tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1616378108796051232024-03-05T03:21:58.747-06:00 . . . PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-6162891557123509722014-03-09T06:32:00.000-05:002014-03-09T06:32:16.471-05:00To LiveYour life, a breath<br />
My wage, God's hand in baby's skin<br />
Endearing, a defense mechanism<br />
Evolved through the ages of man and woman<br />
Sleep-wrecked and weary, their service required<br />
To live.<br />
<br />
May this seed fall with grace and humility<br />
I shed this husk<br />
Emerging crinkled and striped<br />
All invisible, but for the peering few<br />
All for you, incalculable little one<br />
To livePlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-25343669729522862642011-03-07T15:37:00.000-06:002011-03-07T15:37:52.891-06:00Update 2: A Barista, a Gift, and a Song to Sing.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Well, then. Where does this leave me? I guess I should share an event from last month to solidify this entry as both a bookend and a new launching point in this narrative.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I'm living in Midtown, KCMO, and often work in Olathe, about a half-hour drive into Kansas. Sometimes I stop at Black Dog Coffee House in Lenexa for a fix. One of these times in particular, as I approached the counter at an unmentionably early hour, the barista had a particularly terrified look on her face. We exchanged pleasantries and cash, and as she set to pour a tall soy latte triple shot for me, her hands were visibly shaking. Before handing me my cup, she stopped and prefaced her explanation, "This will be the weirdest conversation you have all day." (She obviously had no idea who she was talking to.) "When you walked in two weeks ago, I saw a picture of you, clear as day, and God told me to tell you about it. I was too afraid then, but now I have to tell you. I saw you kneeling at an alter, with a gift before you. You stood up, took the gift and, with tears streaming down your face, walked away."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I knew already she was spot-on. On first glance, this is merely a direct confirmation of my state of creative dormancy. She went on, "The Lord says he wants your gift back, that it's His and you have no right to take it back. And, while I don't know much about you, I think it's your song."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I tried, probably flimsily and to little avail, to encourage and thank her for being a faithful deliverer of the word she received from God. She remained flustered, and I left to go about my work-day. As I prayed and pondered, the Spirit breathed upon the image she gave me. And, while nothing immediate happened, a concept was beginning to thicken. The anxiety I have around my craft, the extreme perfectionism, the tight grip I keep on my songs, all of this was brought to light. I can't be anxious or stingy with something that isn't mine to begin with. God called me to breathe his goodness, and to exhale it into the atmosphere around me. At no point in the respiratory cycle is there room to stash air away in secret pockets in my abdomen, scrutinize it, perfect it, and wait to release it until a moment I deem appropriate. No, I freely inhale, and automatically exhale, making room for each new breath. In this sense, my gift to offer, my song to sing, is not even mine, and I cannot legally worry about it, because I gave it to God the day I died in the convent and was resurrected alive in Christ. If it were mine, I could be every bit as exhaustingly self-critical as I wanted, but it's not. My response to God, in His love and goodness, is to give freely, to release the creation he built into my spirit without regard to how it will be received or where it will meet its target. My sole duty is to cultivate an inner dialogue with my maker, redeemer, and best friend. Everything outside of engaging in that dialogue is not my concern, but His. There's such peace in that, since He's infinitely better at his job than I am.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I had a security blanket name Bebe until I went to kindergarten. I couldn't be caught not holding it in my hand, with my thumb plugging up my mouth. My parents say that when, of my own volition, I gave up Bebe and quit sucking my thumb on my first day of school, it uncorked a stream of words that has not stopped since. Likewise, now, to the comforts of control and calculated release, to the crutches of guardedness and self-provision, I give you up. I don't need you any more. The well has been bursting to get past your levees, and I won't hold you back any longer.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms',verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Maybe I'll call this a notice of reentry. My warning alarm to existence that my throat is open and my pen is moving. A stream of silliness will undoubtedly began to ceaselessly flow, and I will joyously offer it up. Papa, you have your mark on me, and I know you won't let any arrow miss it's mark. So may the filler fall to the floor, but His voice in me will never be silent again. There is ample reason every second to shout, sing, moan, mumble, gargle, cry, sigh, breathe, belch, whistle, lament, give thanks, praise, and celebrate. May the whole world hear the cacophony of new life and be ushered in.</span></span></span>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-2645479506579693742011-03-04T12:35:00.006-06:002011-04-04T13:11:59.985-05:00Update 1: Rachaph רחף<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"></span></span><br />
