school thinking the way I do I can't be sure.

"Make a chart of the book of Jonah," the assignment said. I handed in a map with stick figures - Kindergarten-level stick figures, at that. Somehow it still got an "A" and the comment hand-written at the top, "This is not a chart." (Okay, now I know how I made it through seminary: God's grace was hard at work in my life.)

I have a deep respect and appreciation for linear thinkers. In fact, I stand in amazement of people with type-A personalities. Most of my friends since coming to seminary fall into this category (something about graduate-level studies breeds this personality...or summons it, rather). My husband is one of these people, and I love the way he approaches our budget, understands Scripture, and diligently studies.

There are so many times that I wish I was more organized, more structured, more...linear. Why can't I just make meal plans for a month at a time? Why did I always have at least 10 major assignments left to accomplish within the last 2 weeks of the semester? Why can't I just start a journal entry with "Dear Diary"? Why did I take French for so many years and all I really remember is "quelquefois"? Why, oh why, can't I remember what happened at the Battle of Carchemish?!

And then I turn on some music, and something stirs within my soul. "Find me in the river, I'm waiting here for You" I hear him sing, and my heart starts to sing, too. I feel compelled to read a Psalm, write a poem, and praise my God for faithfully meeting me, even in the dry riverbed. I pull up pictures for visual aide, and all day long I will be thinking about the cracked dirt and God's promises that if I stay by the river I will never cease to bear fruit, not even in the dead, dry heat of summer. (Jeremiah 17:7-8)

I love that God can speak so clearly to me through His creative side. I love that I can look pretty much anywhere in His creation and see a deep life lesson. I love that I look at my son and am moved by the Lord's grace toward me. I love that my husband reminds me of God's faithful hesed. I love that I listen to children's songs about the Bible and am moved to tears because of the simple and profound truth I hear. I love that music makes me want to write, and I love that writing makes me want to sing praise to God. I love that God made me a creative thinker.

Back to my original question: What is your creative outlet?

The first friend I asked (who was, of course, a type-A, analytic, linear thinker) said, "I don't know. *long pause* Working on cars, I guess. I like figuring out the problem and solving it, and then fitting it all back together." Another friend answered, "Cooking. God made so many incredible flavors and spices, and I like to see how they can come together."

"Creativity" doesn't have to mean art. I'm a lousy artist, but I love to write. What's yours (ironically, you might have to get creative in thinking about your answer)? PowerPoint? Writing Greek papers? Learning new languages?

In the beginning, God created. All throughout Scripture He is making things new. How do you reflect this side of God?

What is your creative outlet?

P.S. To keep things fair, while you think about that, I'm going to go make a menu plan. I've gotta start somewhere, right?

Watching from Starboard

2010-05-31T08:29:00.000-07:00

I've been Peter. Actually, I feel like my whole life has been a series of Peter moments - you know, those times when God calls you to get out of the boat and trust Him to keep you from sinking. Don't let anyone tell you it's easy being Peter. Anyone who has ever had their faith tested knows that the sight of the waves and the sound of the wind is a tough competition for the quiet, steady voice of the Savior.

Although it's hard to be Peter (and there have been a number of times that I took my eyes off of Christ and started to sink) it's also kind of an honorable challenge. To know that it's just you and Jesus - one calling, the other walking - to lose sight of everyone and everything around you and focus in on Him and see Him focused on you is an indescribable moment. And even when I begin to falter and feel the waters rising around me, when He reaches out for me there is such an overwhelming hope and joy that makes me crave another opportunity to join Him on the lake.

But then there are the times when I don't get to be Peter. There are times when I'm Philip, or Thomas, or Bartholomew. There are times when my faith is not carrying me across the water, but when I have to watch a dear friend be challenged in their faith. I am not such a fan of staying in the boat.

You see, from here all I can do is watch and pray that Christ won't let my friend sink because of the storm. All I can do is hope and pray that my friend keeps looking into the eyes of Jesus. I can shout encouragement, I can watch and hope, but I can't do anything to keep my friend walking into our Lord's outstretched arms.

I feel helpless. I feel useless. I feel like my faith isn't strong enough to carry them across the water. But I feel like my faith doesn't really matter here anyway.

Sometimes when I have to stay in the boat I'm afraid because, well, I know "Peter". I know my friend's faith is weak. I know they won't keep their eyes on Christ. I know it's only a matter of time before they sink...and it breaks my heart to watch them get out of the boat.

And then sometimes...sometimes "Peter" astounds me. Sometimes "Peter" walks right across the tide, grabs Christ's hand and turns toward the shore. Sometimes "Peter" puts my safe-in-the-boat faith to shame.

Erin, thank you for being a faithful Peter. I will try to be a faithful Bart.

Panting

2010-04-28T07:34:00.000-07:00

I've been running lately. Before you give me a big "so what?" let me tell you just how much I hate to run. I hate it a lot. Why? Oh, so many reasons. I hate the way it makes my legs feel. I hate the way it makes my lungs feel. I hate the way it makes all my jiggly parts feel. I hate how bored I get.

But...I LOVE when it's over.

I love that I can say I just ran two miles. I love the way my leg muscles twitch for at least a half hour afterward. I love knowing that I just made myself do something I hate for the betterment of my body. And I love the water. Oh, do I love the water.

When I'm running my body kicks into overdrive and it needs water to keep going. Water cools me down so I don't overheat. Water slows me down so I can breathe normally again. Water refreshes me so I can look back over those two miles with pleasure. And water puts back into my body everything I just willingly gave out of it.

When I run, I crave water.

Why is it that I feel the effects of my thirst so much more powerfully in my physical need than I do in my spiritual need? Why do I give my body what it needs after a run but I won't do the same for my heart? I would venture to say that in this broken, depraved, troubled world my soul is actually putting in more effort than my body, and yet my body is always first to be tended. Why do I let my spirit go thirsty?

My Spirit needs the Lord every bit as much as my body needs water.

When I'm [pouring my heart into my day] my [soul] kicks into overdrive and it needs [the Lord]. [The Lord] cools me down so I don't [burn out]. [The Lord] slows me down so I can breathe normally again. [The Lord] refreshes me so I can look back over [my day] with pleasure. And [the Lord] puts back into my [soul] everything I just willingly gave out of it.

And yet, I don't crave the Lord.

I find other things to do. I find other things that "need" my attention. I find other things to refresh me - good things, tasty things, but not what I need. Basically, I drink a spiritual Coke.

I want to say with the sons of Korah,

As the deer pants for streams of water
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul longs for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
~Psalm 42:1-2

I am panting daily. Hourly. At this very minute. I want to crave the Lord, but I keep reaching for Coke.

Rock-A-Bye Baby

2010-01-11T08:22:00.000-08:00

It's 3:30 AM. I gather my crying son into my arms and walk him into the living room while whispering in his ear the phrase I've kind of made my "mommy mantra." "I've got you, Son," I say. "I will always take care of you." I sing hymns to him while he eats, trying to keep myself awake. He finishes one of many mid-night meals and we make our way to the tried and true Babies R Us rocking chair, both blinking slow and hard, trying to stay awake. I pat his back rhythmically in time with the backward and forward motions of the rocker and sing softly in his ear the hymn that's stuck in my head, "Great is Thy Faithfulness". As his eyelids get heavier his body follows suit, and I can feel his head sink into my shoulder.

Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
Back and forth.
Pat. Pat. Pat.

His body melts onto mine, and together we rock until he is deep in sleep and deep in my arms.

As I sat and whispered the words to that old hymn, trying to remember which lines matched up with which, I finally saw a rich depth and truth that I simply could not have understood until now. I also finally understood my rocking chair...and my patting...and the lullabies.

My son quieted down as soon as he felt the fluid rocking motions, the rhythmic pats on his back, when he heard the soft and constant melody. He felt lulled by the consistency and predictability. He knew that every time we went forward, we would also go back. He knew each pat would be followed by another. He knew to expect the chorus along with the verses. Babies are calmed by reliability, and patterns make them feel safe.

Lamentations 2:22-24 says:
22The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
For His compassions never fail.
23They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
24"The LORD is my portion," says my soul,
"Therefore I have hope in Him."

It is God's constant, reliable, faithful love and compassion that allows us to have a safe and peaceful hope in Him. We are calmed by the knowledge that we can expect mercy every morning. We are soothed by feeling His gentle love carry us back and forth. Knowing that His hand will softly and tenderly be laid on us gives us a security in who He is and what we can trust Him to do.

When I truly dwell on God's persistent love, I quietly melt into His arms of faithfulness and there I rest deeply.

Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God, our Father
There is no shadow of turning with Thee
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be

Great is Thy faithfulness
Great is Thy faithfulness
Morning by morning new mercies I see
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest
Sun, moon, and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Moldy Oldies

2009-06-29T07:36:00.000-07:00

I did a thorough cleaning of the refrigerator yesterday. It's amazing how something can be so revolting and so therapeutic all at the same time. It wasn't that I was especially in the "mood" to pull everything out, empty the leftovers from last Thanksgiving, and scrub out the tupperware. Actually, it was more out of necessity than anything. See, I had just bought groceries. All of the new turkey bacon and strawberries needed a home, and that required that I roll up my sleeves, don the rubber gloves, and get down to business.

Coincidentally, I had just started a new devotional that very same yesterday. For the next 40 days I will be intentional about giving up the time I would normally be doing something in particular - in this case watching tv (I am, after all, a nanny...though I've never tasted a Bon Bon) - and instead spend that time working through the Scriptures and questions in this devotional.

Well, after I had finished working through the devotions for last evening I headed out for a 30 minute drive to pick my husband up from the airport, and I decided to do something drastic - turn off the radio and pray.

First I chatted with God about how excited I was to be doing this 40 Day Journey, and I told Him that I wanted Him to challenge me and change me (yada yada yada), then I found myself asking a question. "Why don't I pray anymore?" Yes, I was asking God why I don't pray, because I've thought about that question often and I couldn't come to any conclusions. "You know, Lord. You know why I don't pray. You know my heart."

Then it hit me...like a ton of bricks...like lightning...like anything that's sudden and painful.

When you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.
~Psalm 4:4b

I knew at that moment that I would know the answer to my own question if I had been taking the time to sit silently and to search my heart. It had been so long since I turned off the music, the tv, the people, the thoughts, the noise and silently sat and searched.

Then I thought back a few hours to my putrid refrigerator. I had to clean it out, I had to go through it and find the stuff, I had to make room for the fresh, good things. I took the time, searched through everything, dealt with the problem areas, and it paid off opening up so much space.

My heart is, shamefully, like my refrigerator. It has gone way too long without a good, thorough cleaning. As I drove to DFW at 10:30 pm, I found plenty of mold growing on things in my heart - things that I had pushed to the back instead of working through right away. Some I had even forgotten were in there because I hadn't wanted to deal with them.

But just like me (the domestic marvel that I am) and my refrigerator, God has so many good things that He wants to give us if only we'll take the time (and the silence) to do a thorough search and deal with the messes that have been growing in the far back corners of our hearts.

Spiritually speaking, it's time for me to roll up my sleeves, don some rubber gloves, and get down to business. It'll stink, but I want to have room for the strawberries.

Compassion

2009-04-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

They glanced around at each other awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with him. A few mumbles could be heard, but the wind drowned them out quickly and he didn't seem to notice. Finally, Philip broke the silence.

"I don't want to be the wet blanket or anything, but we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere...and there are a lot of people. There's nowhere to find enough food - not even close. Why don't we just send them home and they can buy bread on the way?"

He looked disappointed as he listened to his friend talk. "They've already followed us for three days. They won't make it back. They'd collapse before they ever made it home."

There were a number of frustrated sighs let out at this, but Philip wasn't going to argue any more.

"How many loaves do you have?" he asked.

"Seven," they replied with the kind of sarcasm that really meant, "Seven...do you want us to break them into 4,000 pieces?"

He climbed up onto a rock and called to the crowd to sit down. He raised his eyes to heaven and thanked God for the seven loaves and few small fish they were able to scrounge together, then he handed them to his friends and asked them to pass them out to the starving crowd.

The people ate and were satisfied.

After he had fed them he sent all the people away and asked his friends to help him clean up the mess. They went around in groups of two carrying a basket between them and picking up the broken pieces of food that were strewn on the ground.

They couldn't believe their eyes - each group had collected a whole basketful - James and John had two!

Then Thomas piped up, "Didn't he just do this last week?"

My husband gave a sermon on this passage, and his tag line that he repeated throughout was, "God loves to meet your needs." Christ's words in Mark 8 begin with "I have compassion on these people," and that compassion - not their need to see a miracle - drove him to provide for their needs. He wanted to take care of them. He wanted to provide for them. He loved to meet their needs.

Both times that Jesus fed the large crowds he asked his disciples what they have, what they were able to pull together. They searched all around and gave him everything they found to see what he would do with them, how he would use them to meet the need.

Seven loaves of bread cannot feed 4,000 men. A few small fish cannot feed a crowd of women and children. That meal was completely insufficient for them...until it was in the hands of Christ. When the meagre spread was received with gratitude by the Son of the Living God he turned it into a feast that not only satisfied the need, but gave them a souvenir of God's faithfulness to take home with them.

We don't have much. Sometimes it looks like what we have is completely insufficient for our needs. We come to God with nothing but a couple of humble paychecks, two cars, our health, a little bit of free time, and a whole list of needs. By all accounts it's not enough, but that's before it touches the hands of Christ.

When we give our resources over to him - not hiding the fish in our pockets, and not saying our bread will never be enough - but hand them over to him wholly, he loves to meet our needs. He takes compassion on us, and blows us away with what he can produce.

But sometimes it's hard to remember that when all you're holding is seven loaves of bread and a few small fish.

But I guess I should trust him by now. Didn't I just see him do this last week?

Needing the Weeds

2009-02-17T07:24:00.000-08:00

It was a long walk - a very long walk - and a dry walk. The air was dry, the ground was dry, and my throat was dry. I kept my eyes on the ground watching for scurrying animals or, even worse, scorpions. There was tall rustling grass just plagued with ticks, I could feel it, and dry underbrush that was home to some rattlesnake nest I'm sure I was close to trampling.

We walked through the gulley following the very non-descript map we had been given and it was feeling a little eerie. The trees were dead. The grass was dead. That armadillo was dead. Everything, it seemed, had been drained of life and I gave up any hope of seeing something that was thriving in that deserted place.

Then, in the basin of the parched gulley, we came across the weeds. The ground was dry and cracked all around it, and the bright green of the leaves lay in stark contrast to the gray-brown dirt which surrounded them. There was no moisture in the dirt, but somehow these weeds had been able to grow strong, to dig in their roots, and even to multiply. In the middle of such a desperately dry place the weeds took on a unique kind of beauty.

They were life.

Now don't get me wrong, I know they were just weeds. They had no colorful flowers. No long intricate stems. No intoxicating aroma. In any garden they would've been an eyesore, but in the middle of what could otherwise be deemed a wasteland, they were awesomely beautiful. Life had grown out of a dry, cracked riverbed and stood (albeit 1/4 in. off the ground) as a testimony that it was, indeed, fertile ground.

I've had a lot of "dry seasons" that closely resemble the Texas landscape. Parched and cracked and desperately needing refreshment while the proverbial vultures wait on the branches overhead for me to give in. I go through seasons where I just feel empty of all life, and it's hard for me to remember what life even looked like in me.

When was I ever refreshing? When was I ever weighed down by His fruit? When was the last time someone stopped to look at the beauty in my life?

But there are also those weeds that somehow seem to pop up without any nourishment or any warning: an encouraging word from someone, a tearful prayer, a moment of meaningful worship, or sudden clarity about a verse of Scripture. They're nothing fancy - no elaborate spiritual masterpieces. These are just small, simple things that stand as testimony in my life that, however dry or desperate the terrain may be, the Spirit is never done with His work in me.

I'm learning to love the weeds. They let me know I'm still alive.

But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.
~Jeremiah 17:7-8

Exodus

2009-02-04T07:29:00.000-08:00

you've been with me
so long
now I want to know

I want to hear you
say your name
in your voice
tell me who you are
show me what you're like
reveal your heart to me
all the good that's in you

come to me
speak to me
but only pass by me

because I'm afraid
of who you are

And the LORD said, "I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you and I will problaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."
~Exodus 33:19-20

Alone on a mountaintop Moses pleaded with God to give him some answers. The LORD had shown Himself faithful time after time throughout the entire story, but at this point in Moses' need he just wanted to see God.

