Do you love yourself?
Enough to accept the love of others?
I think that we try to impress God sometimes. Trying to earn his love, his favor, his blessing. This Christianity thing is so confusing—I wouldn’t have it any other way—and yet simple. What has kept me at times in rapt interest is how our faith is such a dialectic. God is immanent and yet transcendent; our faith does not need works and yet it is dead without it; the Kingdom of God is within us and yet it is coming. How are we ever to understand it?
On Easter Sunday a pastor used a visual demonstration for his message that showed how foolish we are sometimes. He got on the treadmill and continued to speed it up which represented all our actions and busyness trying to please God. If this really worked that would mean that we would be earning our salvation and we’d ultimately be bringing God down to us. Yet, as we could clearly see all his running wasn’t getting him anywhere. In my mind I like to take it a step further and picture us smaller, like hamsters who run and run in the little wheel as if they think they can reach a specific destination. This does not mean that we do nothing, we still must seek God. This is one of those confusing things.
We need to be reminded of these things from time to time. We all know it and hear it in different presentations that speak to us at the right moment. I have just been thinking that we need to really love ourselves in order to accept God’s love for us. I have been thinking about how I go through phases where I feel God’s presence, love, or closeness more than others. Usually it is in the midst of struggle and feeling that he is my ultimate support. Or when serving him, you feel that he is especially near. Yet at the same time, does this make any sense? God loves us just the same. We are clothed in his grace, so that when he looks at us he sees Christ and all the ugliness that we feel is only real to us (Col 3).
Total depravity. The T in TULIP in Calvinism. Sin has devoured and destroyed the human nature and so everything in us is affected by it. Even though we are born of a new nature, the sinful has been buried and death died, it is easy to introspect and get our focus on the wrong things. This I think, causes us to harden our hearts. We feel guilt or embarrassed and do not want God to see us in our wretched state. In a sense, we look at our missteps and say that we haven’t read our Bible, prayed, attended Bible study and that’s why our faith is struggling or we aren’t hearing from God. We do not give God access to our hearts even though he can see them because we want to clean things up before we let him in the door. From Revelation 3:20 I have had this vision of preparing a room for Christ. When he knocks, I am surprised, although he has warned that he is coming and I have been preparing—I am not ready. Naturally, I want the place to be immaculate and so I keep him waiting outside. How long will he wait, how long will he knock?
Anyone that has read anything on here in the past might have noticed the heading “skulking in the dark searching for the light.” The idea behind that is, knowing, believing that the light exists but not being qualified to be in the light. This is the wrong mindset, because we are sons of light.
Let him in.
How long will he wait, how long will he knock?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
in bloom
These buds, these blooms in blossom
delicate and ornate, clash
in a bold statement
to begin the march
clinging to a gossamer thread
of life, fighting to withstand
the mighty winds--unrelenting,
resisting the dance of seasons
These buds, these blooms in blossom
soft and silent
herald a message
brash and unabashed
more forceful than the tempest's harshest gales
when everything has lost its color
when your heart fears
it has stolen the blue from the sky
replacing beauty
with dour gray
These buds, these blooms in blossom
gentle and pastel
many fall unnoticed--a worthy risk
a tale of self-giving
foretelling, reminding
that these clouds shall be lifted.
--It's rainy, it's cold, it's windy, the sky is dark and it resembles anything but spring. And yet these budding trees, these first flowers puzzle me. They have the audacity to confront the weather with their tacit statements; is it to say "your time is up, go home" or give us hope when we wonder if spring will ever come? This season is an odd juxtaposition of violence and serenity. It is as if everything has been in winter slumber, the wind is simply an irascible response to being awakened from its hibernation.--
delicate and ornate, clash
in a bold statement
to begin the march
clinging to a gossamer thread
of life, fighting to withstand
the mighty winds--unrelenting,
resisting the dance of seasons
These buds, these blooms in blossom
soft and silent
herald a message
brash and unabashed
more forceful than the tempest's harshest gales
when everything has lost its color
when your heart fears
it has stolen the blue from the sky
replacing beauty
with dour gray
These buds, these blooms in blossom
gentle and pastel
many fall unnoticed--a worthy risk
a tale of self-giving
foretelling, reminding
that these clouds shall be lifted.
--It's rainy, it's cold, it's windy, the sky is dark and it resembles anything but spring. And yet these budding trees, these first flowers puzzle me. They have the audacity to confront the weather with their tacit statements; is it to say "your time is up, go home" or give us hope when we wonder if spring will ever come? This season is an odd juxtaposition of violence and serenity. It is as if everything has been in winter slumber, the wind is simply an irascible response to being awakened from its hibernation.--
Friday, February 27, 2009
manna
The story of manna feeding the Israelites in the desert is one that everyone knows. I'm sure I have learned the lessons from it before, hearing in Sunday school and sermons preached on it. But in this time of learning to trust God it really shows how He only led them day by day, never giving more than they needed but just enough.