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<tr id="Job_37_1_473001"><td class="vRefa" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; padding-top: 5px; text-align: left; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap; width: 70px;"></td><td class="vDispa" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', arial, helvetica; font-size: 13px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; padding-top: 5px; vertical-align: top;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Job 37:1 At this also my heart trembleth, and is moved (רחף) out of his place.</div></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Throughout my adolescence, I had recurring dreams and daylight visions of a violent and apocalyptic nature. They would often come to a climactic end with me running, crazed, into battle, guns blazing, taking bullet after bullet until finally fading into glory. There's a look on my face as I run - a look present in real life only when an urgent message travels from my heart to my mouth and is spoken into the atmosphere. A vein pops out of my forehead, vertical, just left of center, and the corners of my eyes crunch to squints and radial creases, like the ones that accompany side-splitting laughter, but deeper, and more resolute. I loved these dreams. I would always wake feeling introduced to some deeper meaning in the toil of daily life, more tapped in to some anonymous purpose with which I had become familiar only by its absence, as water takes shape around the vessel of it's displacement.</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In January of 2009, the Spirit of the Living God accosted me in rapturous manner, leaving me ravaged, in an incoherent stupor, stumbling out the back of a convent in Whitesville, KY. In many ways, I think every day since then has been a perpetual unpacking of the things the Spirit did within me that day. I'm just beginning to understand the work he completed in that moment, the work that is still just beginning to manifest in my life. It began by an act of aggression in my spirit that left me laying in recovery for hours, as if mauled by a lion. In those hours of euphoric agony, He stripped me of all malice, pride, and violence, and of any resistance to His holy, blissful will. I was certain I was dying, and it was good news because I'd met my purpose - intimacy with a good and everlasting Creator. And, indeed, I died that day. The slave in me who lived only for momentary gratification and stimulus died at the hands of the Son of God, and I was resurrected as a son myself, adopted into a royal line of conquerers and poets and warriors of another realm. Every living day since then I offer as a gift to Him who delivered me from the tyranny of self and grafted me into His story of sanctification and glory.</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One way I can gauge His activity in my life is the way my internal makeup is transforming over time. Into His likeness, into a purer version of myself. For instance, the daily visions of battle and glorification of a violent end have ceased, and been replaced by an overcoming joy and peace. The longings of my heart that stemmed into these visions were fulfilled to completion on that day. After the encounter at the convent, the visions were replaced by a new recurring dream. In my dream, I still often find myself swept into war-torn areas of the world. Instead of wielding blazing firearms and taking dozens of bullets to the chest, I'm now standing atop a smoldering, overturned Humvee, fists clinched, screaming my bloody lungs out of a love that conquers all opposition, redeems all pain, fulfills all longing. The vein is popping in my forehead, and my eyes are squeezed to tears, and the sound is more victorious laughter than protest. As the sound travels outward, it carries a ripple through the plane, speeding forth in every direction. The force travels through obstructions, leaving staggering changes in its wake - bullets melt, mid-air, and fall to the ground, helmets are blown off the heads of bewildered soldiers, and the whole scene stops, mesmerized and metamorphosized, turned from a spirit of death and descension, swept up into a reality of transcendence and healing.</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's been almost a year since I've written deliberately, and almost as long since the last time I lost myself in abandon as I make music. I've been entertaining unwelcome guests of confusion and curses over my craft, my drive to create, and even comfort in my own skin. I was created with a boldness in speaking, and a certainty in the goodness of existence and the nearness of a good God. But for nearly a year that boldness and certainty has been just . . . gone. It was carried away by promises broken and loyalties betrayed, dismantled by deep challenging of the very fabric the Spirit wove during and after our meeting in the convent. It's left me crippled, operating at 1/4 capacity at best, a diminished shell of my abilities and my identity. I've questioned God's intentions, His goodness, and His nearness so many times. But every time I bring it to Him, He speaks. Every time. And He often leads me back to the place we met - where I offered up everything, my very life and heartbeat, and called it rubbish compared to His presence. I ask Him about the present circumstances, and He reminds me of the promise. I ask about the future, and He leads me instead to a feast of His nearness. He tells me who He is and I learn, in turn, who I am in Him. I ask for reconciliation, and He simply waits with me to see it come, or sometimes invites me to usher it in as His royal son, deputized by the blood of Christ to carry His decrees and blessing throughout this realm.