God, in all His goodness, holiness, mercy, and compassion chose to reveal Himself, and yet conceal Himself. He gave Moses the glimpse he was asking for, the promise and hope he craved, and the intimacy and presence for which most of us are too timid to ask. At the same time, who He is was too much for Moses, and in His mercy He witheld enough of Himself to spare Moses' life.

This is God in Exodus. This is God as He reveals Himself to His chosen people, fulfilling the promises He made to them in the beginning.

This is the veiled unveiling.

Genesis

2009-01-28T13:27:00.000-08:00

"I will"
I said
and you laughed

I reminded you
when you lied
(and stole, and cheated)

I repeated it
when we fought
and you walked away

My words
are yours
to have and hold

not because you're beautiful
but because they're mine

I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.
~Genesis 28:15b

That promise, that hope, that faithfulness that God promised to Jacob when nothing seemed to be working out or making much sense...that is the theme of Genesis. Beginning in the Garden God has been working all things toward completion, and He will not stop until He has kept every last one of His promises.

God promised Abraham and Sarah, and they laughed.
Jacob stole his way into the promise, lied to his father, and cheated his brother. Jacob wrestled with God himself then demanded a blessing.

But no matter what happens (or happened) to merit His rejection, His promise is trustworthy because of who He is and because He is the one who made it.

ramblings of a rusty writer

2009-01-20T10:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in a while. Well, I have written, but it was more to fill space than anything. I guess I'm just in one of those funks where it's not only hard to find the time to write, but when I do sit down, nothing comes. The following are 3 things that "flowed", for the most part unedited. They're not very good, and they're not intended to be. They are merely my efforts to get myself going again - a jump start, if you will. Please don't judge me (or my writing) based on what you see here. Judge merely my effort to get myself back to doing something I love.

Writer's Block
Searching, pulling, reaching (fishing)
hoping to find something
anything
that reminds me of yester(day)(month)(year)

fingers tracing, pointing (cold)
wishing to grasp
an idea
(not even a masterpiece)

sighs falling from my mouth to the floor
with a thud
longing to be light again
to be full again

sighs that can't seem to find the words.

The Poet
She sits, uninspired
twirling a pen
between her cold fingers

The baby squirms on the floor
reaching for a toy,
finding satisfaction with a sock

There's a fly in the window
*tap tap tap*
trying to find an opening

She cracks the window
the fly escapes (the baby cries)
"Looks like snow"

She scoops up the child
turns out the light
and walks through the dark room

"I hope something inspires me tomorrow."

Confessions of an English Major (and double writing minor)
I was almost a math major. I really don't like Brit Lit. My "ideal evening" does not include settling in with a good book. I still claim that Crime and Punishment is my favorite book even though I haven't read it since that one time in high school. I love poetry, but only from certain eras and certain authors, otherwise I just don't get it. I've never read The Canterbury Tales, even though I took an entire course on Chaucer in college. I rarely ever proofread. I haven't written down most of my "good" ideas because I don't have a long enough attention span to complete them. I have a number of plays in my head that no one will ever know about or see. I don't think I'm a very good writer and I'm very rarely pleased with my work. I hate journaling. I've lost most of the hard copies of everything I wrote before and during college and I never saved my grad school writings, so they perished with my hard drive. I notice every time someone says "I'm doing good" (in case you're not uptight about it like I am, you're not doing good, you're doing well). I like poetic language, so poems or prose that have lines like "her sticky lips pressed / together" irk me (this is also why I don't like country music). I'm really bad at grammar. I studied Old English which, although beautiful, has proven to be completely useless. I don't have the patience to endure most novels. I'm still not completely sure of all of the symbolism and motifs in The Heart of Darkness. I never read The Scarlet Letter because I had the Cliff's Notes for it. In college I claimed that my spiritual gift was B.S. I don't like editing. I'd rather watch the movie than read the book.

Spiritual Citrus

2008-12-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

You're holding an orange peel in your hand. Let me clarify: you're holding an orange peel in your right hand. In your left hand you have orange seeds, in front of you is a glass of orange juice (extremely pulpy) and a pile of those offwhite veiny things.

Your assignment: make an orange.

You've got everything it takes to make an orange, and yet you find yourself staring blankly at your two hands (or glaringly at me) and thinking to yourself, "yeah right."

Well if you can't make an orange, then where do oranges come from? Yes, yes, I know - they grow. I can't make an orange either, but I can till some ground, plant an orange seed, water it, prune it, dig up the weeds, and eventually I could have the orangiest orange tree this side of the Mississippi...and the Rockies, I suppose. That's not the point.

The point is: oranges aren't made, they grow.

It's a simple concept. So simple, in fact, that many people have started skimming through these sentences looking for me to get to my point. My point is exactly that: it's simple...but we miss it every single day of our lives. Let me explain.

When I was in college I felt convicted by Galatians 5. You've read it, "but the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." You didn't have to look hard at my life (or at my interactions with my roommates) to see that I needed some fruit on my tree. I decided to take one "fruit" a week and work on it, not moving on to the next until I had mastered it, at least for the most part.

It took longer than you'd think, but eventually I began to realize my plan wasn't working. I'd be working on kindness, but eventually I realized I couldn't be kind to my roommates because I had no patience for them, so I had to backtrack. Then patience didn't work without love. And so on. Eventually it hit me - you don't make fruit. Fruit has to grow.

Finally I looked at the context of the passage and my thoughts were confirmed. The fruit really wasn't my job at all. My job was to live, to walk, to keep in step with the Spirit and He would produce the fruit.

Scot McKnight says it this way:
"In general, we see something fundamentally important here as to how Paul depicts the Christian life. It is life in the Spirit, the life of a person who is surrendered to letting the Spirit have complete control. But we see here also that one does not gain this life by discipline or by mustering up the energy. One does not huddle with oneself in the morning, gather together his or her forces, and charge on the battlefield of life full of self-determined direction. Rather, the Christian life is a life of complete surrender to the Spirit."

Huh.

Do you ever look at your life and say, "Where's all the love?" or "Who stole my joy?!" or (let's be real for a second) "Why did I just talk to him like that?" Do you ever look at yourself and say, "Why are my branches so daggum light?"

The weird thing is the fruit isn't your responsibility, but if it's not growing in your life, it's your fault.

We are responsible for the soil. We're responsible for planting ourselves by streams of water, and for digging our roots deep, and for keeping the weeds in check, and for reading His Word, and for prayer, and for fellowship, and for keeping in step with the Spirit. We are responsible for the environment, He is responsible for the life.

The best part is, when we're doing our part, it's spring all year 'round!

I can't make an orange, but I know what it takes to grow one. And with diligent care and the Lifejuice of the Spirit, my life will be the tree where people get their cool refreshment, their tangy nourishment, their sweet delight.

Will you join me in this celestial orchard?

But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought,
and never fails to bear fruit.
~Jeremiah 17:7-8

Seated on a donkey’s colt

2008-08-20T18:35:00.000-07:00

Jesus made his big debut riding on the haunches of a lowly beast of burden. This man, professing to be the King of kings and the Lord of Lords and Israel’s savior came to them sauntering through the crowd to the sound of clippity-clop clippity-clop clippity clop. I have already written about the surprising carpet that was rolled out before this guest of highest honor, but now it’s time to direct our mental eyes up and focus on his chosen mode of transportation.

Donkeys are slow and stubborn creatures. They are not sure-footed like a gazelle. They are not graceful like a deer. They are not powerful like an ox. They are not reliable like a camel and they are sure not regal like a stallion. They are everyday and mundane. Donkeys are common. They are useful, but common.

However, it was not showmanship Christ was seeking. He wasn’t looking for shock value, he wasn’t dressing to impress. Christ picked a humble, common creature that He knew would carry Him capably and faithfully. When people saw Him riding into town they remembered what had already been written about Him:

See, to the Daughter of Zion. See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Christ came gently, riding on the humblest of creatures. It kept in line with everything His earthly life had been about, reaching all the way back to His humble beginning in a 1/12 star motel. Christ is for the lowly. Christ is for the common. Christ is what it’s all about.

So there is a commonplace donkey trotting through the city of Zion with the eternal Lord on its back carrying Him to His and glory. That humble, common beast of burden faithfully carried our Savior and our Life into that world that desperately needed Him.

The glory of that donkey was not in the donkey itself, but in the precious weight that he bore and the way in which he bore it. The donkey delivered Christ, and now it's our turn.

"...We theologians, and church musicians, we pastoral counselors and biblical scholars, we educators and activists . . . we are all donkeys, a guild of donkeys who happen to be on the spot, and who are called in the providence of God to carry for a while that most special and precious of all burdens. Our job is to carry it—carry him—faithfully, steadily, humbly, proudly, unashamedly, joyfully—along that treacherous path which leads finally to Calvary."
~Timothy George

See, we Christians have nothing glorious in and of ourselves. We have no beauty or gallantry to offer the Lord. What we have is our faithful, steady, humble, proud, unashamed, joyful service and our backs on which to bear the King.

That day Christ proclaimed his presence riding on the back of the commonest of creatures. Today, he continues to ride into the world seated on a donkey's colt.

Love AND Respect

2008-07-09T07:07:00.001-07:00

There's a very popular book floating around out there entitled "Love and Respect". The main premise centers around male/female relationships, especially within the context of marriage, and each genders deepest longing or need. In short, women deeply desire to be loved while men's deepest desire is to feel that they are respected.

On it's most basic level, I'm not going to disagree with the intentions, or even the conclusions, of the author. However, I think the book conveys a dangerous mindset: that it is an either/or dilemma.

Women either want to feel that they are cherished above all others or they want to feel respected. Men either want to know that they are held in high honor or feel loved.

I don't know any woman who wants her husband to make her feel loved at the expense of feeling that he respects her as a person. I have never met a man who so desperately needs to feel respected that it's of little importance to him that he know he's loved.

The reason I call it dangerous is because we start to approach God with the same mindset. I'm either going to love God or I'm going to respect Him. I'll either cherish my relationship with the Lord or I'll tremble at His feet. I will live according to Deuteronomy 6:5 ("Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength") or according to Deuteronomy 6:24-25 ("The LORD commanded us to obey all these decrees and to fear the LORD our God, so that we might always prosper and be kept alive, as is the case today. And if we are careful to obey all this law before the LORD our God, as he has commanded us, that will be our righteousness.")

God doesn't want our hearts without our obedience (a Christian life filled with good intentions), and He doesn't want our obedience without our hearts (a Christian life of empty rules and rituals).

God wants both/and.

A devoted Christian life will be one where the depth of the love necessitates the deepest honor, and the true respect for the King of all kings and Lord of all lords enriches even the most sincere love. God merits both our love AND respect.

Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I, too, will love him and show myself to him.
~John 14:21

Not a Red Dot Sale

2008-04-07T09:40:00.000-07:00

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now I'm found
was blind, but now I see!

(sing along if you know the words)

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
and grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
the hour I first believed

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come
'Twas grace that led me safe thus far
and grace will lead me home

[key change]

When we've been there ten thousand years
bright shining as the sun
we've no less days to sing God's praise
than when we'd first begun

The song is more familiar than the national anthem, being sung by church choirs, children's choirs, Aretha, Elvis, Willie, and we could probably dig up a version by Marilyn Manson. For those of us who understand the meaning behind the words, though, something pulls on the strings in the deepest part of our souls saying that the gift of grace that we've been given is really, truly amazing.

What's even more amazing is that this "Amazing Grace" is free. Completely, entirely, no strings attached free.

I've been given a number of free things in my life. I got a free floss card at a concert once. I usually get a free pack of fireworks when I buy 5. I've gotten free drinks, free dessert, free movie tickets, and free clothes. Free things happen. But while God's grace is freely offered, it's not free like a shampoo sample is free.

Usually when people give me something for free it's because they want me to buy something else from them, or because they've already used it for all it's worth, or most likely because it's not really worth much to begin with. When I get something for free the giver has rarely lost something important in the transaction. I'm able to use and abuse my free gift because it didn't really cost anyone anything of value.

It's different with this "Amazing Grace". Free grace does not equal cheap grace.

This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. God presented him as a sacrifice of atonement, through faith in his blood.
~Romans 3:22-25a

God's "Amazing Grace" was the most costly thing that has ever been purchased. For the first time in eternal history the Godhead was separated and the Creator became subject to the fallenness of His creation. Yet He hands us this grace as a free gift.

Not cheap -- free.

Here's that old favorite hymn one more time. Listen to the words, but this time look at the price tag.

This was the cost of grace -- free grace, amazing grace.

Yes, it is free, but let's not treat it like it came from the clearance rack.

Little Kicks and Pirouettes

2008-03-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

Life is full of dances. Rather, life is a dance - one big musical in which we are all performers, all dancers and actors, and all contributing to the development of the plot. There are individual performances, couple's dances, and group routines - the moment determining the steps.

The events of our lives are our orchestra, filling the world with music. The air is shaking with the sounds of chaotic schedules, stressful workdays, relaxing vacations, invigorating friendships, and quiet moments watching the sun rise.

On the stage of life we flit and float and sachet to the rhythm of the moment. Whether it is a dance of exhaustion, excitement, frustration, embarassment, pleasure, hunger, desire, grief, or anxiety there is a set of box-steps and jazz hands to complement every moment of life.

There are performances we put on that make life amusing (polka would be an apt metaphor), entertaining (think 'N Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" routine), awe-inspiring (break-dancers who defy gravity) and inspirational (who doesn't want to take ballroom dancing lessons after watching "Dancing with the Stars"?).

The question is what kind of dancer am I?

Do I move in reaction to the music of life?

Sadly, I think I often do. I hear something offensive, and I react. I see something annoying, and I react. I feel frustrated, and I do some "little kicks". I find something that makes me happy, and out pop the thumbs. My movements are often unrehearsed, unrefined, and unappealing, leaving everyone (except for maybe myself) embarassed for the way I conduct myself. I go through life having a long strand of what appear to be "full body dry heaves".

Instead of reacting to the music in my life, I could let that music move me.

Her movements are intentional, her posture is elegant, and her dance is nothing short of beautiful.

Both women enjoy dancing, but sometimes the apparent seizures would distract you from ever knowing that. Both hear the music, both move to the rhythm, both show their emotions, but only one leaves you wanting to see more.

As I make my way through this performance of my life I am given every opportunity to refine my steps, to practice my movements, to improve the way I tell my part of the story.

Life is a stage. I am a performer. The world is making music. Am I letting it move me, or am I merely reacting to it...little kicks and all?

Sea Spray

2008-02-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

Tumbling and swirling, I take deep breaths whenever I can.

Save me, O God,
for the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in the miry depths,
where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters;
the floods engulf me.

"Be still" He says.
I feel relief, truly believing that those powerful words are spoken to the waves of my life the same way he spoke them to the waves of Galilee.
"Be still" he repeats.

The sky grows darker.

I am worn out calling for help;
my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
looking for my God.
Do not let the floodwaters engulf me
or the depths swallow me up
or the pit close its mouth over me.

"Be still."
Again I wait for the waves to heed His commands. I wait for the wind to die down. I wait, and I cry, and I struggle against the deep darkness pulling me down.

Answer me, O LORD, out of the goodness of your love;
in your great mercy turn to me.
Do not hide your face from your servant;
answer me quickly, for I am in trouble.

"Be..."
...still, I know, but it's not working! The wind won't stop, the rain won't stop, this storm is not obeying you, and I can't reach the bottom anymore. I'm not strong enough for this. Won't you save me?

Let heaven and earth praise him,
the seas and all that move in them

All that move in them. All that move in them? I move in them. I'm drowning, but I'm still moving. Praise you?

"Be still" He says again, "and know that I am God."

Once He chose to calm the storm (Mark 4:35-41).
Once He chose to calm the man (Matthew 14:25-33).
Both times He asked, "Where is your faith?"

~from Psalms 69 and 46

Revision

2007-12-14T07:50:00.000-08:00

So send I you — by grace made strong;
To triumph o’er hosts of hell,
O’er darkness, death and sin;
My name to bear, and in that name to conquer
So send I you, my victory to win

These were the original words penned by Margaret Clarkson, a woman whose ventures in life and spiritual efforts had brought her to a place of loneliness and isolation. Feeling broken and emptied by her answer to the Lord's call she wrote these five lines to spur her on.