I picture myself in their situation where in Exodus 16 they are given specific rules for the weird little white flakes that appear on the ground in the morning and melt away by the end of the day. They are told to gather enough for each person but not to store any of it for the next day. How crazy is this? If you are in the barren desert, is it not instinct to collect all the food you can while you have the opportunity? Who knows when its going to stop or when you are going to come across food again? But, Moses became angry with those that disobeyed because by the following morning it stunk, had molded, and maggots were crawling around in it!
God led these people here with wondrous signs along the way. The plagues, the swallowing up of Pharaoh's army by the sea, the pillar of fire or cloud to guide them. The very manna itself is a miracle. Yet it strikes me that God keeps people on edge, hanging on by the skin of their teeth. Moment by moment, day by day, forcing them to give full trust to God because they can do nothing else.
We face decisions each day and do not usually take the time to consult God with them, usually just the ones where we aren't sure what to do. Can you imagine, trading places with the Israelites? I think about how hard it is to trust God now, asking him what he has in store for my future. It is good to think about the future, but what about each day? Are we taking the small steps of trust? Honestly, thinking like this makes me nervous. I don't particularly enjoy crazy spontaneity (planned spontaneity is cool though haha) or not knowing things ahead of time so the idea of trusting that God is going to leave manna with the morning dew each day is frightening. It does give me insight into what believing, trusting, putting absolute faith looks like. Just enough for each day. Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matt 6:34). This solidifies Jesus nifty little message about not fretting, bringing it to life showing how the Israelites lived. Crazy.
I picture myself in their situation where in Exodus 16 they are given specific rules for the weird little white flakes that appear on the ground in the morning and melt away by the end of the day. They are told to gather enough for each person but not to store any of it for the next day. How crazy is this? If you are in the barren desert, is it not instinct to collect all the food you can while you have the opportunity? Who knows when its going to stop or when you are going to come across food again? But, Moses became angry with those that disobeyed because by the following morning it stunk, had molded, and maggots were crawling around in it!
God led these people here with wondrous signs along the way. The plagues, the swallowing up of Pharaoh's army by the sea, the pillar of fire or cloud to guide them. The very manna itself is a miracle. Yet it strikes me that God keeps people on edge, hanging on by the skin of their teeth. Moment by moment, day by day, forcing them to give full trust to God because they can do nothing else.
We face decisions each day and do not usually take the time to consult God with them, usually just the ones where we aren't sure what to do. Can you imagine, trading places with the Israelites? I think about how hard it is to trust God now, asking him what he has in store for my future. It is good to think about the future, but what about each day? Are we taking the small steps of trust? Honestly, thinking like this makes me nervous. I don't particularly enjoy crazy spontaneity (planned spontaneity is cool though haha) or not knowing things ahead of time so the idea of trusting that God is going to leave manna with the morning dew each day is frightening. It does give me insight into what believing, trusting, putting absolute faith looks like. Just enough for each day. Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matt 6:34). This solidifies Jesus nifty little message about not fretting, bringing it to life showing how the Israelites lived. Crazy.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Psalm 130
Psalm 130:
"1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD; 2 O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared.
5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.
6 My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD, for with the LORD is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins."
This Psalm really reached me today. It is simple and beautiful--waiting, crying out, putting hope in God's redemption, love, and forgiveness. Even moreso, I felt I was able to identify with the comparitive metaphor about waiting for the Lord with that of a watchman. As a watchman, I know that feeling very well, dying for the sun to come up so the shift is done and I can go home. I just found it so interesting that I don't ever recall reading this Psalm before and yet an entry I wrote earlier ("Graveyard", two posts back) is similar in nature, comparing the reprieve of the morning with God's hope. Oh how the Psalmist says it so much simpler and more beautiful. Amazing how the Word keeps coming alive and can always reach us anew with things that touch us and push us forward. Praise God for his faithfulness!
"1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD; 2 O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared.
5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.
6 My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD, for with the LORD is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins."
This Psalm really reached me today. It is simple and beautiful--waiting, crying out, putting hope in God's redemption, love, and forgiveness. Even moreso, I felt I was able to identify with the comparitive metaphor about waiting for the Lord with that of a watchman. As a watchman, I know that feeling very well, dying for the sun to come up so the shift is done and I can go home. I just found it so interesting that I don't ever recall reading this Psalm before and yet an entry I wrote earlier ("Graveyard", two posts back) is similar in nature, comparing the reprieve of the morning with God's hope. Oh how the Psalmist says it so much simpler and more beautiful. Amazing how the Word keeps coming alive and can always reach us anew with things that touch us and push us forward. Praise God for his faithfulness!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
exodus
My little revelation that identified my time of struggle and transition with the exodus of the Israelites was exciting, for a day. When I wrote that I somehow thought that this realization would give me some bearing which would give me direction and solid footing. I had felt so refreshed after feeling the scriptures hit home and had great hopes. I think that when we are shown these things we are met with equally difficult responses, either as testing or to prevent us from going the right way...I'm not sure. The reason being, the week that followed such optimism was in fact very dark. My moods were sour I was in a sort of torpor. I liken this to the way we go about setting New Year's resolutions--we aim high and when we're off target we crash and give up. I also wonder whether the enemy sent a dark cloud to limit my vision and discourage my soul. Either way, the first step was realizing where I am and then giving up trying to go it alone.