</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So many things still don't make sense in my poor, cynical mind. So many things don't add up to my meager human logic. But I'm becoming more and more aware of the transcendent reality that, when I don't see the truth of His goodness and love with my human eyes, when I don't hear His songs of glory echo in every moment of this journey, there's actually a louder, longer song sustaining throughout existence, of His provision - the melody of our Creator, sung by we the Beloved, that is reconciling all things unto Him who made us, gave us a choice, and when we were yet turning away from His goodness, carved a way for us back into the riches of His Kingdom. And what's wonderful is that He has made His Spirit to come and take up residence somewhere in the cavity between my ribs. Somehow, mashed up interdimensionally with all my organs and blood, lives the Spirit of the God of the universe, and He moves and breathes on my behalf, exchanging my will for His, trading my momentary trial for his unending union and intimacy with the Author of joy, beauty, peace, and power. That's what I've come to know as repentance. It is a good trade -- rubbish for riches, malice for unending joy, shackles for unlimited freedom and power. I'll take it.</div></span></span>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-34831059117611116032010-07-25T05:41:00.003-05:002010-07-25T05:43:09.238-05:00Hey! I'm over here!!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://beaumicah.tumblr.com/">beaumicah.tumblr.com</a></span><br />
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See ya later!PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-60437651155490421892010-05-23T16:03:00.000-05:002010-05-23T16:03:41.490-05:00Signing Off.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I'll continue to tell my story, in one way or another, but for now I'm dreaming this project up again.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">In the meantime, here's some fresh manna:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://philkuda.blogspot.com/">philkuda.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://jaclyns-travels.blogspot.com/">jaclyns-travels.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://alisonlam.com/">alisonlam.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://searchforemet.blogspot.com/">searchforemet.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://daltonlifsey.wordpress.com/">daltonlifsey.wordpress.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://kwcrane.blogspot.com/">kwcrane.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://lindseylittle.blogspot.com/">lindseylittle.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://emrie.wordpress.com/">emrie.wordpress.com</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://thecelticcorylus.blogspot.com/">thecelticcorylus.blogspot.com</a></span></span></div>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-70080564898118829372010-05-05T01:16:00.006-05:002010-05-05T17:42:31.860-05:00An Ordinary Prophet In An Ordinary Town.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I found myself this afternoon obediently, yet not entirely enthusiastically, aboard Flight UA227, from Kansas City to Denver. I'm heading to Denver in order to replace my lost passport before returning to New Zealand. Now, believe me, I'm stoked about getting back to my quiet Oxford home, stoked about fostering scholastic and monastic practices, stoked about getting to snowboard in New Zealand during what is usually summer for me, and beside myself with excitement about staffing this Discipleship Training School and leading a handful of dudes down a path similar to the one I undertook last year. My reservations are not about where I'm heading, but what I'm leaving. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I never thought I'd say this, but I'm finding myself drawn to Kansas City, the town where I grew up. And it's beyond the obvious facts that my older brothers and their wives are collecting babies like, I don't know, pogs or something. After several months of occasionally feeling stuck and stagnant during this transitional stay at my folks' place, I've discover KC to be . . . alive. Vibrant. Growing. And, I think, ripe for a holistic awakening. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">This has been a slow work in my heart. Over the last 8 months, God has shown me brilliant communities the likes of which I never believed actually existed. I had my eyes opened to the possibilities of a true and genuine Jesus-seeking collective with my buddy Phil in his Dublin hometown. We breezed through an Acts-like, spirit-filled community of college and post-college friends of my friend Amanda in Sheffield. And I've made a second (third? fourth?) home for myself in Grand Rapids amongst the most renaissance, hands-of-the-gospel fellowship of my mates Jaclyn and Emrie and their people. These experiences have created such a thirst in me for genuine, authentic community, where people who may have little in common besides Jesus band together, hash it out, and wait for love to explode all over a town. And I feel God's opened my eyes to that possibility in my home town. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Well, not exactly my hometown. It would still be a sssssstrrrrrrreeeeetch for me to feel comfortable in the subrural surroundings of Stilwell, Kansas. There's a lot of Landrovers just to the North, and a lot of cows just to the South. And there's not much space between for people in my stage of life, where my most prized luxury is not owning a car or a phone (or a saddle, for that matter). But slowly, and without help from the non-existent public transportation, I've become connected to so many other pockets of gospel-in-action folks all over the greater city. Particularly a community called The Boiler Room. I can't believe I just found them, within weeks of leaving town. I just sigh thinking about it, and pray for trust in God and this path he has me on. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, on the airplane this afternoon, I opened up to 1 Kings to continue my survey of Israel's history. I found the prophets' words jumping from the page, illuminated in full detail. The Baal-worshipping Kings in their detestable rebellion being winnowed from their kingdom, one after another. Faction after faction, and idols and alters to false gods tore God's chosen people from his embrace, and they find death's embrace in lieu. The prophets, Micaiah, Elijah, the Man of God from Judah, all crying out the word of the Lord as deranged lunes, dwelling in caves, crawling to the desert to die and waking to home-cooked meals by the hands of angels. How must cake from heaven and divine water taste after a desert death-nap?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">As I drew in, I longed to know God so nearly, to have such a gripping connection that I orbit his presence to even sustain my breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I didn't even have time to pray this request before I was flooded with the reality that I do hear from God like this. Sure, every day and every moment I feel his creative pulse in the existence through which I walk, but he doesn't stop there. Infrequently, when I don't expect it or sometimes even want it, he shows up with such revelation, as a deafening inner voice or a traumatic seizure of spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Just last Sunday, I was drawn by a series of ridiculously divine encounters to the second floor of a building I'd never visited. It was the Boiler Room I mentioned earlier. Jean, the guest speaker, illuminated in engaging but plain style, the developmental hang-ups of newborns and infants, and how even seemingly minuscule, unintentional neglect or mistreatment by parents or others can bear staggering repercussions throughout life and relationships. She opened up in prayer, at one point asking Holy Spirit to show us a picture of how our hearts look, from a divine perspective. Without even thinking, before I even processed the words, I had a picture in my head of a huge, growing, bursting heart, anatomically correct but caricature in form, bound by three metal bands. The heart strained against the restrictive bands, tearing its surface against the raw metal edges, spurting golden-red life over the edges. The bands began to snap, overpowered not by the strength of the pulsing muscle, but by the glory of a blinding light, their tension broken as if by wire-cutters. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 344.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I don’t feel this was a revelation to send to world leaders concerning battle or economics, nor does it seem to point in any particular direction for this next season of my life, except towards Christ. But it gives me a boldness, a certainty wherever I walk, of purpose, vision, blessing, provision, and readiness to love freely and without reservation and bleed this love of Christ crucified and risen.</span><o:p></o:p></div>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-26192566073306039582010-05-03T11:01:00.001-05:002010-05-03T11:02:40.712-05:00YAY! I'm going back to New Zealand!!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You can click anywhere on the letter to enlarge.<a href="http://perceptionfunding.org/Perceptionfunding/Ministry_Partners/Entries/2010/5/1_Beau_and_YWAM_files/BEAU_UPDATE_2010.pdf" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://perceptionfunding.org/Perceptionfunding/Ministry_Partners/Entries/2010/5/1_Beau_and_YWAM_files/BEAU_UPDATE_2010.pdf" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-49734133197982346792010-04-30T01:54:00.000-05:002010-04-30T01:54:54.005-05:00Giveitaway, Giveitaway, Giveitaway Now.I got to serve communion for the first time l<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">ast</span> Sunday at Jacob's Well, after a solid dub <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">sesh</span> and message from the great TR. I know from the evening's conversations that I am not alone<span class="goog-spellcheck-word"> when I say it was a bit of an emotional experience. There's something about offering people the bread and wine that opened me up to a new revelation of urgency for sharing the Gospel and establishing the Kingdom on earth. </span><br />
<br />
"Christ's body broken for you, and his blood shed on your behalf."<br />
<br />
I've taken the sacrament so many times, and just never even thought what it would be like to offer it to others. It's been kind of a given, taken for granted. But my lovely preggo sister-in-law Whitney asked me to step up to the plate, so there I was. For some reason I was nervous at first. I think I just felt unqualified, as if offering the sacrament to others meant separation, that I had something they don't. But as I started I was just flooded with the reality of the priesthood of believers, and that's the beauty of it. We're the same. But I do have heaven within me and around me to offer. <br />
<br />
I feel like I walked out awakened, with a new boldness and confidence. And I'm just so ridiculously excited to take this show on the road again. <br />
<br />
But, more on that tomorrow.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-76453429370653319102010-04-22T23:54:00.000-05:002010-04-22T23:55:24.871-05:00Dear God, Thank You for Seasons.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibezXx7ENolK4rM3AVfmxQmHJrrihFmpp0eWJk0lZZX3wXjB-yCQCQTls1fqC3EUCzm0ysfpp6-5qKCPGCX1nNzu3Jm9d3i98vs9_G78_vZa9HD4mFF78pu_n21FRZThEWFzwBMfOeN58/s1600/IMG_0240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibezXx7ENolK4rM3AVfmxQmHJrrihFmpp0eWJk0lZZX3wXjB-yCQCQTls1fqC3EUCzm0ysfpp6-5qKCPGCX1nNzu3Jm9d3i98vs9_G78_vZa9HD4mFF78pu_n21FRZThEWFzwBMfOeN58/s640/IMG_0240.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">North of Queenstown, New Zealand</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">April, 2009</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div>Life is starting to take on another shape, following a sort of inertia into your goodness.<br />