Years later, however, she looked back at the words she had written and saw in them a perspective that was slanted toward her own hurt. She thought again about her loneliness and isolation and personal struggles, and rewrote the words to reflect a different perspective.

So send I you to labor unrewarded,
To serve unpaid, unloved, unsought, unknown,
To bear rebuke, to suffer scorn and scoffing-
So send I you to toil for me alone.

So send I you to bind the bruised and broken,
O'er wand'ring souls to work, to weep, to wake,
To bear the burdens of a world aweary -
So send I you to suffer for My sake.

So send I you to loneliness and longing,
With heart ahung'ring for the loved and known,
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one -
So send I you to know My love alone.

So send I you to leave your life's ambition,
To die to dear desire, self-will resign,
To labor long, and love where men revile you -
So send I you to lose your life in Mine.

So send I you to hearts made hard by hatred,
To eyes made blind because they will not see,
To spend, tho' it be blood, to spend and spare not -
So send I you to taste of Calvary.

"On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you!' After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord. Again Jesus said, 'Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.' And with that he breathed on them and said, 'Receive the Holy Spirit.'"
~John 20:19-22

Praise God for those who show us a glimpse of what it means to taste of Calvary.

P.S. He is coming.

(for Matt)

Christmas Hymns

2007-12-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

Did you know that your sense of smell diminishes 50% every 4 minutes? This means that if you are exposed to a scent without variation in intensity or other external factors you wouldn't smell it after 8 minutes. It makes more sense now how trash men can do their jobs, doesn't it. Well, I think the same thing is true with hearing. It seems that if you hear something often enough, you no longer are able to hear what it's saying.

'Tis the season to hear 15 different versions of no more than 15 different songs. Carol of the Bells is played by the Trans Siberian Orchestra, Burger King commercials, and the choir on Home Alone so much that the listener either dreams about it in his sleep or frustratedly turns off the radio or television whenever the song is played (or both, perhaps). Starting in early November there are stations dedicated entirely to carrying the jolly tunes to the stressed out Macy's and Kroger's crowds, and by the time Christmas day finally comes people often choose to have a quiet day with no organs or handbells or synthesizers.

While I am completely comfortable with people growing weary of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" or "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," I wonder what people think when they sing "The First Noel" at the candlelight service the night before Christmas.

"Jimmy's present never came."
"I don't remember how many cups of sugar are in that glaze."
"I wonder who cleans the wax off the carpet when we all leave."
"I'm so tired, I can't wait for tomorrow to be over."
"Is his family ever going to go home?"

These songs that we sing at Christmas are not meant to accomplish what the "other" songs accomplish. They were not written to spread cheer and merriment, the words and even the music were designed by brothers and sisters who have a deep humility at God's condescension to mankind. Men and women who were filled with awe at the magnitude of the moment while God himself left the glory of heaven and resided in a dismal dungheap wrapped in the same sort of linens that would later wrap his lifeless body at the cross.

These songs are not jolly, they are joyous - deeply joyous - and we have no less reason to sing them from the depths of our hearts and souls than did those who wrote the songs or the angels and shepherds which the songs describe.

Why lies he in such mean estate
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
As a baby, the Word of God was silent, but in those quiet moments his very act of becoming a quiet baby was pleading for reconciliation with the Father!
~What Child is This?

The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
In that one night, God really confronted all the hopes and fears that had been building up for thousands of years
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
He was a king, for crying out loud! Where's the pomp? where's the circumstance?
~O Little Town of Bethlehem

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
Those people are still in mourning because they don't know Emmanuel HAS come to them. O, Israel!
~O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessing flow
far as the curse is found,
far as the curse is found,
far as, far as the curse is found.
As far as the curse has reached (which is EVERYTHING) Christ has come to make new and to bless.
~Joy to the World

Shepherds, why this jubilee?
If only we knew how to show jubilee. Have we not met the same
Christ?
~Angels We Have Heard on High

Risen with healing in His wings
Wings of healing - how desperately I need those wings to carry me and cover me.
~Hark, the Herald Angels Sing

Ye, who sang creation's story,
Now proclaim Messiah's birth:
Come and worship,
Come and worship
Worship Christ, the newborn King
Even as a baby, Christ was worthy of worship. Right now he sits at the right hand of the Father...where are the worshipers?
~Angels from the Realms of Glory

Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees!
Can you imagine what it would feel like for the world when Christ first came? When for the first time the soul felt valuable. Sin and error and longing are so exhausting, and when that NEW and GLORIOUS MORNING came, the weary world rejoiced. What a thrill that first dawning of hope must've been. Of course they fell on their knees!
~O Holy NIght

1 Tim. 3:16 says, "Beyond all question, the mystery of godliness is great: he appeared in the body, was vindicated by the Spirit, was seen by angels, was preached among the nations, was believed on in the world, was received up in glory."

Mystery indeed.

According to Amy Grant's version of Christmas, "You don't have to be a child to love the mystery." Do you love the mystery, or has it become just another thing to turn down on the radio?

It takes only 8 minutes to lose your sense of smell. I hate to think how quickly the words we hear so often lose their meaning.

Baggage Claim

2007-11-06T06:45:00.000-08:00

He leaned against the square pillar and rubbed his eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled, a little bit louder than he had intended. He watched as the remaining passengers started to file toward the Customer Service booth off to the side of the carousel. “Never fails.”

Instead of adding himself as one more frantic and frustrated customer to the already zealous crowd he decided to check the other carousels to see if it was misplaced.

He walked down the wide corridor – which was far too busy for 3:47 AM – and yawned as he watched the other sleepy passengers as they shoved past each other to check the tags on the generic black fabric suitcase before it started its slow journey around the room.

When he reached the last conveyer – which was empty and surrounded by tired, grumpy people - he stretched his arms and stopped to get a drink from the water fountain. He watched the agitated businessmen and the sleeping 2-year-old twins and the confused Korean tourists as they all waited for the lights to flash and the alarm to sound in order to announce the coming of their luggage. He shook his head. He knew it was only a matter of time before they had to add themselves to the ever-growing line in front of the little old lady at the Customer Service booth.

A young woman and her son were trying to guess which bags belonged to which passengers. “Who do you think has that big green one?” or “There’s one with a purple ribbon on it. Who do you see that you think likes purple the most?”

He was impressed with how well the game held the little boy’s attention. “I wish that would entertain me.” He looked across the faces of the people hovering in a clump around the luggage chute and tried to decipher which one he thought liked purple the most. He sighed, realizing that not only did he have no clue, but he really was completely uninterested. All he wanted was his own bag.

“I just want to go home” he thought. “Could this have happened at a worst time?”

He switched his backpack to his other shoulder and turned back toward Carousel 4, hoping maybe, just maybe, it had come out later than all the rest. He could see from a distance that his hopes would be fruitless, so begrudgingly he headed toward the long line of disgruntled customers.

“Welcome home, Son.”

He hadn’t even stopped walking before his eyes started to get blurry. He turned to see his father’s strong eyes, still as piercing as ever but also brimming with tears. “It’s good to have you back.”

He lowered his backpack to his feet and shook his father’s sturdy hand, then they gave each other a hard hug, a strong hug, an I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-see-you-again hug.

“You ready?”

Everything in him wanted to just get in the car and drive off and worry about the bag tomorrow, but he knew once he was home it would be a horridly long drive back to the airport to come and claim it.

“Do you mind waiting? They lost my bag.”
“Oh, did you have more than just the one?”

He looked down to see that on the ground about five feet away was his brown hard shell thrift store suitcase with a bumper sticker collage covering one side of it.

“You had it?”
“I was waitin’ for you and I saw it come out, so I grabbed it.”
“How’d you know it was mine?”
“Son. I was with you when you got it.” He smiled a gentle smile. “Although you have added quite a few things to it since then. I don’t even know what most of these mean.”

He reshouldered his backpack and leaned over to pick up his suitcase, but his dad’s hand reached it first.

“I’ve got it, Son. The car’s this way.”
“Dad, I can carry it. A wheel’s broken so it doesn’t roll.”

He’d seen that look in his dad’s eyes before and he knew it wouldn’t accomplish much to argue with him (especially as tired as he was), so he decided to negotiate.

“Here, why don’t you carry my backpack?”
“Sure, yeah, I can do that.”

He stiffly stooped down to set the suitcase back on the floor and then threaded his arms through the straps of the backpack while his son held it up for him. “Doesn’t this thing fall off o’ you? How do I tighten these things?” and he started tugging at the plastic buckles. His son showed him how to pull the straps tighter so that his gray-haired old man looked more like a kindergartner on the first day of school. His father reached down and again picked up the suitcase.

“Dad!” He quickly grabbed the handle of his suitcase to pull it from his father’s hands.
“Son,” the older man whispered back. He paused and looked into his father’s eyes which were again getting misty. “Son, I just wanted you to come back safe. You’re here, and I just want to get you home.”

The sincerity that he saw in his father’s demeanor made him wrestle with himself, and in the end he conceded. He willed himself to pry open his fingers that were wrapped tightly around the broken black handle. Unable to think of anything to say, he awkwardly whispered back, “Thank you.”
His father grinned and patted his son on the back. “Now, let’s getcha home.”

-------------
Me: “How did you know which one was mine?”
My Father: “I was there when you got it…but you really made it your own, didn’t you?”

Me: “It’s too heavy for you.”
My Father: “You sure did pack it full, but I want to carry it for you.”

Me: “Why don’t you just carry the little one, I’ll take care of the big one?”
My Father: “Why don’t you just let me love you this way?”

Me: “You don’t have to.”
My Father: “I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s getcha home.”

Praise be to the LORD, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.
~Psalm 68:19

All rights reserved.

2007-10-25T12:36:00.000-07:00

The following is a registered trademark...only it hasn't been registered yet and the trademark doesn't exist.

I work as the Assitant for Business Development at an insurance company - Santa Fe Auto Insurance, to be exact. Were you to look at my contact list with the extension numbers for important people within the company you would most likely notice the same thing I noticed shortly after my tenure here began, although I didn't think to question it until much later. There are an inordinate number of Maxwells that work at this company. Now, I know it's not exactly an uncommon last name, but to have 4 Maxwells at a small auto insurance company?

I have since learned that the president of the company, Mr. Doug Maxwell, is the big brother or the web developer guy, John Maxwell, who are both related in some capacity to Jim Maxwell (also titled as "management"). I am yet to figure out where Max Maxwell fits in, but the IT supervisor is Greg Steible who is married to a formerly-Ms.-Maxwell.

This family run business (as it turns out) has gotten my little wheels a-crankin'. How would a Wauer-run family business be set-up? Who would be in which positions? What would we sell? This was the result of dinner conversation in the Hoff household (*note: because of limited employees, some may hold various positions until the decision is made to add more team members):

Company Name: Mommen Candies, Inc.
Specialization: Lollipops
Slogan: "Mommen Pops: for serious suckers only"
Chief Executive Officer (CEO): George Wauer
Chief Operating Officer (COO): Sarah St. Andre
Head of HR: Jennifer Wauer
Information Technology Supervisor: Steve Teske
Web Design: Jason Wauer
Tech Support: Rebekah Teske
Demographics and Field research: Beverly Wauer, Nathan Hoff
PR/Sales: Trinh Wauer, Jason Wauer, Ben Wauer, Ashleigh Henry Wauer, Brian St. Andre
Marketing and Promotions: Erin Teske, Abby Hoff
Advertisement: Ellie Teske, Eben Wauer, Moriah Wauer, Anna Teske, Magen Wauer, Abram Wauer
Customer Service: Beverly Wauer, Jennifer Wauer, Nathan Hoff
Maintenance: Dustin Wauer

Although this company does not exist (sadly...be honest, don't you want a lollipop right now?) it did help me to realize something that's so simple yet so profound: everybody has a place. There wasn't one person in my seemingly oversized family that I thought, "and they could...be...something...um...having to do with...sitting." Everybody has a role, everybody has a function, everybody contributes. It wasn't whether they had a part to play (in my mind, of course), but it was am I willing to think about what their part might be.

I think a lot of times we look around and say, "I don't know what I can contribute here," or even worse "I don't really see what they bring to the table." It's not a matter of "if", it's a matter of "what".

We have different gifts according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.
~Romans 12:6-8

What part do you play? What part has been given to those around you? What are you going to do about it?

I, for one, am going to tell my mom she'd be a great lollipop researcher.

Roll Out

2007-09-25T07:42:00.000-07:00

Whenever celebrities head to a premiere, they know that their eyes and smiles will be greeted with bright flashes of light while their shoes are warmly welcomed by plush red velvet. Royals experience the same sort of privileged treatment. It is not because their feet are any more sensitive than "normal" people's, but instead it is to show them the honor the world has deemed they deserve. For any special person on any special occasion, the red carpet is rolled out to declare "This honor is reserved only for those who are highly esteemed. Here walks one who is worthy of walking here."

Even before one celebrity or one royal sets foot on that carpet, onlookers know that that area has been designated for a special purpose. The area outside of the gala has been unmistakeably reserved, and all people can do is wait with bated breath to catch a glimpse of one who is worthy to set foot on the red carpet. The path has been laid, the crowd has been made ready, the way has been prepared, and all that is left to happen is that the honorable guest make an appearance.

They brought the donkey and the colt, placed their cloaks on them, and Jesus sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,
"Hosanna to the Son of David!"
"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"
"Hosanna in the highest!"
~Matthew 21:7-9

They didn't roll out a red carpet, but the people in that crowd laid down their own clothing to prepare the way for their Savior. They set out a path before him so that all would know that "This honor is reserved only for those who are highly esteemed. Here walks one who is worthy of walking here." Everyone knew that, for someone to walk on the road of cloaks that person must truly be honored. The crowd waited with bated breath to catch a glimpse of the one they had heard so much about and had hoped would come one day.

I have heard of your fame! we shout. King of kings and Lord of lords! He's coming back, and we go before him like John the Baptist who cried out Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him!

What kind of welcome will Christ get when He makes His appearance? Will the crowds be waiting with bated breath because they see the preparations that have been made for His return? Will they wait expectantly, seeing the things that have been specially set apart, knowing that "This honor is reserved only for those who are highly esteemed. Here walks one who is worthy of walking here"? We're here to roll out the carpet, to lay down our coats, to shout Hosanna and to announce the coming of one who is worthy.

What are we doing to prepare the way?

un-

2007-09-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever played The Ungame? The rules are simple: move your piece around the board and answer the questions you land on. There are no "go to jails", no "sorrys", no "lose a turns". In fact, it's quite the opposite. The Ungame questions were designed to be the antithesis of the "gaming" mindset (competition, speed, strategy...). Instead it asks questions like "What are the four most important things in your life," and "what do you think life will be like in 100 years?" The Ungame was designed to work against life philosophies propegated by other games that only lead one to bludgeon the enemy to a proverbial pulp.

Because of the design and intent of The Ungame the creators aptly named their masterpiece "The Ungame" and not "The Nongame". You see, there are many things that are not games (petting your dog, painting your bathroom, cooking your dinner), but the fact that they are non-games doesn't make them un-games. In order for something to adequately be described as an un-game, it must actively and intentionally work against everything that is a game. The Ungame is not a non-game; it's an un-game, un-gaming its participants in the process of play from gamers to un-gamers.

There are times when un simply means not, but often it implies intentional and direct counteraction. For example:

do - undo.
wanted - unwanted.
intelligent - unintelligent.
learn - unlearn.
enjoyable - unenjoyable

God's love, which is described as unfailing 32 times in the Old Testament, does not simply not fail, but it unfails. It cannot fail because it is too busy successfully loving us. Just like The Ungame is an ungame because it is actively working against that which makes something a game, so too God's love is unfailing because it's working against failure.

God's love cannot fail. God's love is reliable. God's love is unfailing.

16 No king is saved by the size of his army;
no warrior escapes by his great strength.
17 A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
despite all its great strength it cannot save.
18 But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
19 to deliver them from death
and keep them alive in famine.
20 We wait in hope for the LORD;
he is our help and our shield.
21 In him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in his holy name.
22 May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD,
even as we put our hope in you.
~Psalm 33:16-22

Armies fail. Our strength fails. Horses fail because their strength fails. God's love unfails. His unfailing love rests upon us, and it is the only thing in which we can legitimately place our hope.