Something that has spoken to me is found where God battles through Moses for his people against Pharaoh in a demonstration of power and stubbornness. Before Moses ever encounters Pharaoh God tells him that He "will harden Pharaoh's heart, and though I multiply miraculous signs and wonders in Egypt, he will not listen to you...And the Egyptians will know that I am the LORD when I stretch out my hand against Egypt and bring the Israelites out of it." (Exodus 7:3-5) You can tell this isn't about convincing Pharaoh to release the covenant people but about God displaying his power--not just to the Israelites but to the Egyptians--as Pharaoh relents after each sign and then defaults on his promise. By the 4th sign--the gnats--Egypt's magicians issue a cryptic caveat: "This is the finger of God." (Ex 8:19) This phrase is huge! First that the magicians who were able to emulate the first few miracles are admitting to the power of God. Second that they are warning that this is just a finger, beware of even greater power!
This image is further delineated when Moses says later on, "the hand of the Lord will bring a terrible plague on your livestock..." (Ex. 9:3) God's purpose is repeated twice later on, first as a proclamation of power to all the earth (9:16) and as a tale to pass from generation to generation of how the LORD made real his dedication to them (10:1-2).
The fact that God fights for his people that he has bound himself to through covenant is beautiful. The thing is that it is difficult to understand how God works, why he allowed for them to become enslaved for so long and to let them suffer. Why he couldn't cut to the chase and be more forceful with his power.
Taking a look at Pharaoh and what he is left with is startling. In a sense he ravaged his own land out of his stubbornness by all the plagues and his people lost much of their valuables as the Israelites politely plundered their silver and gold.
Although it may be hermeneutically incorrect or at least inconsistent, a lot can be learned from this when you look at both sides of this piece of history. First, that God is persistent, fighting to win hearts when you look at what he did for freedom for his people. Second, that God is persistent, fighting to show himself even to the hardest of hearts. I feel that we can really identify with Pharaoh in this situation. For a time I've been struggling because I know God exists and he is there, I've seen his handiwork but I was struggling against the feeling of not feeling Him. It is a sort of battle within, because logically you know that God is doing things to get our attention and only sometimes we notice. When we do notice, we relent and say that we'll turn to him only to turn away at the slightest distraction. Just as Pharaoh did over and over again--promising to let God's people go only to renege.
I peeked ahead a page or two from where I am currently reading and saw underlined, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." When you plug this back into the perspective of God pursuing Israel, defending them, and awing the current generation and many to come this is a beautiful, powerful promise and reminder. Taken another way, it is a statement that should allow you to slow down and reflect. Reflect upon what God is doing and not what you are doing, that he is fighting for us and wooing us and sometimes we just don't notice so we need to be still.
Something that has spoken to me is found where God battles through Moses for his people against Pharaoh in a demonstration of power and stubbornness. Before Moses ever encounters Pharaoh God tells him that He "will harden Pharaoh's heart, and though I multiply miraculous signs and wonders in Egypt, he will not listen to you...And the Egyptians will know that I am the LORD when I stretch out my hand against Egypt and bring the Israelites out of it." (Exodus 7:3-5) You can tell this isn't about convincing Pharaoh to release the covenant people but about God displaying his power--not just to the Israelites but to the Egyptians--as Pharaoh relents after each sign and then defaults on his promise. By the 4th sign--the gnats--Egypt's magicians issue a cryptic caveat: "This is the finger of God." (Ex 8:19) This phrase is huge! First that the magicians who were able to emulate the first few miracles are admitting to the power of God. Second that they are warning that this is just a finger, beware of even greater power!
This image is further delineated when Moses says later on, "the hand of the Lord will bring a terrible plague on your livestock..." (Ex. 9:3) God's purpose is repeated twice later on, first as a proclamation of power to all the earth (9:16) and as a tale to pass from generation to generation of how the LORD made real his dedication to them (10:1-2).
The fact that God fights for his people that he has bound himself to through covenant is beautiful. The thing is that it is difficult to understand how God works, why he allowed for them to become enslaved for so long and to let them suffer. Why he couldn't cut to the chase and be more forceful with his power.
Taking a look at Pharaoh and what he is left with is startling. In a sense he ravaged his own land out of his stubbornness by all the plagues and his people lost much of their valuables as the Israelites politely plundered their silver and gold.
Although it may be hermeneutically incorrect or at least inconsistent, a lot can be learned from this when you look at both sides of this piece of history. First, that God is persistent, fighting to win hearts when you look at what he did for freedom for his people. Second, that God is persistent, fighting to show himself even to the hardest of hearts. I feel that we can really identify with Pharaoh in this situation. For a time I've been struggling because I know God exists and he is there, I've seen his handiwork but I was struggling against the feeling of not feeling Him. It is a sort of battle within, because logically you know that God is doing things to get our attention and only sometimes we notice. When we do notice, we relent and say that we'll turn to him only to turn away at the slightest distraction. Just as Pharaoh did over and over again--promising to let God's people go only to renege.
I peeked ahead a page or two from where I am currently reading and saw underlined, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." When you plug this back into the perspective of God pursuing Israel, defending them, and awing the current generation and many to come this is a beautiful, powerful promise and reminder. Taken another way, it is a statement that should allow you to slow down and reflect. Reflect upon what God is doing and not what you are doing, that he is fighting for us and wooing us and sometimes we just don't notice so we need to be still.
Friday, January 30, 2009
graveyard
my soul finds no rest
sleep comes as the day dawns
and the world awakens
spending the hours of the night
mixing, mingling with the shadows
weaving, deceiving, erratic, silent
through corridoors
though sheltered in hollow glow
they own the night
i rise with the moon
feeling at a loss for a day lost
downtrodden for rest has not come
a lingering sensation haunts
have i
missed the midst of your mist?
each night as my faith begins to dim
though i falter you never fail
you beckon from the east
unfurling a new covenant of hope
which shines to the innermost place
over and over again
i am left without words
only to inhale in silence,
breathing in such splendor
in hope of healing and cleansing
from within
so that i may find rest
i will wait through the night for you
though doubt looms and consumes
through the night i wait
for your light
for life
i will wait through the night for you
though i waver
you are steadfast
i will wait through the night for you
to bring rest
sleep comes as the day dawns
and the world awakens
spending the hours of the night
mixing, mingling with the shadows
weaving, deceiving, erratic, silent
through corridoors
though sheltered in hollow glow
they own the night
i rise with the moon
feeling at a loss for a day lost
downtrodden for rest has not come
a lingering sensation haunts
have i
missed the midst of your mist?
each night as my faith begins to dim
though i falter you never fail
you beckon from the east
unfurling a new covenant of hope
which shines to the innermost place
over and over again
i am left without words
only to inhale in silence,
breathing in such splendor
in hope of healing and cleansing
from within
so that i may find rest
i will wait through the night for you
though doubt looms and consumes
through the night i wait
for your light
for life
i will wait through the night for you
though i waver
you are steadfast
i will wait through the night for you
to bring rest
Monday, January 26, 2009
the desert
We get touchy when people say that God spoke to them even if it is one of those instances when you are reading a scripture passage that you’ve perused many-a-time to find that it jumps off the pages at you and starts your blood pumping. No one can deny this kind of experience because it is so real to the individual in a way that cannot always be relayed to others. I think we have all been on both sides of this.
Today I am the victim of said situation. I feel like so much has been opened up to me to help me understand where I am and where I am going. I have been struggling with this time of transition and what it all means, losing sight of both the future and the present. I have had a lot of visions of the open sea and the desert which was made real to me in my time in Mongolia—being landlocked for the first time, watching the land give way to the sands. I had thought of it as my time in the desert, my time of trials and meditation and that I was supposed to come away with something.
I confess that I hadn’t cracked open my Bible for a long time until this morning. I was losing hope. I had been trying to commit myself through a prayer that my conversations with God would no longer be one sided, that it would be continuous and flowing. I failed; I spiraled; I became selfish; I lost motivation. I tried crying out, I tried reading biographies and inspirational stories of people that have experienced God on their journey. I felt as if everyone could see that I felt more lost than ever and yet I couldn’t admit anything, I had to at least try and appear that my act was somewhat together. Cantankerous moods were it seeping out. What bothered me most was that I KNEW God was/is there, I KNEW he was/is faithful, but I just really couldn’t feel him. I felt like I was continually learning new things, but his presence seemed too far to grasp. I felt like I had opportunities to speak hope and truth into people’s lives but didn’t feel at the right quality of heart to do so. There were people I wanted to connect with but I couldn’t because I was ashamed of myself. I was afraid of what people might really see.
That said, I turned to Psalm 106 where my bookmark lay. I suppose I faintly remember that I was battling through the Psalms, seeing how the poets and artists could question God and praise him in the same breath. It begins with thanking God for his unending love and continues with the blessings he has given to the children of Israel. What have they done in return but scowled and forgotten the promises, the covenant.