Thank God not just for his nonfailing love, but for His unfailing love.

hand-made

2007-08-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

Feeling empty-handed, she
Reached down to pick up each
One, every shred that had fallen.
Mercy whispered, You don't have to do that.

Running her fingers over every fiber -
Each one different, each one dark -
Gathering them and laying them across her knees she
Remembers exactly how she'd gotten
Each and every one.
Tired but determined
She threads the scraps together.

Time moves on and each piece,
One by one, is painstakingly (stubbornly) added.

She stares at it, lying in her lap -
Heavy, black, thick - then dutifully wraps her shoulders.
Are you really going to wear all that? but
Mercy is a voice she can't hear anymore.
Enveloped in her shroud, she falls to her knees

and buries her face in her hands
--------------------------------

"What is the difference between SHAME and REGRET?"

This question was posed by my sister on her blog They Hang Like Paper Lanterns. The question made me think hard about what that difference might be. I intuitively thought that there was a difference, but it was hard for me to come up with a way to articulate it. Eventually I decided that it would be best to describe the process, in my mind, that takes someone from one to the other.

Reading down the left of the poem the letters say "FROM REGRETS TO SHAME" because I believe one stems from the other when properly cultivated. It's titled hand-made because I feel like every time I find myself weighed down by shame I can see how it was because I intentionally and "painstakingly (stubbornly)" dwelt on my regrets in my own mind. I run my fingers over them again and again, I piece them together and try to connect the gaps, and I build them into something that is cold and dark and thick.

If only I would listen to the voice of Mercy before I begin designing my heavy burden to wear. If only I would let Mercy tell me I don't have to do that. If only I would let Mercy keep that unnecessary weight off my shoulders.

But instead, I have a closet full of these cloaks, and innumerable more layered on my back.

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.
~Galatians 5:1

e-Hope

2007-08-22T07:59:00.001-07:00

Hope fosters hope, faith fosters faith, truth inspires confidence, and the light of joy can reach into even the darkest depths of sorrow.

These are lessons I've learned from the cyber world. Communication from long-distance friends, mass e-mails from a church member, or simple update newsletters are filled with such hope, faith, truth, and joy where I would never have expected to find it. These are from people whose beliefs should be shaken and whose faith should be waning -- burnt out believers, some whose faith has been tested and tried seemingly non-stop for the last year. Their stories are heart-breaking, but their words are so uplifting. They are simple words, not written to be printed and bound and passed on to future generations, but words meant to encourage their brothers and sisters who also feel the weight of this dark world bearing down on their chests, sometimes making it difficult just to breathe.

"Seriously, every time I think now about God and me and Christ and death and life and hope...it just blows my mind! I think all the time about what you said about "living and breathing gospel," and that really is such an inspiration to me. It needs to be my life. It needs to be what I am. I'm sitting here shaking my head in... awe, i guess... at what God is doing and has done and will be doing forever, and that's just with me! He's doing this same sort of stuff in people everywhere from every generation...how have I gone so long without seeing this?! without marvelling at it! without really wondering at it!"

"I had gotten in such the habit of looking for the broken places that needed the gospel - but I lost sight of the gospel in all of that, and lost sight of the God of Hope in all of that. We were at Summit Lake, and I think I started to realize that. And one night Bobby Armstrong prays this simple prayer. Finishes on "Thank you God for hope." and something just broke inside, and something lit up inside, and I laughed, and I cried. I always get to these desperate places of needing to hear the gospel, stripped and true. And God always blows my mind with those moments. Hearing people say, "I just need God" or this go round "Thank you God for Hope." I'm crying again just at the thought of those words - because that's the gospel. And my God how different the world looks in light of hope."

"My mother was a woman who loved the Lord, and she has received her reward. I understand submission, because I saw her live it every day —a strong, strong woman, and one who knew her place was to trust God. Submission doesn’t mean weak-willed passivity. It means strength voluntarily placed under the hand of God."

"Thank you for carrying us in prayer this last year. I believe that we had the physical and emotional strength to endure because of prayer. I believe that we were able to ask tough questions without chucking our faith because of prayer. I believe that the chemo effectively held the cancer in check because of prayer; I believe that Ann's body held up against the toxicity of the chemo because of prayer. I believe that Ann is alive today because of prayer. Thank you and praise God."

These friends found it important to share the hope, faith, truth, and joy God has stirred in their hearts in spite of their circumstances. They understand the value of encouragement, a word which actually means to come alongside. Though they weren't able to literally be next to me, I am so grateful that they took the time to come alongside me and to remind me of that which I have been promised - Hope.

But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceifulness. We have come to share in Christ if we hold firmly till the end the confidence we had at first.
~Hebrews 3:13-14

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another -- and all the more as you see the Day approaching.
~Hebrews 10:23-25

Sin is deceitful and hearts can so easily be hardened, but encouragement has an incredible ability to prevent such heartache. Let's encourage each other - let's come alongside even if we can't be next to each other - and help our brothers and sisters to breathe.

In the "comments" section feel free to leave any e-Hope you've received, or leave some of your own. It can be an oxygen tank of sorts.

Credo ut Intelligam: a brief explanation

2007-07-08T22:09:00.000-07:00

Evidence - it’s the basis of Modern thought. Before believing anything it must first be seen, heard, tasted, touched, smelled, and fully experienced…and then again, just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. Provability is necessary before anything can be accepted as truth, and if it can’t be proven, it is obviously and undeniably impossible and untrue.

Though we technically live in an era that has been deemed “Postmodern” (which translated means “I believe whatever I want, and you believe whatever you want, and everyone’s happy”) the concept of provability has not dissipated. Rather, it is a timeless idea, existing long before the Modern era and one that will continue long after Postpostpostmodernism has become something in the history books.

This idea, which has transcended the boundaries of epochs and eras, has wrapped it’s fingers around Christian doctrine and students of the Bible and has continued to tighten its grip.

We acknowledge God is big, but even so, He couldn’t create the world in six literal days. We say He’s all-powerful, but He couldn't have really made it so that “all the high mountains under the entire heavens” were flooded like it says in Genesis. In fact, the whole Old Testament is filled with fictitious stories that are to teach us character lessons, not history lessons. On top of that, science has begun to raise doubts as to the viability of the New Testament as well...and somehow we're okay with that.

But God is not provable, and to say that He is shows that I don’t believe in Him…at least not the “Him” that He claims to be (Isaiah 55:8-9; Romans 11:33-36).

So here we are, standing in the midst of innumerable concepts of Christ, perceptions of the cross and the gospel, and the believers who believe only what they see. We live in a world where understanding precedes belief.

St. Anselm, Bishop of Canterbury, stood among the same lack of faith in the “Him” that God claims to be, and he responded in this way:

Nor do I seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe that I may understand (credo ut intelligam). For this too I believe, that unless I first believe, I shall not understand.

“Belief” is not belief when it’s been proven – it’s acknowledgement.

My desire is not to be a “believer” who believes only what makes sense to me. If that were true I would believe very little. I don’t know how God created the whole world in six days, but I have no doubt that He could and did. I don’t know why God wiped out everything in one flood, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He could and did. And beyond all else, it makes no sense that one who was proven to be dead is now alive and is sitting in heaven until the day He comes for His Bride, but my heart rejoices in the fact that I don’t have a useless faith (1 Cor. 15:14, 17)

I’m not a genius - I don’t understand - but I desire to have a faith that is constantly seeking understanding.

Because you have seen me you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.
~John 20:29

missing

2007-06-13T20:32:00.000-07:00

The French are an intriguing breed, I think we'd all agree on that. Between their "outrageous accents", their contributions to fried potatoes, and the paradox between being considered a romantic people while also a hairy people (at least the women) they have always been able to pique the curiosity of us "normal" Americans.

Though there's much to ponder about their ways, there's one thing that they do, or rather say, that has always been of especial interest to me.

Instead of saying "I miss you" like English-speaking people, they say "Je vous manque" or as I was taught, "You are missing to me." I've always really liked that. A lot. It just seems so much more personal, so much more invested, so much more painful to say to someone "YOU are missing to ME," or in the more famous words "you complete me."

Of course, I have to say I'm gaining a much clearer understanding of what that means this summer as I'm separated from my fiance for the 2 1/2 months leading up to our wedding. He is missing to me. HE is missing to ME. He completes me.

As I think about what it means for me to actually feel like part of me is missing when I'm not with him, I can't help but come back to the simple but powerful analogy for marriage: one. One flesh. One person. One head and one body making one entity. If either part is missing, "je vous manque" the other says.

We weren't designed to be headless horsemen. We were each given one head and one body, and we understand what would happen if either was separated from its counterpart. (At this point, I could regale you with the story of the time my family killed our own Thanksgiving turkey, but I'll spare you the gory, albeit wildly entertaining, details.) I think everyone grasps that for a head to be separated from a body is to wreak havoc on that person because the two are no longer meant to be two, they're one.

Just like the body is used as a picture for marriage, marriage is used as a picture for something greater: Christ and His Bride.

So husbands ought also to love their own wives as their own bodies. He who loves his own wife loves himself, for no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ also does the church, because we are members of His body.
~Ephesians 5:28-30

We are members of His body: one head and one body making one entity. For the time being, those two parts are separated, and they can only say to each other, "Je vous manque."

Because I so desperately want to be with Nathan, his promises of "soon, very soon," are always welcomed with the response of "I'm ready whenever." I think I'm beginning to see why the Bride's response to Christ's promise of "soon, very soon" is so similarly welcomed. "Come, Lord Jesus."

Je vous manque.

Nothing

2007-05-01T20:40:00.000-07:00

based on Philippians 2:1-11

“What are you guys talking about?” “Nothing.”
“What do you want to do tonight?” “Nothing.”
“What did you learn in class today?” “Nothing.”

Of course, we never mean nothing, but rather something less. We were talking about something less than you should know, or tonight I want to do something less than usual, or in class today I learned something less than you might hope for based on your contributions to my TMS payments.

As people, we consider ourselves to be "something" – maybe even a big "something." We work tirelessly at our jobs and our studies, we invest in our relationships and portfolios, we establish our households and our corporate empires, all in an effort to “make something” of ourselves.

But Christ saw it fit to remind us where we really fall in the scheme of things.

When He, who is in very nature God, came here – to join our world that is aimed at success and pleasure – he considered it becoming nothing. See, what we think of as "something" God sees as something less.

“…but made himself nothing taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.”

To be a human was, for Christ, to be nothing. But wait, there’s more! Christ (who is naturally God) did not just make himself something less. He made himself less than something less.

“And being found in appearance as a man he humbled himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross!”

God – became a man – and died. That’s not exactly nothing, but He had to become nothing to get there.

We, as the “somethings” that we think we are, are told to have that same attitude. To look at the nothingness that Christ took on, to dwell on the less than nothingness to which he humbled himself, and to see that to be something less really shows something much, much more.

From "Sacred Poems"
What did the Lamb that he should need,
When the wolf sins, himself to bleed?

Why should his unstain’d breast make good
My blushes with his own heart-blood?

O my Savior! make me see
How dearly you have paid for me;

That lost again, my life may prove
As then in death, so now in love.

~Richard Crenshaw

darts

2007-04-16T22:55:00.000-07:00

ffffffffffffwwwwt

Unable to dodge this time, the arrow goes straight into his right shoulder. As the pain shoots through his entire body he drops to the ground, gasping for breath. He stays on his knees, his right arm lifeless beside him, and the world around him begins to fade to black. Blinking hard, he looks up and sees his friends' faces still hard and stern with zeal. He screams and, biting the pain, raises his sword to strike another enemy through.

ffffffffffffwwwwt

Another hits him dead on, this time penetrating his stomach. Again, he falls to the ground, but quickly regains his footing. With the little strength he has left, his right arm still hanging limp at his side, he stands to continue the defenses. He blows his horn for more assistance, he strikes another blow.

ffffffffffffwwwwt

Right in his neck - but this is no arrow. He is hit with a tranquilizer dart. The enemy saw that he was too determined to be defeated by mere blades. Almost immediately he collapses on the ground. Desperate to fight through the pain he determines to stand up...but still he lies there. There's no feeling in his legs, his arms are numb, and he can't even feel the pain from his wounds. He's unable to move, unable to defend himself, unable to run to shelter. The enemy continues to shoot at him and stomp on him and spit in his face. Still, he lies there - paralyzed.

What if his allies, his closest companions, ran past him saying, "It'll go away soon," or "You need to go get help for that," or "Yeah, and look at how hard I'm having to fight."

Or what if they told him, "Pray and read your Bible"?

I've been in this battle so many times, and when you're fighting as hard as you can while your friend just lies on the ground it's so easy to say "pray about it" or "how are your devotions?" or maybe even "you must have some awful sin in your life." But when it's me lying immobile in my own blood - my enemies pummeling me - and I feel like there's no hope because I'm stuck all I want is to hear someone say "Hold on, I'm coming!"

In life I'm fighting alongside my brothers and sisters, and there are times when I get struck time after time after time. I'm wearing my armor, I'm fighting hard, I'm surviving...until finally Satan paralyzes me and I fall to the ground unable to fight him anymore. Then, with sincere pleasure and satisfaction, he beats me senseless with his hateful lies.

When that happens, there is nothing better than one of my fellow soldiers running to where I am and shouting, "Don't worry, Abby, I've got you covered!" They come to hold their shield of faith out over me, to swing their sword of the Spirit above my head. They come wearing the same belt of truth that I have (only mine has been covered in dirt and blood). These are my allies, these are my teammates, these are what I desperately need and what I want to be when my brothers and sisters are under siege.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.
~Ephesians 6:12

But encourage one another daily as long as it is called Today so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness.
~Hebrews 3:13

...as a symbol of my vow

2007-03-26T19:42:00.000-07:00

On November 25, 2006 at about 7:30 pm I was given the best gift I've ever received (that is, of course, until July 14, 2007): a symbol of a promise. I wear it on the fourth finger of my left hand. It shines, it sparkles, it gets fuzz in it...but my favorite part is what it reminds me of.

Not just my upcoming marriage to the man I love. There's more.

My ring has three stones in it. I know that tradition says these are "past, present, and future stones". While it's true that Nathan and I have a past, and we live in a wonderful present, and we look with eager anticipation at the future, that's not what I see when I look at my ring.

My ring would look awful and awfully ridiculous if it only had the two side stones in it. There would be these two beautiful diamonds in beautiful settings, but there would be a gap between them. Or, if they were put side by side, it would be uninteresting and less-than-beautiful. But you put one diamond in the middle and you have one gorgeous ring!

The center stone is the focus of the ring. Yes, the two side stones are beautiful and accent the center stone in a marvelous and unique way, but it's the center one that makes the ring. When people look at my ring, when I look at my ring, the attention automatically is drawn to the large diamond in the middle. It is the climax of the ring.

My marriage will fail if it's just me and Nathan. I have no doubt of this. Our marriage would be rather uninteresting, we wouldn't complement one another, and we would even compete for attention. Add a beautiful, brilliant Savior to the center, though, and our marriage will catch the eye of everyone around us. I don't want people to look at my marriage and see me. Yes, my marriage would be incomplete without either of us just like my ring would be incomplete without either side stone, but we can't be the focus.

This is why I have a three-stone ring. It's not because I wanted to make my future husband blow his budget on hand decor. It's not because I want all the other girls to notice my "bling". I need a reminder - a constant reminder - that our relationship would be incomplete without Christ at the center. Our marriage would be missing something beautiful if we take the focus - either our own or that of those watching us - off of the center stone.

I love my ring. I love the way it looks and I love what it tells me. I love that even though a diamond isn't forever, love is eternal. I love that Nathan and I will together focus on the Center Stone for the rest of forever.

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their work:
If one falls down,
his friend can help him up.
But pity the man who falls
and has no one to help him up!
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

~Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

United We Fall

2007-03-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

Point #1 – there is strength in unity
After September 11, 2001 the phrase “United We Stand” could be seen at any point in time at any place in the country – on bumper stickers, business marquises, overpasses, church signs and t-shirts. Anywhere you went, you were reminded of the fact that we, as Americans, were not going to give up. In fact, we would all band together, an unstoppable troop of donkeys and elephants, men and women, pacifists and militants, all united for a single cause. We knew the truth of the fact that “every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand” (Matthew 12:25). There is a strength, a vital strength, in standing together for a single purpose.