It feels very much like a delayed effect, because we have studied the Israelites and their wanderings in the desert so much. I am so familiar with their story and all this time I have gathered from it the lessons that we need to not be like them. How about looking at it differently? How about identifying with them? That’s exactly what happened to me this morning. I read the passage and saw that I am one and the same. After it talks about all the Lord had done for them and them praising him it continues:
“But they soon forgot what he had done and did not wait for his counsel. In the desert they gave in to their craving; in the wasteland they put God to the test.” (106:13-14)
Forgive me Father for not being patient and forgetting all that you have done.
I am coming to see that this time of transition is still my time in the desert. I have been asking so many questions about why am I here now that I forget that like the Israelites you are leading me through the hot, parched land and though it is painful and takes time that the promised land lies ahead. That you have provided all along and yet I only think about my surroundings and how I am not happy with what I have and am doing. That I can still worship you in the desert. Continually remind me of your promises because I feel dry and hollow and to the point of desperation, as if I will take anything that will fill me even though I know it seeps and steals my vision. Turn me away from these mirages and direct me to the path. Remind me that these oases are not the land you promised but temporary respite for our souls because you know we are weak; that we cannot stay, we must continue on. When I am weak, grant me the strength to clasp the hands of those around me.
The Lord punished the Israelites and banished them to the desert for 400 years. It is as if I thought there was no out so I just decided to wander the sands, surrendering my fate and hope. Please Lord, do not extend my time in the desert to 400 years but guide me in your ways and forgive me for my unfaithfulness to seeking you. Thank you that after skulking in the dark you have shown me some light.
Today I am the victim of said situation. I feel like so much has been opened up to me to help me understand where I am and where I am going. I have been struggling with this time of transition and what it all means, losing sight of both the future and the present. I have had a lot of visions of the open sea and the desert which was made real to me in my time in Mongolia—being landlocked for the first time, watching the land give way to the sands. I had thought of it as my time in the desert, my time of trials and meditation and that I was supposed to come away with something.
I confess that I hadn’t cracked open my Bible for a long time until this morning. I was losing hope. I had been trying to commit myself through a prayer that my conversations with God would no longer be one sided, that it would be continuous and flowing. I failed; I spiraled; I became selfish; I lost motivation. I tried crying out, I tried reading biographies and inspirational stories of people that have experienced God on their journey. I felt as if everyone could see that I felt more lost than ever and yet I couldn’t admit anything, I had to at least try and appear that my act was somewhat together. Cantankerous moods were it seeping out. What bothered me most was that I KNEW God was/is there, I KNEW he was/is faithful, but I just really couldn’t feel him. I felt like I was continually learning new things, but his presence seemed too far to grasp. I felt like I had opportunities to speak hope and truth into people’s lives but didn’t feel at the right quality of heart to do so. There were people I wanted to connect with but I couldn’t because I was ashamed of myself. I was afraid of what people might really see.
That said, I turned to Psalm 106 where my bookmark lay. I suppose I faintly remember that I was battling through the Psalms, seeing how the poets and artists could question God and praise him in the same breath. It begins with thanking God for his unending love and continues with the blessings he has given to the children of Israel. What have they done in return but scowled and forgotten the promises, the covenant.
It feels very much like a delayed effect, because we have studied the Israelites and their wanderings in the desert so much. I am so familiar with their story and all this time I have gathered from it the lessons that we need to not be like them. How about looking at it differently? How about identifying with them? That’s exactly what happened to me this morning. I read the passage and saw that I am one and the same. After it talks about all the Lord had done for them and them praising him it continues:
“But they soon forgot what he had done and did not wait for his counsel. In the desert they gave in to their craving; in the wasteland they put God to the test.” (106:13-14)
Forgive me Father for not being patient and forgetting all that you have done.
I am coming to see that this time of transition is still my time in the desert. I have been asking so many questions about why am I here now that I forget that like the Israelites you are leading me through the hot, parched land and though it is painful and takes time that the promised land lies ahead. That you have provided all along and yet I only think about my surroundings and how I am not happy with what I have and am doing. That I can still worship you in the desert. Continually remind me of your promises because I feel dry and hollow and to the point of desperation, as if I will take anything that will fill me even though I know it seeps and steals my vision. Turn me away from these mirages and direct me to the path. Remind me that these oases are not the land you promised but temporary respite for our souls because you know we are weak; that we cannot stay, we must continue on. When I am weak, grant me the strength to clasp the hands of those around me.
The Lord punished the Israelites and banished them to the desert for 400 years. It is as if I thought there was no out so I just decided to wander the sands, surrendering my fate and hope. Please Lord, do not extend my time in the desert to 400 years but guide me in your ways and forgive me for my unfaithfulness to seeking you. Thank you that after skulking in the dark you have shown me some light.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Shepherd or Father?