Point #2 – there is weakness in division
“No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other” (Matthew 6:24). In the context Jesus was talking about dividing your loyalty between God and money, but the truth carries so much further than that. A professor of mine says that with any compromise “you get the strengths of neither and the weaknesses of both.” You can’t be fully devoted to two different things. It is impossible.

Point #3 – my heart will follow my hands
We do the things we like. We do what we consider valuable. Christ said, “for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” We will do the things we care about and we will care about the things that we do. Where we put our time, energy, money, and effort shows where our hearts really are.

Point #4 – my attentions are often divided, which means my heart is divided, which means my heart is weak when it could be strong
“Unite my heart to fear your name." "Unite my heart to fear your name." "Unite my heart to fear your name." "Unite my heart to fear your name” (Psalm 86:11b). My loyalties are distributed. My heart is so divided. I am weak. I don’t have a right reverence for God. David recognized the same thing in himself. He saw that when he refused to have a single purpose in his heart, a single goal, a single love, he was weak. He asked for a united heart, a strong heart, so that he might bow down in humble fear before his God.

Point #5 – God can unite my heart, which will strengthen my heart, which will make me fall to my knees in reverence.

“Although a wicked man commits a hundred crimes and still lives a long time, I know that it will go better with God-fearing men, who are reverent before God.” ~Ecclesiastes 8:12

load-bearing

2007-01-13T22:52:00.000-08:00

"Faith is a burden; it's a weight to bear."

Unorthodox evangelical Christianity at it's finest. "His yoke is easy, and His burden is light!" we cry...but then why do people still hurt? Why is there still pain, even for the redeemed? Why do those who know Christ and who know the life we'll one day live have such a painful churning in their stomachs at the condition of the world around them, or even of their own lives? I read once that only Christians are really able to see what's wrong with the world. Only followers of Christ can truly know the sorry state we're all in. Only those who have real hope recognize such real pain.

It's hard to trust. It's hard to believe against experience. It's hard to be sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Faith hurts.

People who have no hope aren't disappointed by the way things are. Those who don't know that this world was never meant to be this way don't "groan inwardly" as they wait for a change. Faith is a heavy load on the shoulders of the ones who trust. It implies longing, it calls for patience, it forces steps through darkness to reach a goal that is desired but remains painfully unclear.

Noah was mocked as a fool, Job dismissed as a prideful liar, Abraham looked despairingly into the glare of death, Daniel's friends faced a pit of flames while he himself faced a pit of lions, and Stephen spoke boldly as he eyed the cold gray stones weighing each of their hands.

It hurts to believe in something. It hurts to hope for something more. Faith IS a burden; faith IS a weight to bear; faith IS a heavy, heavy load.

But the load that people of faith bear, though it doesn't lessen with time, will not weigh them down forever. When this world ends and everything we have, everything we do, will be gone forever, "these three remain: faith, hope, and love." What makes us "us" in this world will not survive, but what we look for, what we trust in, and what fills our hearts is of eternal importance. Our faith, our hope, our love - these matter.

"But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love" (Gal. 5:5-6).

It's what counts after all is said and done. Christ is called the perfecter - the finisher - of our faith. He will finish it. In the end faith will be seen, hope will be realized, and all that will be left is love.

Let that support you as you walk under such a real and heavy load. Keep walking. The end will be in sight.

~2 Cor. 5:7~ We live by faith, not by sight.

I say faith is a burden
It's a weight to bear
It's brave and bittersweet
And hope is hard to hold to
Lord, I believe
Only help my unbelief

Till there's no more faith
No more hope
I'll see your face and Lord, I'll know
No more faith
No more hope
I'll sing your praise and let them go

'Cos only love remains

~Andrew Peterson, "No More Faith"

Already Shining

2006-12-19T00:09:00.000-08:00

based on John 1:1-18

He named the darkness. It belongs to Him, yet it rebels against Him. It cries for all sorts of evil, it hosts wickedness, it is the residence of everything that is a perversion of His intentions for this world.

Then, in an inexplicable act of both grace and mercy, He sent part of Himself, one of Himself, to be the Presence in the Absence - to be the good amidst the evil, the righteous among the horror, to be the perfections of His intentions. The Light entered the Darkness to show it for what it was and to show Himself for who He is.

But that which was never meant to be did not understand that which always was. Though His light was shining in the darkest of corridors, they refused to walk by it and instead smothered the flame.

But the Son of God who was the Son of Man, containing the very Glory of heaven, would not remain shrouded in the dank cloak of earthly darkness. Though they trampled the flame for a time, He cast off the cloak and revealed the true splendor of His heavenly sunshine.

The Light of heaven conquered the Darkness of this world.

Now we know that darkness, in itself, can never cover or extinguish light. Light will always overpower darkness. The fullness of the Radiance will chase away the emptiness of the Rebellion and those living by the Light will never again find themselves in the shadows.

He will melt the clouds of sin and sadness, He will drive the dark of doubt away. The Giver of immortal gladness will fill us with the light of Day.

Sacrificial Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T14:13:00.000-08:00

It really is true what they say about holidays: it can be the best time of the year for some people and the absolute worst for others. Images - of Easter dresses and frilly socks, cornucopia center pieces and hands held around the table in prayer, reading the passage out of Luke in the family room while the smell of pine fills the air from both the fireplace and the sap dripping onto the ornaments - images that either dance around the dreams and memories of those who know them well or that torment the imaginations of those who are left without.

But there's also a middle road - a road where those images are taunting but only because the dance is so beautiful yet temporarily unattainable. Homesickness if you will, felt by those who do not disdain the images themselves but only the fact that they exist merely in dreams and memories and not in an immediate reality.

"We love you," they say. "We miss you and really wish you were here." The words snap at me like a snake, but one with a honey-venom. Comforting in their own rite, but piercing and painful nonetheless.

"God, why do you tease me like this? Are you just trying to show me everything I had to give up to be here? Don't you see what I had? But you made me leave it there, so why do you keep bringing it up? I don't need to remember everything I sacrificed..."

Then Truth whispers, "Exactly."

15 months ago I was driving through the barren wasteland of Arkansas in tears, thinking of everything I was leaving behind to go somewhere nothing in me wanted to go. I left my family, my home, my friends, my church, my park, my ______, my _______, my ________ ... for Texas. "God," I cried, "I hope you know how much I don't want to do this. I hope you see how much this hurts." But then the words pierced the air and just hung in my ears -

I will not forget You are my God, my King
and with a thankful heart I bring my offering
and my sacrifice is not what You can give
but what I alone can give to You
a grateful heart I give
a thankful prayer I pray
~Enter the Worship Circle, "I will not forget You"

In that moment Truth whispered, just as he has so many times since, "Exactly."

I'm reminded today that I view love in terms of sacrifice. The greater the sacrifice, the deeper the love, and that thought digs into my heart. Of course He knew how much I didn't want to do this. Of course He saw how much it hurt. Of course He wants me to remember my sacrifice. Of course He wants me to remember just how much I love Him.

And my sacrifice is not what You can give
but what I alone can give to You

And today I bring a sacrifice of thanksgiving that, even though the honey-tongued viper has struck, I will remember how good You are, I will remember why I'm here, I will remember how much I love You...because You first loved me. I am so thankful for the sacrifice You made to show me that love.

To You I shall offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and call upon the name of the LORD.
~Psalm 116:17

The Lord is my...

2006-11-13T11:06:00.000-08:00

We were studying the Psalms, and when it came to Psalm 23 I was set. I knew this one by heart. David wrote it about how God always took care of him and refreshed him, dot dot dot. But then it hit me: David was a shepherd himself. Big deal. No no no, what I mean is he KNEW what he was saying about God...and himself.

He knew what sheep were like. He knew how stupid they could be, he knew how weak and helpless they were, he knew that they were easily distracted and painfully stubborn, remarkably silly and horribly unassuming. He saw daily the incessant shortcomings of the sheep he faithfully tended, and in those long days on the hillside he saw something of himself in his flock. He saw his weaknesses, his stubbornness, his utter stupidity sometimes...and he saw his desperate need for the Shepherd's crook to be a guide, a protection, and a comfort.

As I thought about David and his absolute humility in writing this psalm, I looked for a parallel in my own life. This is what I found.

...preschool teacher
based on Ms. Wauer's 2-year-old class at Shenandoah Valley Early Learning Center

Kiaya: the rebel - she bit, she hit, she stripped her clothes off every chance she got, and she climbed the playground fences in multiple escape attempts

Tyler: the absolutely precious-looking and completely misleading little hellian - always willing to disobey as long as someone was doing it with her

Chase: the unruly biter of the group, hitting and throwing himself down and banging his head on the concrete floor in tantrums, but would always look ashamed and remorseful after the fact

Nathaniel: the loner - he wanted to do everything his own way and would keep his eyes intently on you while he disobeyed to see how far he could get before being stopped

Jessica: the three-year-old who was still in the class because she couldn't quite speak the language yet (she was from Mexico) - sweet girl, but if there was trouble happening, she was very involved. she didn't want to be left out of the fun

Gia: the phenomenally articulate (she spoke even better than the 3's) and exceptionally strong little booger - she could not sit still and would not obey if her life depended on it - but she always ended her shenanigans with "Sorry, Teacher."

Justin: the one who was desperate for affirmation that he was doing it "right" - "You all need to sit down and be quiet." "Teacher, am I sitting down and being quiet?"

Grace: the aptly named little baby doll - she was quiet but giggly, was willing to play alone but would ask for some company, ate her lunch, took her naps, actually remembered the purpose of the bathroom, and LOVED storytime

The Lord is my preschool teacher. He watches me bite and kick the other kids. He stands over me when I refuse to lie down for rest, when I try to escape, when I constantly try to strip off my righteousness, when I disobey as much as possible before getting caught. Although I'm an "older" believer I still don't really know how to speak rightly, and I'm in constant and selfish need of affirmation. I know how to talk the talk, but I can't sit still for my life and when all is said and done I always rely on "Sorry, Teacher." I have my tantrums and I'm perfectly willing to get into trouble as long as I'm not alone in it. *sigh* To be like Grace.

But His patience never fails. His punishments are well-deserved but always loving. After all the fits and battles and bruises He always says, "I love you, I'll see you tomorrow."

"The Lord is My Preschool Teacher"
The Lord is my preschool teacher, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down and rest,
he keeps me from danger with rules and boundaries,
he restores my soul.
He teaches me new ideas and songs for His Name's sake.
Even though everyone I love leaves me alone,
I will not be afraid, because You never leave me;
Your voice and Your hands, they comfort me.

The Lord is my preschool teacher. Who is God to you?

I don't wanna grow up

2006-10-20T14:53:00.000-07:00

"Please?"
"No Sweetie, not today."
"But Mom, I WANT it!"
"I know you do, but we can't get it right now." [insert sniffle here]
"Why can't I just have it?"
"Not today." [cue bitter tears and wailing]

"Please, Dad? This is ALL I want!"
"No, Bud, we're not shopping for you today."
"Then why are we here?"
"We're getting a birthday present, remember?"
"That's not fair!"
"You got plenty of toys on your birthday. It's someone else's turn this time."
"I don't want to go to a stupid birthday party. I don't want to get him a toy."

"Oh oh oh, this is so cool! Can we get it? Please, Mom? I'll love you forever!"
"I don't think so, not today."
"Pleeeeeease, please please please please?"
"Maybe next time." [after "Mom" turns around he reaches, ever so quietly, and buries it in the basket]

Then they came in. A mother holding her youngest daughter accompanied by two more little girls who headed straight for the Care Bear aisle. Ten minutes followed with little giggles and "oh my gosh"es and "look at this! Oh Mom, this is so cool!" Picking their favorites (including the baby, who chose a purple stuffed bear with a heart on the belly) they meandered through the rest of the store clutching their treasures. As they looked at the computer games and the Magnetix and the Easy Bake Ovens they always looked back at the boxes in their hands, each time finding some new exciting feature. A half hour later she said, "Alright girls, it's time to go. Let's go put this stuff back."

They did.

They didn't cry, they didn't whine, they didn't throw themselves on the floor and kick and scream. They went right back to the Care Bears aisle and put their respective favorites back on the shelf where they had found them. They walked to the checkout, each got to pick a small piece of candy, she paid the cashier $1.56, and they all four headed back out through the automatic doors.

"Please, God?"
"No Sweetie, not today."
"But I WANT it."
"I know, but we're not here for you today."
"Then why'd you make me come?"
"I thought you might like to look around...and don't you want to help me pick something to give her?"
"No, I want to help you find something to give ME."
"We can't always be looking for you."
"Can I go wait in the car?"

I throw fits more than I'd like to admit. I try to sneak it when He's not looking. I cry and complain - why isn't it for me? Why do I have to look at it if I'm not the one who gets it? Why can't I have it today?

I learned a lesson from my nieces that day. There's a thrill in just looking at the great things that are out there, even if they don't end up in my possession. I may not get the new toy that is (as my 4-year-old niece would always say) "just what I always wanted", but He always gives me a lollipop, and that alone is worth the trip.

But godliness with contentment is great gain. ~1 Timothy 6:6

Thanks for the reminder, Michelle.

The Great Exchange

2006-10-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

Based on Romans 1:25 and Isaiah 44:9-20.

.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.
He holds the handle and slides the metal teeth horizontally through the wide base. "Timber," he mumbles to himself. It breaks branches of surrounding trees as it falls to the ground.

.up.down.up.down.up.down.up.down.
The axe splits it into dozens of pieces, some bigger than others. He stacks them in his arms, and carries them load by load into the house.

.snap.crackle.pop.snap.crackle.pop.
He rubs his hands together over the flame, stirs the pot, and returns to his work.

.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.
Skillfully he chisels it away, leaving a dust drifting slowly to the floor. He smoothes the edges, shapes the eyes, polishes the form until something that looks similar to himself is left. He sets it in the corner of the room and drops to his knees. Prostrate, he waits for his supper.

.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.
Sitting by the window (still close enough to feel the warmth of the flames) he watches the rain fall on the forest and slowly eats from his bowl. After his last bite he returns to his position on the floor in front of the fireplace.

.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.
Months later he slides the metal teeth horizontally through the wide base. "It's a good thing I planted so many," he mumbles to himself. "Stupid termites."

He spent weeks getting ready to plant them. He watched the rain fall on them and the sunlight pull them out of the ground. He cut them. He carried them. He burned half and sanded the other half. He carefully dug the splinters out of his palms and then returned them to a position of prayer. He created his own god. With his own hands he made something that those hands could serve.

Am I any different? I invest my time in relationships. I work hard to improve on my talents. I do a little cutting here, a little chiseling there, a little smoothing of the rough edges. I take the pieces of my life that I think are usable for such noble purposes and I burn the rest to keep me warm and fed and to give me light while I keep busy at my "woodworking". Daily I exchange the truth of God for a lie. Daily I worship the created instead of the Creator. Day after day I bow myself down to the images I have constructed while I watch the rain He provides.

It's time to put all the wood in the fire and just walk through the forest. It's time to put down the tools and just bow before something that did not involve my hands. It's time to exchange the lies for the truth of God.

If I were him...(for Ann)

2006-09-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

Based on Mark 2:1-12

My embarrassment would’ve been nearly unbearable. To see all those people, covered in dust and pieces of the ceiling and just staring at me on my mat like a fool. To know that I was nothing more than an interruption, that I had inconvenienced them, that I had brought my problem to the center of their lives. And then to see him: his hands still raised in emphasis of his life-altering message he was speaking to them. To see his eyes looking into mine, and to know that I just came to him – a KING – like this…

My overwhelming gratitude would’ve been mixed with agonizing frustration. To know how much my friends cared, how they ignored my pleas to “just forget it”, how they were so dedicated when I was willing to give up. And when they, in a great team effort, lifted me up to the roof, and then started digging with their own hands, working and sweating just to get me close enough to him…

My heart would’ve hung limp and lifeless inside my chest like my legs when they finally rested on the floor. Would he heal me? Would he really consider my affliction? Could he really make himself touch my broken, desperate, bleeding life with his clean hands? To hope in him would mean to hope at all. Would I have remembered how to hope?

If I were him, and I watched the Messiah look hard at me, then turn and look intently at my friends, only to look back at me with a pleased and satisfied smile, would I have known that he saw the same thing in them that I did? Would I have known that it was when he saw them lowering me down before him, when he saw their dirty hands gripping on to the edge of the hole they had just created, when he saw them mouthing to me, “There he is,” “He's got you now,” and “Soon,” when he looked in their eyes and saw the hope that was missing from mine…would I have known it was when he saw their faith that he turned to me and touched me with his hand of healing?

You are surrounded by faith and hope and love. It is so evident in the heart of your husband, I watch it flow from your kids, I witness it in your church as they surround you, and I see it in people like myself who don’t know you well but who have been touched by your life and broken by your sorrow. Know that you are daily being laid down at the feet of the only one who can make you whole, and all around you people are whispering “There he is,” “He's got you now,” and “Soon.” Know that there is hope in the eyes of those around you. May he see the faith that is carrying you, and may he lay on you his hand of healing.

Journal of a Desert Traveler

2006-08-24T19:39:00.000-07:00

I'm in a desert today. It's an ocean of sand and heat, dry bones and endless hills, loneliness and desperation. I brought nothing to eat, and worse still, nothing to drink. Somehow (I really don't know how) I keep moving: one step in front of the other, one foot prodding the other on. I have never been so miserable in my life. The pain I feel outside matches the pain inside, my body churnging and cramping and pleading with me for water. All I can do is think about getting "there," wherever that may be.

Yes, I see that well, but I have to keep moving. I'm sure another one will come along soon.

I see that one, too, but I don't have time for that right now. Don't you understand that I'm killing myself just trying to survive?

I know, I'm not blind. Of course I see it. I'll go just a little farther and stop at the next one. I must be getting close to somewhere real by now. THEN I'll drink like there's no tomorrow.

"Absurd," you say.
Is it?
"No one would ever do that!"
No?

"My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word." ~Psalm 119:28

I'm in a desert today. I'll be here again tomorrow. There are no roads, no towns, no signs of an end, and I'm holding nothing. Will I walk past the well, or will I take time to gain strength for the long, hard journey?

Stung
Deep inside
By an emptiness
From less than nothingess
Walking through this
Broken, dried
Riverbed

Burnt
Breathing hard
Desperate to taste
Any hint of grace
that can make
a dead man walk
revived

thrown
- lifeless -
over my own shoulder,
no one else would hold her
so I carry her (me)
and both of our
weakness

dragged
(by myself)
so much farther
past streams of water
pushing harder
"We can make it till
the next well."

"O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water." ~Psalm 63:1

Wingin' It

2006-07-07T19:47:00.001-07:00

We were "wingin' it," and we reminded ourselves of it constantly. We had spent all summer just trying to keep up, perfecting the art of "on the spot" thinking, constantly willing to sacrifice quality for immediacy. Changing with the wind, that's what we thought we meant by it. Then he had an epiphany: we couldn't be changing with the wind because we weren't flying at all. We weren't the ones with wings. We were UNDER wings.

Two men hiked up a mountain when they found an enormous flock of birds nesting at the top. When the birds became aware of the intruders, they instinctively took flight leaving behind hundreds of panicking babies - rolling and flopping and darting around looking for protection - and two mothers.

“Here they sat, their wings out like props, or more like gripping hands, as if they were trying to hold themselves down to the rocks against their wild desire to fly. And so they were, in truth, for under their extended wings I saw little black feet moving.”

“We took another step toward them, and one of the two birds sprang into the air, knocking her baby over with the stroke of her wing, and coming within an inch of hurling it across the rim to be battered on the ledges below. The other bird raised her wings to follow, then clapped them back over her baby. Fear is the most contagious thing in the world - and that flap of fear by the other bird thrilled her, too, but as she had withstood the stampede of the colony, so she caught herself again and held on.”

“She was now alone on the bare top of the rock, with ten thousand circling birds screaming to her in the air above, and with two men creeping up to her with a big black camera that clicked ominously. She let the multitude scream, and with threatening beak watched the two men come on. A motherless baby, spying her, ran down the rock squealing for his life. She spread a wing, put her bill behind him and shoved him quickly out of sight with her own baby...” (www.apples4theteacher.com)

Life came at us hard, and for a time it didn't seem to stop long enough for us to catch our breath, so we were finding ourselves moment by moment desperately scrambling to find rest under some wings. We felt smothered at times; we watched as others danced in the sunlight while we stayed in the shadows; we wanted to be strong enough to fly by ourselves, but oh! how much we needed those wings.

Wings that took me in as their own though I had no claim to them. Wings anchored to the rock, covering me no matter what approaches, no matter what reason says, no matter what the cost. Wings that protect me. Wings that let me rest. I'd rather be under those wings than on wings of my own.

At the end he said to me, “faith tends to whisper something about how that wing is only a feather.”

~Psalm 91:1-4
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadows of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.” Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

The Chase

2006-07-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

This is the third time in the past hour. She wasn't looking for it, but she spotted it out of the corner of her eye, and immediately she dropped what she was doing and began the pursuit. With one arm stretched out in front of her and laughs that somehow only a four-year-old can make she weaves through trees and bushes, straining to reach the fluttering wings that are always just out of reach. When she falls, she winces for only a moment, then quickly jumps to her feet and resumes the chase. After it flies into the street or over the fence, she comes back, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear.

She says things like, "It was just a little too fast for me, huh?" or "It was too high for me to reach, wasn't it?" or "I was getting closer and closer to it, wasn't I?" One time I asked her, "What would you do with it if you had caught it?" Long pause. She said she'd put it in her room for people to see because it was so beautiful. It was obvious she had never thought of it like that before. She had never planned on actually catching it.

I go about my business, and there goes a butterfly. I focus harder. Another one. Oh, I didn't even notice that one. Again. Maybe next time.

OR

I go about my business, and there goes a butterfly. I watch it, wishing I would chase it like I used to. But I know I won't catch it. I never did catch one. So I watch it. I admire it, but only from a distance. It's not my butterfly to chase.

OR

I go about my buisness, and there goes a butterfly. I drop it all, and throw my whole being into the pursuit. Almost! I reach again. Not quite. Just...too...high. Frustrated, I jump for it, and when I come down empty-handed, I land wrong and fall. And stay. And cry. I failed.

What made us stop pursuing the things we know we can't catch? When did we start finding the chase worthless if our hands never actually hold the "butterflies"? How did we forget that the running and jumping and reaching were just as much a part of the chase as the display of the catch?

She's making another birthday party in the sandbox. Here comes one more pair of dizzy white wings. The birthday party gets put on hold. She's off.

Feeling less than Spirit-filled
I wish that I was healing from this deadly ill
that some call growing old.
Where's the love? Where's the chase?
Where's the wild leap of faith?
I wanted to be free. I wanted to be loved.
I wanted to be heard. I wanted to be Yours.
I wanted just to play with everything that's pure,
but everyone just said, "that's childlike."

BRAD BREWER - CHILDLIKE

"Live more playfully; believe more recklessly." ~C.J. Goellar

The Voice Part III: Resolution

2006-06-29T23:44:00.000-07:00

THE SETTING is a pitch black stage. ME is standing center stage with VOICE 1 slightly behind to stage left and VOICE 2 slightly behind to stage right.

DRAW CURTAINS

NARRATOR: [offstage] Before them the earth shakes, the sky trembles, the sun and moon are darkened, and the stars no longer shine.

ME: [in despair] How I long for the months gone by, for the days when God watched over me, when his lamp shone upon my head and by his light I walked through darkness!

VOICE 2: [encouragingly] Even in darkness light dawns for the upright, for the gracious and compassionate and righteous man. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

VOICE 1: [to ME] That is why snares are all around you, why sudden peril terrifies you, why it is so dark you cannot see, and why a flood of water covers you.

VOICE 2: Let him who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the LORD and rely on his God.

VOICE 1: See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples…

VOICE 2: [to ME] …but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you.

VOICE 1: [to VOICE 2] But you crushed us and made us a haunt for jackals and covered us over with deep darkness.

ME: [to VOICE 2] You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend.

VOICE 1: [to ME] He has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light; he has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead. [to VOICE 2] So justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us. We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows.

VOICE 2: I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

ME: Be merciful to me, O LORD, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and my body with grief. Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death.

VOICE 2: Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are good, your whole body also is full of light.

VOICE 1: But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!

ME: Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the LORD will be my light.

VOICE 2: See to it, then, that the light within you is not darkness.

ME: You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.

VOICE 1: The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them.

VOICE 2: A man who walks by day will not stumble, for he sees by this world's light.

VOICE 1: It is when he walks by night that he stumbles, for he has no light.

VOICE 2: [harshly, to VOICE 1] Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. [gently, to ME] The night is nearly over; the day is almost here.

ME: I am not silenced by the darkness, by the thick darkness that covers my face. If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

VOICE 2: The darkness is passing and the true light is already shining.

ME: Lead me, O LORD, in your righteousness because of my enemies – make straight your way before me. Not a word from their mouth can be trusted; their heart is filled with destruction. Their throat is an open grave; with their tongue they speak deceit. Rescue me from my enemies, O LORD, for I hide myself in you. Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.

VOICE 2: Follow me.

NARRATOR: The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom and broke away their chains.

CLOSE CURTAINS

The Voice Part II

2006-05-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

As he spoke to me I began to feel myself struggling to breathe. "I can't follow you," I said, quietly at first. I just wanted him to get away from me. I wasn't looking for a battle or anything. "Yes you can. I'll help you." "I WON'T follow you, I mean." "There's no one else to follow, and you're lost." With every word he spoke the air closed in tighter and tighter around me. The venom spewed by his forked tongue was constricting my lungs. I did my best to inhale, but I started to struggle just to stand. I forgot my timidity. "Leave me alone!" I screamed, and the pain burned through my entire being. I was surprised at how fast it had smothered me. Quickly losing hope I whispered it again: "Leave me alone."

"You heard her. Leave her alone."
"She was talking to YOU."

What was that? Another voice? My heart leaped...and then sank. I strained to try to distinguish between the two.

"I was here first."
"No, I've been here the whole time."
"She can trust me."
"She doesn't want to trust you. She wants to trust someone who'll take her where she's trying to go."
"She's mine."
"She doesn't want to be yours."
"She needs me to help her. You can't help her like she needs to be helped."
"She doesn't know what she needs...and he doesn't care what you need."

I was at a loss. They sounded the same. I could hear his nasty breathing, but that was with every word they both spoke, not just one voice, and they were both so similar. If only I had brought my light, then maybe none of this would've happened. And even if it had, I would at least be able to see who was speaking. But I had nothing, and I was beginning to distrust them both...or trust them both. I couldn't tell.

"This is the way. Walk in it."
"THIS is the way. Walk in IT."

I didn't walk either way. I didn't move either way. I stood completely still, listening for some hint of truth to come from one of the voices. I stood, trying just to breathe.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, "This is the way; walk in it."
~Isaiah 30:21

The Voice

2006-05-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

I brought no light along with me
so blind, I faced the black
until a doubtful voice came out
and walked a few steps back.

"I know that voice," I told myself.
"Of course, it sounds like me!"
"Turn around," it said, "no need to go
through a world you'll never see."

"Oh, I can't go back," I told the voice,
and I took another step.
"Although...never seeing is my fear,
And the end's a long way yet."

Again the voice spoke to me,
but this time clear and bright.
"Don't be afraid," I heard it say.
"I'll lead you through this night."

But then I heard his raspy breath
and smelled it on the wind.
I saw no form behind the voice,
but I knew that it was him.

With the voice of a princely angel
he spits poison in the air.
The clawless, toothless lion
whispering in my ear.

"His teeth were removed. He was declawed at the cross. He can't harm us...but he still has a voice."
~Dr. Rick Chitwood

Following the Leader

2006-04-30T19:42:00.001-07:00

"An elderly woman stood at a busy intersection, afraid to cross among the speeding cars on her own. As she stood there, a younger gentleman walked up to her and asked, 'Excuse me, Ma'am, but would you mind if I crossed with you?' Relieved she took his arm, and together they walked out into the busy street. With each step the woman became more and more terrified. The man, holding her by the arm, walked with quick steps straight ahead, seeming not to notice, or at least not be intimidated by, the numerous cars skidding and swerving around them. Once they reached the other side, the old woman, wide-eyed and out of breath, screamed at the man, 'What were you thinking?! You almost got us killed! Are you blind?!' 'Well, yes...' he replied. 'That's why I asked to cross with you.'"

Apparently it matters who we choose to follow.

So here I stand, weak and tired and worn down from all the stuff life has thrown at me, and it just seems impossible. There is no way I'll make it. I watch as one possible blow of destruction zooms past me, followed by another, and another, and another, and I begin to lose all hope of ever getting across.

My options: two friends. Both are vying for my attention and commitment. The first (the one I've known far longer) wants me to go places the second would never dream of taking me, and the second (who saved my life once) wants the exact opposite of the first. So here I stand, facing my fears, and trying to decide which friend will help me get wherever it is that I need to be.

"We can make it," the second one says. "I promise."
"Don't listen to him. It's not safe, and there's nothing over there anyway. Let's just hang out here for a while. Or...we could always go back."

That was his fatal mistake. I knew I couldn't go back. I knew "back" is where I almost lost my life. Yes, I had known him for a long time. Yes, we had been through a lot together. But I knew that he wanted me to be comfortable, and my comfort was almost the death of me before.

I give my other friend my hand. I take a deep breath. Together we walk out into the terror of my life. I close my eyes and just follow, trusting him with the steps, the pauses, the dashes. After all, "since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit."

Living indeed. I can't wait until we make it across. But until then...

Greener Grass

2006-04-13T19:44:00.000-07:00

They were dividing the land. Each tribe would get their own territory. It would be theirs to tend, to defend, to fill, to live and to die in. Everyone, that is, except...

"The LORD said to Aaron, 'You will have no inheritance in their land, nor will you have any share among them; I am your share and your inheritance among the Israelites.'" ~Numbers 18:20

Whoa whoa whoa! I didn't ask to be part of this family.

"But to the tribe of Levi he gave no inheritance, since the offerings made by fire to the LORD, the God of Israel, are their inheritance, as he promised them." ~Joshua 13:14

Wait, they get land, wealth, and prestige, and we get...burning animal flesh?

"But to the tribe of Levi, Moses had given no inheritance; the LORD, the God of Israel, is their inheritance as he had promised them." ~Joshua 13:33

Okay, so while they get an inheritance, we get God. Because that's what he promised. And that's a promise we wanted. For some reason. Of course.

"The Levites received no share of the land, but only towns to live in, with pasturelands for their flocks." ~Joshua 14:4b

Gee, thanks.

"The Levites, however, do not get a portion among you because the priestly service of the LORD is their inheritance." ~Joshua 18:7a

Oh joy! We get to SERVE you, too? *eyes rolling back dramatically* This couldn't be any more of everything I ever hoped for!

Jipped. They were totally jipped. Everyone else got property, got to fight, got to live normal lives, but if you were part of the family of Aaron, if you had (willingly or not) come in the line of Levi, your fate was sealed. You would serve God. That's it. Done deal. However, they were apparently (and fortunately) far less selfish than I am.

He was their sole purpose. They constantly served as liason between a stiff-necked people and a just God. Their lives were worship, they could allay God's anger on others, they were responsible to pray for others, and He was their ultimate satisfaction. He was enough for them.

And now here I am. The curtain has been torn, and I am welcomed in to the courts of the King, yet as I approach the throne with confidence my eyes find the window. "Land! You're NOT enough. This is not enough. I want what you gave them. I don't just want my needs met. I don't just want to be with you. You're not enough. I want...land."

So easily satisfied by things that don't matter,
so discontent with the only thing that can satisfy.
Oh Aaron, show me how to love the fruitful staff!

Learning to Dance

2006-03-14T08:04:00.000-08:00

As I move around the outer edge of the floor, I struggle to keep up with the rhythm. I bounce, I sway, I stutter, I constantly remind myself, "one step left, two steps right, turn, stop, toe, stop..." I watch to make sure I'm doing it right, and as I focus on his feet or on her stance I slip or stumble or do two steps left. Frustrated, I listen to the rhythm, I try to pick up the beat, I mimic the steps. I remain in the shadows, just trying to keep up.