Wondering how to think about God...Jesus presented him as the shepherd that left the 99 in pursuit of the one that wandered away and also as the father of the prodigal.
If I ran away
Would you come after me?
Or would you wait
As a father for a prodigal
Afraid of taking those first steps
What if I get lost
What if I can't find my way
But I know that is better than here
How do I know what I know
These shadows--are they real
What shapes them, makes them
I've always stayed close to home
Always wondered, never wandered
Keeping the path in sight
Not quite trusting
If I ran away
Would you come after me
I feel more lost than ever
If I ran away
Would you come after me
Where I am is all I know
I'd leave for the chance, the hope
of Rescue
Unless you wanted me to stay
If I ran away
Would you come after me?
Or would you wait
As a father for a prodigal
Afraid of taking those first steps
What if I get lost
What if I can't find my way
But I know that is better than here
How do I know what I know
These shadows--are they real
What shapes them, makes them
I've always stayed close to home
Always wondered, never wandered
Keeping the path in sight
Not quite trusting
If I ran away
Would you come after me
I feel more lost than ever
If I ran away
Would you come after me
Where I am is all I know
I'd leave for the chance, the hope
of Rescue
Unless you wanted me to stay
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Ann Lamott on baptism
I really liked this quote from "Traveling Mercies" by Ann Lamott. (p.231-232) A very very funny, honest and quotable book. Hilarious and yet she's a beautiful writer and has some really interesting reflections. She gets on this topic of baptism when she is complaining about how she fears the weather because it messes up the hair she spends so much time perfecting.
Can you imagine the hopelessness of trying to live a spiritual life whne you're secretly looking up at the skies not for illumination or direction but to gauge, miserably, the odds of rain?...Because Christianity is about water: "Everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters." It's about baptism, for God's sake. It's about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in wordly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that's a little sloppy because at the same time it's also holy, and absurd. It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.
There's something so tender about this to me, about being willing to hav eyour makeup wash off, your eyes tear up, your nose start to run. It's tender partly because it harkens back to infancy, to your mother washing your face with love and lots of water, tending to you, making you clean all over again. And in the Christian experience of baptism, the hope is that when you go under you come out, maybe a little disoriented, you haven't dragged the old day along behind you. The hope, the belief, is that a new days i upon you now. A day when you are emboldened to take God at God's word about cleanness and protection: "When though passeth through the water, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee."
Can you imagine the hopelessness of trying to live a spiritual life whne you're secretly looking up at the skies not for illumination or direction but to gauge, miserably, the odds of rain?...Because Christianity is about water: "Everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters." It's about baptism, for God's sake. It's about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in wordly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that's a little sloppy because at the same time it's also holy, and absurd. It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.
There's something so tender about this to me, about being willing to hav eyour makeup wash off, your eyes tear up, your nose start to run. It's tender partly because it harkens back to infancy, to your mother washing your face with love and lots of water, tending to you, making you clean all over again. And in the Christian experience of baptism, the hope is that when you go under you come out, maybe a little disoriented, you haven't dragged the old day along behind you. The hope, the belief, is that a new days i upon you now. A day when you are emboldened to take God at God's word about cleanness and protection: "When though passeth through the water, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee."
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
a year later
This time last year I was stressing and freaking out about the reality that I would be heading over to Mongolia—a place foreign in both culture and the inconceivability of the climate. There was a sense of adventure stirred in with this fear of the unknown as well as just trusting that this is what I was supposed to be doing.
A lot has transpired in a year and yet here I am in the same physical place at the same job. Strange to think that I went all the way across the world to find out what I should be doing, to find God, to find myself and then I came back to familiarity.
I remember thinking about how cold I felt here even though I had hand warmer packets in my pockets and a thick coat over my body. I remember when I got off the plane in Mongolia and it was so cold it hurt, it was a strange sensation. It was an intense shock after being in Thailand for a solid month, contrasting snow with tropical sands. I recall feeling lost in Thailand, not knowing how to prepare myself for what was coming. I felt a little like I was closing myself off.
I have seen a lot, learned a lot but I do not feel much farther from where I was a year ago. Part of going on that trip was self discovery, learning how to lean on God and find what I can do to be pleasing him by helping people. If anything, I feel even more lost because I do not have this to look forward to. I need to see a way out, rather than assuming this sinking is inevitable. I have always counted on something to rescue me by giving me purpose. What do you do when you look ahead but cannot see or even imagine the future?
This Christmas I will not be with my nuclear family as I always have been, but get to spend time with my love and relatives. Although things feel and seem familiar, I can taste something different in the air. Opportunity, to travel and get quality time with my girl, to fight and laugh on the long open road. These are enough to ignite hope and excitement for what is to come when it is so overwhelmingly the same.