"May I have this dance?"
"It's not a couple's dance, Daddy. No one else is dancing with anybody."
"Please?"

Embarassed, but also relieved, I give you my hand.

"I can't keep up," I say.
"Just follow me."
Ashamed, my eyes find the floor. "I'll try, but I don't think I can. I keep counting the steps."

"Well then," you say, and before I know it you're lifting me off the ground and I'm now standing on your feet. "There, now you don't have to worry about it at all. Just enjoy the ride."

And with that we're off. Four steps left, two steps right, spin, spin, spin. I grip tighter and laugh harder. We dance through and around everyone else, you making up your own steps to a rhythm inside of you.

I forget them. The music. The steps. The people. I forget to worry about doing it well, doing it right. I'm just holding on for dear life and sheer joy.

The music slows down, but you continue to move us across the floor. We move together around and around, and I begin to feel that I can hear the music inside of you.

The people watching say my eyes are dancing more than my feet. I'm glad you asked me for this dance. I'm glad I let you have it.

I've learned recently how I'm very autonomous when it comes to dancing. I can keep the rhythm, I can make it look alright, but when it comes to dancing WITH somebody, I just can't make it happen. I don't know how to follow. Unfortunately I saw some parallels between myself on a dance floor and myself in my spiritual walk.

"Trust me," He says. "I can't," I always respond. I don't know how. I keep trying to do it right. I'm constantly trying to keep up with those around me. I have in my head how it's supposed to look, and so I find it impossible to just follow Him.

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps." ~Proverbs 16:9

When I finally give the dance of my life over to God, and allow Him to carry me around the dance floor with the steps that He decides we should take, I forget about doing it right and get absorbed in the joy and closeness of the moment. I lose myself, riding on the steps of my Daddy.

God is...

2006-02-28T22:44:00.001-08:00

"How would you finish this sentence: God is...?" The question was asked of me during the morning session at a youth summer camp I was helping to lead. "A king," I thought. "Of course. A king." But it didn't fit. "A father?" I tried again. I knew they were true, but that's not what God is to ME. "God...is...a..." I tried to think of any possible answer that would get me through a Sunday School class, but what my mouth said surprised me. "Thunderstorm." God's a what?! What on earth are you talking about? Then again...

I used to hate thunderstorms. They terrified me. But as I grew older, watching them on our front porch became one of my favorite pastimes. They're so fascinating, so powerful, so...big. The smell in the air lets you know they're coming, but it's hard to say when or how big they'll be. Then the sky will flash, and though you can't hear anything yet, you know it's on its way. Then the rain starts to fall, and the drops are so big and make a loud pelting noise, leaving large, wet circles on the pavement. The bolts of lightning streak across the sky, and you can trace them, though they're often gone as soon as they appear. And when they're gone, the image of them is still burned in your head. Then the cracking noise shakes everything inside of you, and you feel like, if only for a brief moment, you ARE part of that storm. The wind throws everything around, the rain creates warm rivers where water doesn't normally flow, the sky lights up even where the lightning is not striking, and the air shakes with the sound of the splitting sky.

The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that, to me, God really is a thunderstorm. I can't predict what He'll do or how big it'll be, but when He moves the image of it is firmly seared in my mind. The power that He wields in my life overwhelms me, but somehow it makes me feel like I'm intimately involved in what He does. He moves things around without me ever seeing His hand, and the places that I never thought could hold the blessings He pours out start rapidly flowing with His grace.

I was supposed to spend the rest of the day writing a Bible study for the kids, but instead I wrote this:

As I mounted the wave, I wanted so badly to see the beauty that surrounded me: the power in the sky, the vastness of the ocean, the way the wind - something I can't even describe because I can't see it - how it could change any and every aspect of my surroundings. I wanted so badly to look at these things, to see them, to awe at them, but instead of awe I showed fear. I can honestly say my courage melted away. I moved like a drunk man as if I had no hope, no direction, no joy. Left. Right. Left. Right. How faithless I must've looked. I cried in fear, as if I had no rescue, as if I didn't (couldn't) trust you...as if you weren't who you said you were. I'll admit (shamefully) that I was shocked when I couldn't hear them anymore - when the wind and the waves and the rain and the yells and the breaking of the ship...when it all just stopped. When, after the screams and groans and cries, everything whispered, "Why did you doubt?"

We're supposed to get some thunderstorms this week. I'm pretty excited about that.

"At this my heart pounds and leaps from its place. Listen! Listen to the roar of his voice, to the rumbling that comes from his mouth. He unleashes his lightning beneath the whole heaven and sends it to the ends of the earth. After that comes the sound of his roar; he thunders with his majestic voice. When his voice resounds, he holds nothing back. God's voice thunders in marvelous ways; he does great things beyond our understanding."

~Job 37:1-5~

Claire R. Wauer (June 26, 1916-February 12, 2006)

2006-02-18T09:29:00.002-08:00

I miss them.
I never knew them smooth.
I never saw them young.
But I felt them - wrinkled and aged and short and sweet.
I remember
how they kissed life,
how they kissed time,
how they kissed me.

I miss them.
I never knew them clear.
I never saw them unsunken.
But I looked into them – dark and circled and bright and stern.
I remember
how they watched life,
how they watched time,
how they watched me.

I miss them.
I never knew them soft.
I never saw them unspotted.
But I touched them – rough and brown and strong and careful.
I remember
how they held life,
how they held time,
how they held me.

I miss you.
One time you called me your great-granddaughter
One time you said “goodbye” while I was talking
But you loved me – talking and playing and smiling and kissing.
I remember
how life loved you,
how time loved you,
how I loved you.

Your kisses, your eyes, your hands, your love
I remember them all.
I miss them all.
I miss you, Gram.

To read my sisters' tributes to Grandma:
http://standre.blogspot.com
http://likepaperlanterns.blogspot.com

"Now show me your glory."

2006-02-16T07:23:00.000-08:00

He found himself in a place with steep, sharp, craggy rocks on every side. It was cold, it was damp, the air was stagnant and he was pinned. His eyes were covered so that he could not see through the only place that led to the open air. But instead of panic or frustration or anger, he found beauty in that moment.

He understood the nature of his confinement. He was not covered as discipline for disobedience; not because he needed to learn patience or even dependence. No, God had covered him in that place for one purpose: protection from Himself. God was about to be amazing, was about to speak His own name, and that cleft was Moses' only hope for survival. The full goodness of God, the fullness of His glory, was about to pass by the mountain where he stood, and Moses knew that goodness was too much for him.

"No one may see me and live," the LORD said.

God is so good. Too good. When God reveals His goodness, His faithfulness, His very Presence, it is too much for us. When we ask God to move in our lives, do we expect to be able to stand out in the open air and watch Him go by? What is it about God that makes us think the mountaintop is a safe place to meet Him? Moses knew that God was with Him, and he patiently waited in the side of that mountain until the LORD removed His hand and led him out. Sometimes He places us in the tight spots because He's about to be amazing. Sometimes we're safer when we can't move.

~Exodus 33:12-23~

Stuck between a rock and a hard place,
I found that the hard place was Your hand.

Welcomed In

2006-01-22T18:34:00.000-08:00

A few friends and I went camping a couple of months ago. We stayed at one of those "real" campgrounds...no amenities provided. I got up early the first morning, maybe around 6:00, walked up a nearby hill with my Bible and a journal, and found myself in a place unlike any I think I've ever seen. I could see the cliffs and the water close by, but where I was there were some trees, rocks, a whole lot of dirt, and then nothing. No people. No animals. Not even birds. It was completely quiet and completely lonely.

It made me think about Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. It made me think about him being there, all alone, face on the ground, feeling so separated from his friends on earth and so distant from his family in heaven. There was no one to comfort him, no one to encourage him, and no one who could understand what he was feeling. His Father couldn't even understand his brokenness at that point.

As I sat in that place, I realized, maybe for the first time, just how lonely Christ must've been. This is some of what I wrote:

He lived to die, knowing he would never see his friends fully understand him, knowing they would fall on him in love and run from him in fear. He lived knowing he would break up the unity of heaven: that beautiful bond that existed since eternity past. He lived expecting the moment when his own Father would be unable to look at him because he CHOSE to be guilty.

How his eyes must've lit up when someone looked at him and saw HIM! What joy when a woman's tears expressed her need for him, when his ears heard a friend say, "My Lord and my God!" It is no wonder that he sought refuge in his prayers, never drawing away from those who needed him, but faithfully joining with those who ARE him.

On the cross, when Christ was separated from everyone he longed to be a part of, he cried, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" In that moment, his loneliness invited us into him, where it is impossible to be alone. In his arms we feel the warmth of friendship, of brotherhood, and can't help but cry into his shoulder, "My God, my God, why have you included me?"

A prayer for Hope

2005-12-18T21:57:00.000-08:00

Today in church we were told that a young couple in the congregation had lost their baby this week, 7 months into the pregnancy. I can't even begin to fathom the pain in a parent's heart when their child dies.

"a prayer for Hope"
No life inside, no comfort out
Shattered, fragile hearts break
Trembling, dry voices shake
Broken. Our biggest mistake:
Resting our knees on you, not doubt.

Holding to hope, we let go of truth
Life, nothing is sound
Tears, never not found
Joy, “may it abound”
We signed with blood to unseen proof.

Like a “burglar, banker, Father”
Our hearts, pierced through,
strangled, removed.
Now our Hope rests in you,
Please hold her like you love her.

resiliance

2005-12-04T21:26:00.000-08:00

Because God has been teaching me so much, and I've been learning so much, and I've been dreaming big dreams, but I sit, and I wait for tomorrow, hoping it'll never really come.

"resiliance"
In the shade of my own tree,
I will fight the good fight
while I lie here a while
with the fruit of my branches
to keep me company.

I will stay here (under my tree)
and watch the river flow
and watch the trees grow
and watch the people go
find trees of their own.

Because my tree is mine
and I am mine
and my fruit is yours
(while my fruit's really mine)

So we'll stay here,
my brother Jonah and I,
and watch.

Because,
when there is shade and despair,
watching is what we do best.

"in a garden of weeds"

2005-10-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

when the sun seemed to fade
and all around the silence cried
wilted, shriveled
a head hung (bowed) low
as its beauty, piece by piece,
drifted slowly down

tears can only mimic
the dew mixed with blood
that fell on that parched ground

the sun paid homage
the silence sang praise
to that rose among the thorns

Becoming "Onesimus"

2005-10-22T21:43:00.000-07:00

I've been studying the book of Philemon. As I look at it this time around, I'm beginning to understand the impact this story has on my spiritual life. Though it was probably not on Paul's mind when he was trying to help these two men restore their relationship, I suddenly saw a resemblance between the characters in the letter and God, Christ, and myself. I was God's, given a name and a purpose by Him, and I ran so hard just to get away from Him. That's where Christ found me, running and hiding and terrified and angry, and he saved me. Not only did he give me hope, he himself pleaded with God to restore OUR relationship, to take me back as his daughter even though I stole what was rightfully his and denied my purpose and my name. Not only did Paul send Onesimus back to his master (who had every right to torture and kill him) so that they could make amends, but he told Philemon that his slave was finally going to serve his purpose. Onesimus, for the first time in his life, was going to be who he was designed to be.

Onesimus, by the way, means "Useful". He was finally becoming his name.

"Becoming 'Onesimus'"

Here I am
To be my name
Holding nothing
But a letter and my shame
Here I stand
Wanting to be
Everything you have called me

I ran
Through so many lands
To find a way away
No one
Called me “son”
So I looked to the horizon
I cried
I only tried
To free myself from you
I died
So many times
Before I lived
“Anywhere”
He found me there
And showed me how to breathe
He lived
And chose to give
Me part of his own life
I ran
Back through those lands
To meet my brother here

Here I am
To be my name
Holding nothing
But a letter and my shame
Here I stand
Wanting to be
Everything you have called me

I Didn't Even Bring a Tootsie Pop

2005-10-17T17:34:00.001-07:00

I had this dream last year where I was dating a guy from school. Long story short, he did something that was so horrible and backstabbing that I got sick over it, and what made it worse is that he had no remorse. He just...let me go. I got so sick I had to drop out of school and became house-bound. Months went by, and my friends all consoled me, but I never heard anything from this guy. One day I was sleeping on the couch, and I rolled over to find him standing there in the doorway. He looked sick himself. I couldn't really make myself look at him, and he wouldn't look me in the eye. He walked over to the couch, got down on his knees, and without saying a word, he held out a boquet of Tootsie Pops. I remember so clearly getting the absolute biggest grin and just feeling such a freedom of forgiveness. I woke up, and I had the best feeling, actually wishing (to a degree) that something like that could happen to me so I could experience that overwhelming feeling of forgiveness again.

I've been thinking about the word "forgive" for a couple of years now. I know what it means to forgive, but I don't know what "forgive" actually means. It can't just be overlooking an offense. It doesn't mean forgetting about some painful thing. I couldn't find anything that really told me what it meant to forgive. If I can't understand the word, then how am I supposed to know just what God does with my offenses and what I'm supposed to do with others'?

I finally learned that it's all in the prefix "for." "For" means "away, apart, off," so "forbear" means to "bear off," "forbid" means to "bid away," and "forget" means to "get apart." The prefix carries with it a very active sense, a personal action of pushing or lifting or raising. "Forgive," then, would mean to, "give off, give away, give apart." Forgiveness is an active and purposeful separation of offense from offended.

God has actively pushed my infidelity away from our relationship. My offenses are not there anymore. They're not an issue. I cheated on Him, spit in His face, and made no effort toward restituation for so long, and yet when I came crawling back, He "gave away" what I had done. I brought nothing, not even a Tootsie Pop, but I know He just got the hugest grin.

Can I do any less?

OFF COURSE

2005-10-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

Part 7
DEFENSIVE STRATEGIES
Everyone got a rude awakening when I started having a diaphramic seizure in the direction of the ocean. I flailed unashamedly and ran back to the fire. Jon caught on that I saw it, too, and the two of us starting piling anything and everything we thought would burn onto the dwindling flame. Once everyone else deciphered our frantic commands, everyone was scurrying to find combustible items, which included underbrush, jackets, and a few leftovers.

We couldn't see what was attached to the light, but we were able to see it moving, so we guessed it was a boat, and because of our desire to live we guessed it was a rescue boat. The screaming and yelling and shoutings of "hey! hey! hey!" was almost deafening, but I knew I could buy new ears once I got home. We watched the vague lights as they drifted from left to right...but then they stopped! They stopped. Everybody started dancing and singing and hugging, and then remembered that we should probably keep shouting because, well, why not? So we did. We shouted and screamed and cried and laughed as we saw the lights become bigger and bigger. They were coming! Our rescue was coming!

I guess we were on a shallow side of the island, because the boat (we could see it was a boat by this point) started moving back to the left. We all started running over each other, trying to be the first to meet it on the other side of the island. There we were however-many-some-odd people running through an arctic jungle, sliding on ice, tripping on rocks, getting smothered by falling clumps of snow, only thinking about blankets and cocoa and a good "New Kids on the Block" dance party on deck.

I'll admit, what we found surprised us a little. When we reached the other side of the island, the boat had already anchored, and most of the crew (if they're called a crew) were standing on the beach waiting for us. They didn't look American, so we thought maybe those crazy Canadians were the nearest rescue team. Although, we should've known better, because Canadians can't grow facial hair, and all of these men (I didn't see one woman there) had long, shaggy beards. And the helmets with those horns on them also made us a bit nervous, but I think the biggest shock was that every last one of them was holding something...and by something I mean a spear or a club or a mace.

The one who was in charge (I could tell because he was holding a torch...and he was talking, and the leaders always talk first) yelled something to his men in some form of Icelandish. I had taken Icelandish in undergrad, but I hadn't brushed up in a couple of years, so mine was a bit rusty, but from what I understood, he said, "I, William Wood, am the one who has brought you this far, men! I have shown you many lands and many shiny things. But this is not about plundering, nor about getting chicks. Today, we fight for our beliefs. These are not men, they are animals, for they have eaten the Sacred Tabby." At this part they all snarled, and a few foamed at the mouth. "Leave none alive," (which is the part that made me a little uneasy), "and retrieve from inside of them that which they have stolen from this Holy Land."

I relayed the message, as I understood it, to my team, and we decided we should run. Joe tried to stay behind and fight, claiming that he could take down this "Willy Wood" with TWO dislocated shoulders and his eyes gouged out. We told him we were sure he was right, but we dragged him away with us as we ran. They ran, too. This became a race for survival.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Part 1
THE CRASH
It started out like any other boat ride. Not quite a “three-hour tour” per se, but none of us were adequately packed for what was about to happen. Honestly, I don’t think any of us expected something as simple as a ferry ride to change the course of our lives forever. At the time, we were all just excited about watching the smooth waters of the Chesapeake Bay fade behind us and the thrill of a future in Greenland blowing gently in our faces. I guess no one can predict the future. In retrospect, there were bound to be complications on a trip like that, but none of us gave it a second thought when we set out.

The ferry man’s name was Francois Steinbeck, an ascetic priest and staunch capitalist. We probably should’ve guessed that a guy with a name like that wouldn’t really know how to maneuver a car-filled watercraft, and certainly couldn't navigate the troublesome tides of the Atlantic, but none of us wanted to think about the “what ifs”. When we first saw the whales, we all got chills of excitement. It didn’t take long for those chills to become fear-induced. It took even less time for those chills to become hypothermic in nature. Everything happened so quickly, and nobody really saw what happened. Some say a whale got caught in the rudder, some claim to have seen icebergs. Most of us think Francois was tipsy at the helm (apparently he was part German). I don’t know how a drunken captain would result in a ferry capsizing, but theories won’t get us anywhere. The point is, before any of us knew what was happening, we were in the frigid waters of the north Atlantic swimming away from dozens of flaming and sinking automobiles.

By God’s grace, our boat had overturned in the midst of a small patch of ice-capped islands, and everyone on board made it to the one nearest us. Needless to say everyone was scared out of their minds, but other than the stress of the situation, we all walked away virtually unscathed. We were able to piece together from Francois’ broken English (none of us spoke Swahili fluently enough to understand him in his native tongue) that the storm had blown us 20 miles off course. Yes, there had been a storm. More like a squall, and it had landed us in a place that had never even been charted before.

So there we were, a dozen strangers on a frozen wasteland and with 20 miles between us and our set course. We knew no one would be looking for us this far away from where we had intended to be. If we were going to survive, we were going to need to organize.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Part 2
THE FIRST STEP
We all watched as the blue, red, and silver specks that used to be our cherished vehicles bubble and spurt as they sank beneath the rolling waves. Sure we knew we needed to organize, but knowing and being motivated are two very different things. We all believed deep down that our futures were dim, and our rescue was hopeless, though only one or two people actually said it.

There was an older couple on the boat, shopowners I think, who seemed to have the best handle on the situation...and on themselves. I guess it comes from years of ordering employees around, but the two of them wasted no time taking charge. "Collect wood for a fire! Does anyone know how to hunt? Who's a strong swimmer? We're going to need to go back out there and raid the cars, see what we can find. I need you and you and you to help me find something to make shelter!" Any other time I would've been annoyed at two old people barking at everyone, telling us what to do, but at this point, I was grateful. I had no head for planning on a good day, and this was somewhat less than a good day.

It took the better part of 10 minutes for anyone to start doing anything productive, unless you consider yelling and crying and screaming and shivering to be productive. Once my eyes had gotten less blurry (I can't say if it was the salt water, the bitter wind, or the despondent tears), I saw for the first time the terrain of our new home. It was covered in snow, but surprisingly topographical. There were no trees and only a few arctic bushes here and there. As I looked around, I noticed something...someTHINGS, creeping along the snow in the distance. "You've gotta be kidding me," was the first indication that someone else had seen them, too. There they were again, only this time, it was clear what they were: cats. There were only two or three that we could see, but somehow we all knew the truth. We were on an island teeming with them. At first, I almost started crying again, thinking this was some sort of divine joke, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that these felines could save our lives.

It turns out we only had one person who knew anything about hunting. His name was Joe, and he claimed he was going to Greenland to teach elementary school, but judging by how skilled he was with the trap he designed out of a steering wheel, a road map of Nevada, and a flashlight bulb, he's either an escaped convict or MacGyver. It only took him a few minutes to assemble his contraption, and as the rest of us started the gathering, we watched Joe as he bravely set out hunting. "Unbelievable," someone said as we were trying to find pieces of the bushes that we could burn. "That's one nasty prey. That man's got guts to go after those things." It did take guts, and we were all thankful that somebody had 'em. Lunchtime had already come and gone.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Part 3
NOW, TO SURVIVE
We were all sweating from the heavy lifting and dragging of all the underbrush that we could find on the island, but to see a fire as big as the one we managed to make sparked at least a little bit of pleasure in our hearts, if not hope. As we huddled together, shivering from the midday cold (none of us were excited that that was the warmest it was going to get) we saw our mighty hunter appear from behind an ice mound. The entire left half of his body was bleeding, but none of us noticed at first. We were all too busy looking at what he carried over his right shoulder: there must've been twelve of those suckers, lifeless and ready to sustain our very lives.

He tossed them down on the ground in front of us. Some in our group jumped and squealed, some started looking for some wood to make a spit, but one girl, Lindsay I think her name was, just shook her head. "You all are so sick," she said, then she more or less stormed off and sat down a few feet away. "She must be a cat lover," Joe said, not seeming to be bothered one bit that his arm was falling off by now.

Luckily, we had a nurse on the boat...at least, a nursing student. Her name was Stacy. We all thought she must've been a maid judging by how tidy she had been keeping everyone's things, but once she saw Joe's arm, there was no doubting her medical training. As she inspected his arm and started rummaging through her first aid fanny pack, she started bombarding him with a ton of personal questions. They were the sort of questions that would make anyone blush, so I couldn't blame him when she got beyond the "how much do you weigh" type questions into the more intimate details.

They moved out of earshot, and there we were, trying to figure out how to BBQ our feline feast. We started doing it the way we best thought of, which was just to stack some logs and stick the meat on top of them. This seemed to be a good idea, at least at the time, but after a minute or two we heard a sarcastic and distant, "that'll never work." We looked up, and Lindsay was glaring at us from her seat some yards away. "And even if it did, they would NOT taste good."

"It's all we have, though," Sarah, the girl standing next to me, said. "We've got to eat something."

"Well at least season the meat, for goodness sake."

"With what? Salt water?"

"Gunpowder works the same as salt," she said in the same sarcastic tone as before. Sarah and I stared at each other, not quite sure if Lindsay was just trying to ruin our dinner, but with a sigh she stood up and came over to us. She opened the single gun we had on the island and poured some of the powder onto the meat. "See if you can find some oregano around here," she said to me. I think I knew deep down all along this girl knew something about cooking, and man was I ready to eat whatever culinary masterpiece she created for me! It was 2:30 PM by then.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Part 4
CONFLICT OF INTERESTS
The smell of toasting tabbies and gunpowder filled the frigid air, and it was like nothing I'd ever smelled before...and never really hoped to smell again, but at that point I was thankful enough for it. Joe had been nicely patched up by the nurse, and he was currently making a crossbow out of car parts with his right hand and receiving physical therapy on the other. Apparently we had all the necessary personell to staff a small clinic, and Joe by himself could supply them with enough physical ailments to keep them busy. Amy held him by the elbow and wrist, repeatedly saying, "No, I said relax your arm...can't you just relax it? Do you know how to relax your arm?!" I guess the combination of making a crossbow and being yelled at by your therapist would make anyone's muscles tense up.

"Wow, it's so convenient." This phrase, dripping with sarcasm, came from behind us. "A bunch of strangers set out on a trip together, then they get stranded on an island where they have to fight for survival and are forced to face their past." There was a pause as we all just looked at him, wondering where he was taking this. "It seems like a really bad ripoff of that show LOST." We were all quiet for a moment, and this guy (Jon) looked pleased with himself, like he really had us pegged. "Wow, yeah, you're right. I never thought of it like that." A girl named April, shaking her head and oozing every bit as much sarcasm, spoke up. "It IS just like that...and I guess a little bit like Lord of the Flies, and like Swiss Family Robinson, and like Shipwrecked, and like the Apostle Paul, and like anyone else who this really has happened to. Wow, I'm really glad we have a man here to clear that up for us. Now we can all be SO much better off knowing that our lives are a cheap imitation. Thank you!" They just glared at each other.

"Guys, please stop fighting. It doesn't matter if this is an imitation or not. It's real, and we're all really here together, so let's try to get along."

Jon said (in the usual cynical tone) "well thank you, Lucy," while April simultaneously said, "Excuse me?" Lucy started crying and walked away from the fire we had all been standing around, and Sarah went to help her sort out her feelings. After that, none of us talked to Jon or April, primarily because we were terrified, but I think somewhere deep down it was also because we were mad at them for making Lucy cry...but mainly because we feared for our lives and dignity. Joe later said to me, "I was less scared when the cats were mauling me. I can't wait to go back out hunting so I can get away from these monsters."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Part 5
NIGHTFALL
The tension was so thick you could've cut it with a knife, and we probably would've, and eaten it if possible, if we'd had a strong enough knife. The BBQ started smelling better and better to us, and I think even Lindsay was getting excited about our mid-afternoon meal. It'd been a whole 6 hours since the crash, the sun was beginning to set behind the distant ice caps, and we were all starting to scope out the island, looking for the best spot to make "home," though none of us knew what we'd use to build our huts.

Joe had gone out hunting again, of course with his left arm in a sling, and had returned with a kitten of one of the cats we had "spitted." We were all sad to have taken away her family, so we named her Catherine and called her one of our own. Granted, we had no milk for her, and nothing to feed her other than, you know...but she was so cute and so helpless and so orphaned on our account. I think we all were thinking deep down about how one day she'd grow up and we'd love her even more, but for the time being we pampered her.

We gave thanks for our meal (we were really thankful for it), and then dug in. Everything got really quiet while we ate. I guess everyone was thinking hard about life and survival and relationships and cats. Those moments were among the loneliest in my life. Who had I become? How did these people on the island view me? Was I wrong to eat this wild tabby? I didn't very much like the answers I was coming up with. This was all stuff I had never thought about before, and for good reason. Why worry about what people think, or what you'll eat given the chance? Nothing bad will ever happen. Yeah right.

As the sun went down, we each found a spot close enough to the fire to stay warm, but far enough away from each other to be left alone. Nobody wanted to talk, nobody wanted to cry, nobody wanted to do anything but sleep. I chose a spot that was only a couple of feet away from the fire. When I laid down, I felt a rock in my back, so I brought it out and befriended it. I needed someone to talk to about what was happening, and no one else seemed too interested. I whispered, of course, I didn't want to be the "schizophrenic" of the island. I named him Brody, and we talked most of the night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Part 6
CUCKOO'S NEST
Well, when I say, "most of the night," what I really mean is we had a good tete-a-tete for about thirty minutes. After that, I couldn't formulate words anymore. It was almost completely dark (though the moon was reflecting quite well off the snowy landscape), and needless to say it was getting a bit chilly. We had all dried off for the most part, but even the slightest bit of dampness in our clothes made the area around the campfire sound like a crate filled with chattering teeth toys. I could hear some whimpering coming from the other side of the fire, and I knew somebody was brave enough to express what I was feeling: this is misery.

I was starting to feel woozy. I didn't know if it was the cold, or the smoke, or the cat kabobs, but I couldn't close my eyes without feeling like I was on a Tilt-a-Whirl. I don't handle Tilt-a-Whirls well. I needed to get up and move around...primarily "around" meaning away from the group just in case my gag reflex decided to engage. I didn't walk more than 12 feet when I found the source of the whimpering. It was Jon. I was so surprised, I didn't know what to say.

"Are...are you ok?" I asked, assuming that he probably got scalded by the fire or something and refused to tell anyone about it. I felt bad, knowing if he HAD gotten hurt, none of us really made him feel like he could tell us. "Are you hurt? We can wake Stacy up." "No, I'm fine. [pause] Thank you, though." The way he said "thank you" cut me deep. He seemed to be so sincerely grateful that somebody actually cared about him. I told him I was going on a walk and he could come if he liked (though I warned him that he might have to watch me upchuck). He acted glad to have something to do, and really shocked that somebody was talking to him.

Turns out he felt like he was losing his mind. We talked about the spat he'd had earlier with April, and he looked like he was sick over it. "That's not what I meant at all," he said, "I was just, I don't know, saying what it felt like to me. Then, when she started getting fiesty with me, I guess I just followed suit." It made sense the way he said it, and I really did feel bad for the way everyone wrote them both off at the end of their glaring match. He really was a cool guy, and he really was feeling lonely, maybe even more lonely than I was, on this icy island.

"So that's why you feel like you're going crazy?" I asked. It didn't add up in my mind. "Well, that's not all," he said, very hesitantly. I asked him what else was bothering him...if he wanted to talk about it. After a few seconds, he let it all out. "Nobody likes me here, and I'm used to having tons of friends. And I just ate a cat, and I'm a vegetarian. And the elementary school teacher is like MacGyver while I feel like, I don't know, I could do that stuff, too. And I swear I saw some lights out on the ocean, but I know we're billions of miles away from anything. And I heard..."

What?! Was he serious? He saw some lights! On the ocean! What if they were coming? I knew it was too good to hope for, but I hoped anyway. In the middle of his gut-spilling session, I booked it to the highest peak. Either I was destined for the loony bin same as him, or those were lights on the horizon.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Finding Aida

2005-09-29T18:15:00.000-07:00

In these past few weeks our generation has experienced something unique to us, namely Katrina and Rita. Being here in Dallas has really forced me to go beyond my comfort of apathy that I was so willing to experience back in Virginia. No, this is happening here, all around me, affecting the people I've grown to love and filtering into the city I temporarily call "home."

Although all of the different things involved in these two cataclysimc storms has brought tears to my eyes at different times, one thing sticks vividly in my mind like nothing else. Last week, while people were rushing to leave their homes in fear that they would undergo the same trauma as those in New Orleans, a bus carrying 40+ elderly people departed from a nursing home in Houston to bring the residents to safety. While the bus sat in traffic not even 20 miles from Dallas, which was its destination, it caught fire. Immediately the staff and driver started getting people off the bus, but it wasn't long before they heard an explosion: the oxygen tanks, the breathing tanks, started exploding. Before anyone knew what was happening, the bus was englufed in flames along with the 23 passengers who were still on board. There was no hope for rescue.

During some interviews with rescued passengers and with a nurse on the scene, there were heartbreaking stories told of people who would never recover from what they had seen, from knowing that the person who was sitting next to them didn't make it, from the realization that they were helped off the bus first. Among these stories was an old man on a stretcher who pulled off his oxygen mask as they were loading him onto an ambulance. He wanted to tell the rescuers "thank you" for saving him from the bus which he described as a roman candle. He went on to say, "they carried my like an infant to safety." The nurse, who was sitting in traffic a few cars behind the bus and rushed to help when she saw what was happening, told a story of a man who she was helping right after the explosion. He said, "I need you to help me find my wife. She was sitting right next to me. I need you to help me find Aida." The nurse said, "I told the staff person I needed to find Aida, and she just shook her head."

"Finding Aida"

Could you help me please?
I let her hand go
They carried me away

Have you seen my bride?
She needs me now
She cries on this kind of day

Fighting myself, I live myself
I die, I bring it all back again
My fears won’t fall
While she cries to sleep
I leave my world, my mind
Only to find her hand

I need you to see
If she still wants to dance
I can wait ‘til the next song

Ask if she’ll forgive
My clumsy hands
That forgot to hold on

Fighting myself, I live myself
I die, I bring it all back again
My fears won’t fall
While she cries to sleep
I leave my world, my mind
Only to find her hand

Bring me my darling
I’m feeling too weak
To call her name

When I let her go
I didn’t know to see
Her for the last time

Fighting myself, I live myself
I die, I bring it all back again
My fears won’t fall
While she cries to sleep
I leave my world, my mind
Only to find her hand

I watch the candle
Holding my joy
Like my arms held her

Bring me my darling
Let me see my bride
I can’t go on
with this ghost in my side