A lot has transpired in a year and yet here I am in the same physical place at the same job. Strange to think that I went all the way across the world to find out what I should be doing, to find God, to find myself and then I came back to familiarity.
I remember thinking about how cold I felt here even though I had hand warmer packets in my pockets and a thick coat over my body. I remember when I got off the plane in Mongolia and it was so cold it hurt, it was a strange sensation. It was an intense shock after being in Thailand for a solid month, contrasting snow with tropical sands. I recall feeling lost in Thailand, not knowing how to prepare myself for what was coming. I felt a little like I was closing myself off.
I have seen a lot, learned a lot but I do not feel much farther from where I was a year ago. Part of going on that trip was self discovery, learning how to lean on God and find what I can do to be pleasing him by helping people. If anything, I feel even more lost because I do not have this to look forward to. I need to see a way out, rather than assuming this sinking is inevitable. I have always counted on something to rescue me by giving me purpose. What do you do when you look ahead but cannot see or even imagine the future?
This Christmas I will not be with my nuclear family as I always have been, but get to spend time with my love and relatives. Although things feel and seem familiar, I can taste something different in the air. Opportunity, to travel and get quality time with my girl, to fight and laugh on the long open road. These are enough to ignite hope and excitement for what is to come when it is so overwhelmingly the same.
Monday, December 15, 2008
prints
The clouds have descended
Layering the earth
I wonder if this is what it is like
To live in the sky
I see a flurry of prints pressed in
Going this way and that
The marks, in single file
Forging new paths with each crossing
To feign the presence of more
Each step, a longing sigh
For that day
When two prints at a time
Replace the one
Layering the earth
I wonder if this is what it is like
To live in the sky
I see a flurry of prints pressed in
Going this way and that
The marks, in single file
Forging new paths with each crossing
To feign the presence of more
Each step, a longing sigh
For that day
When two prints at a time
Replace the one
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Anywhere
The car is parked
You are shivering
So I hand you my jacket
And you hide beneath
I sit on my hands
Not sure what to do
Looking out the driver’s side
I swear we have been here before
Maybe that is just it
This road we know so well
Seems so right, so familiar
I don’t care
if we take the long way there.
I don’t care
if we take the long way there
If you are with me
You ask me
But I say I’m not cold
Right now
I just want you to stay
We’ve taken a wrong turn or two
But unveiled new things
Along the way
Remember that old tree we climbed,
worn and off the common path,
with a view only for two?
Though a sigh lends to questions
Though a silence stands between
You are still here
And I don’t want to be anywhere
But here, with you
I don’t care
If we take the long way there
If you are with me
You are shivering
So I hand you my jacket
And you hide beneath
I sit on my hands
Not sure what to do
Looking out the driver’s side
I swear we have been here before
Maybe that is just it
This road we know so well
Seems so right, so familiar
I don’t care
if we take the long way there.
I don’t care
if we take the long way there
If you are with me
You ask me
But I say I’m not cold
Right now
I just want you to stay
We’ve taken a wrong turn or two
But unveiled new things
Along the way
Remember that old tree we climbed,
worn and off the common path,
with a view only for two?
Though a sigh lends to questions
Though a silence stands between
You are still here
And I don’t want to be anywhere
But here, with you
I don’t care
If we take the long way there
If you are with me
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Abraham
Patriarch of the stars
Father of the sands
Won’t you hear my plea
To intercede for your descendents
For the smell of sulfur in the air
Is beginning to remind me of Sodom
The injustice
The gluttony
The idle hands
The poor ignored
Is beginning to look like Gomorrah
The ash, I can taste it in my mouth
We distance ourselves from these fabled cities
For we were founded on freedom and truth
Our ignominy tells no tales
Is there a righteous man
Even one?
Patriarch, oh that you were here
To plead on our behalf
That the righteous might rise up
And be heard before it is too late
For our transgressions
Are the catalyst
In which we’ve been dousing ourselves
Before the city is lit ablaze
Patriarch of the stars
Won’t you forgive us
For treating your children
As grains filtered one by one
As the sand of time
Falling
As we watch
With able hands, each life
Waste away
Righteous man, rise up
Save your city from destruction
For the cry of the forgotten
The rumble of the empty stomachs
The voicelessness of the downtrodden
Is beginning to sound like the haunting chant
The chant of justice, of judgment
Father of many
Righteousness was credited to you
For faith in an unseen covenant
As fools we have disgraced your blessing
Ascribed to us
For our “sin so grievous”*
I fear, is a piercing outcry
That will not be ignored
Father of many
Won’t you rescue us
So that the righteous
Will not be swept away with the wicked? *
*Genesis 18:20
**Genesis 18:23
Concept impetus: Ezekiel 16:49
Father of the sands
Won’t you hear my plea
To intercede for your descendents
For the smell of sulfur in the air
Is beginning to remind me of Sodom
The injustice
The gluttony
The idle hands
The poor ignored
Is beginning to look like Gomorrah
The ash, I can taste it in my mouth
We distance ourselves from these fabled cities
For we were founded on freedom and truth
Our ignominy tells no tales
Is there a righteous man
Even one?
Patriarch, oh that you were here
To plead on our behalf
That the righteous might rise up
And be heard before it is too late
For our transgressions
Are the catalyst
In which we’ve been dousing ourselves
Before the city is lit ablaze
Patriarch of the stars
Won’t you forgive us
For treating your children
As grains filtered one by one
As the sand of time
Falling
As we watch
With able hands, each life
Waste away
Righteous man, rise up
Save your city from destruction
For the cry of the forgotten
The rumble of the empty stomachs
The voicelessness of the downtrodden
Is beginning to sound like the haunting chant
The chant of justice, of judgment
Father of many
Righteousness was credited to you
For faith in an unseen covenant
As fools we have disgraced your blessing
Ascribed to us
For our “sin so grievous”*
I fear, is a piercing outcry
That will not be ignored
Father of many
Won’t you rescue us
So that the righteous
Will not be swept away with the wicked? *
*Genesis 18:20
**Genesis 18:23
Concept impetus: Ezekiel 16:49
Monday, November 3, 2008
greatest fear
I’m sorry things have been so unclear
So unpredictable, so overcast
So sorry that who I am
So often affected by the forecast
But I’m beginning to learn
And see things anew
That when the sun is hidden
And the moon vacant
When clouds make us hold our breath
That the dark night is actually brighter
I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Is a tear shed for you
In joy, in pain, in suffering, in solace, in peace—-
In silence
I don’t have the words
But I’ve been trying to find them
Because our existence is so fragile
My greatest fear
Is that those I love the most
Know it the least
I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Are tears shed for you
In laughter, in loss, in doubt, in comfort, in rest—-
In silence
Overflowing from a heart
That fears
That those I love the most
Know it the least
So unpredictable, so overcast
So sorry that who I am
So often affected by the forecast
But I’m beginning to learn
And see things anew
That when the sun is hidden
And the moon vacant
When clouds make us hold our breath
That the dark night is actually brighter
I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Is a tear shed for you
In joy, in pain, in suffering, in solace, in peace—-
In silence
I don’t have the words
But I’ve been trying to find them
Because our existence is so fragile
My greatest fear
Is that those I love the most
Know it the least
I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Are tears shed for you
In laughter, in loss, in doubt, in comfort, in rest—-
In silence
Overflowing from a heart
That fears
That those I love the most
Know it the least
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
quote
I so connect with this:
Jon Foreman (at www.myspace.com/jonforeman)
"...Lately music has been my compass: it's neither the map, nor the road but a steady constant that can help me make sense of the both.
Most of the time, the songs that I write are more honest than I am. Sometimes I don't play certain songs for people because I'm not ready for that sort of honesty.
I don't write many happy songs, at least not lately. Which is odd because I'm a fairly upbeat guy. So I've got a few theories as to why this might be the case
It might be because life wears down on you. And you lose that part of yourself.
Or it could be because the songs are the only place where these types of ideas can find a release- like a dream where your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Or perhaps I don't write songs when I'm happy. You know, a celebration requires a few friends and depression requires solitude.
Either way songs have become my way of finding beauty in the midst of chaos and the pain. It's a way of finding redemption for mistakes and regrets that I have.
In this way I feel like the creative process brings me closer to God. As a creator of a song I get to take all these broken fragments of failure and chaos and weave together something beautiful and meaningful. Decay. Death. Pain. Fall. And if God is a songwriter then these fallen leaves of mine can be redeemed. "
Jon Foreman (at www.myspace.com/jonforeman)
"...Lately music has been my compass: it's neither the map, nor the road but a steady constant that can help me make sense of the both.
Most of the time, the songs that I write are more honest than I am. Sometimes I don't play certain songs for people because I'm not ready for that sort of honesty.
I don't write many happy songs, at least not lately. Which is odd because I'm a fairly upbeat guy. So I've got a few theories as to why this might be the case
It might be because life wears down on you. And you lose that part of yourself.
Or it could be because the songs are the only place where these types of ideas can find a release- like a dream where your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Or perhaps I don't write songs when I'm happy. You know, a celebration requires a few friends and depression requires solitude.
Either way songs have become my way of finding beauty in the midst of chaos and the pain. It's a way of finding redemption for mistakes and regrets that I have.
In this way I feel like the creative process brings me closer to God. As a creator of a song I get to take all these broken fragments of failure and chaos and weave together something beautiful and meaningful. Decay. Death. Pain. Fall. And if God is a songwriter then these fallen leaves of mine can be redeemed. "
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