<br />
The beginnings of undisclosed projects are drawn up in spirit, and fruit is growing from the ashes of old self, ripening. Every bit is to be savored.<br />
<br />
A life comprised of moments spent in communion with the Creator is such a treasure. There's just no more time for anything but your glory. There's no option but to tend to it with everything, and ruthlessly unload all that's not implicitly prescribed. <br />
<br />
Even looking to the right and to the left, as people and things are passing away, you remain so deeply within, all around, without tarrying. Fastened to the rails of provision, your blessings are overpowering, and your gravity compels.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-72724344620023138772010-04-20T22:12:00.001-05:002011-02-28T11:53:38.642-06:00Manna from Poison, or My Relationship With Arby'sIn 2005, I found myself one night in possession of an Arby's Market Fresh Chicken Salad Wrap for dinner. Now, mind you, I freaking NEVER eat fast food, but this was a really hurried situation, and I was like "Market Fresh? That hardly counts." <br />
<br />
I take one bite and think to myself "this tastes weird." I take a second bite, and before swallowing turn to my company with a horrified look, dispose of the bite in my napkin and exclaim "this sandwich tastes like effing DEGREASER." <br />
<br />
We both examine more closely, and the sandwich CATEGORICALLY has some heavy duty cleaning chemical in it. We're talking undiluted. And sure enough, within ten minutes my neck and chest are turning red and my throat is swelling shut. <br />
<br />
So, I do what any sane poison victim would do - I get the manager on duty to sign a document vouching that the establishment has indeed fed me a sandwich with some foreign and foul substance in it. Then off to the clinic. <br />
<br />
The Doc says, "Dang man, you're getting chemical burns all through your digestive track." They flush me out and send me on my way, but I spend the next THREE MONTHS in and out of the hospital with gastrointestinal issues, esophagitis, and some residual general gunk-in-the-system situation. We were trying all kinds of meds which were only aggravating the problem. So, I finally said enough's enough, threw out the meds, quit seeing the doctor, and did a thorough system cleanse. Just raw fruits and veggies for a few weeks and some other stuff to speed up the process. I was already feeling better within DAYS. Holla. Looyah. And as I reintroduced regular foods to my diet, I had the opportunity to really examine my diet and how different foods affect me.<br />
<br />
The situation revolutionized the way I look at food, and I'm so much healthier as a result. I refer often to the scenario as the strangest blessing of my life, as it has allowed me to know specifically how my body processes all kinds of foods, specifically. I'm no longer at the mercy of what I eat, clueless concerning the reasons I feel the way I feel. My tastes and cravings now constantly change to match the specific needs of my body. It's liberating. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, as this process is unfolding, I hired an attorney who, long story short, went around and around in circles with Arby's corporate before finally presenting me with a final settlement offer of $800 - only enough to offset about 1/3 of my accrued medical bills. I kind of told them to hose off, since I didn't even know how I'd be affected long-term and didn't want to absolve them.<br />
<br />
Eventually, after realizing I was happy and healthy again, I decided to drop it altogether, thinking that even bitterness was a result that I was unwilling to tolerate, like the last lingering poison in my system.<br />
<br />
Okay, now fast forward to a year ago when the story gets REALLY crazy. So I've made it to India and I'm working my tail off trying to spread a bit of love and gospel around the globe. I've dropped just a bit more coin on the whole excursion than I actually have. I've never really believed in money anyway, so no biggie, right? I decide to give my birthday away on Facebook causes to the school I was working with in Jaipur. My lovely friends and family came through and totally paid for their new building addition so the school can double in size. And the SAME WEEK, a mystery donation came in to my journey in the EXACT AMOUNT of my remaining deficit. Cool how G works, right? But there's MORE.<br />
<br />
After some sleuthing, it turns out that the donor was an old acquaintance of my Pops, who had just happened across my page and felt compelled to contribute. It turns out the money she donated came largely her husband's job, at none other than ARBY'S CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS. <br />
<br />
Someone wise remarked "I am constantly reminded of how incredible God's workings are intertwined in the several random, yet meticulous details of our lives."<br />
<br />
Romans 8:28<br />
"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose."<br />
<br />
So good. I've been meaning to blog this for a year.<br />
<br />
<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=toh0a-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B000OQ8PFM&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=FF5400&bc1=FFFFFF&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-3675058272637946452010-04-20T01:29:00.000-05:002010-04-20T01:29:13.819-05:00Another Go 'Round.This shouldn't come as a surprise.<br />
<br />
I'm heading back to the furthest ends of the earth, cultivating the gospel hidden by Christ within me, and hitting the road to share it with everyone I can find. <br />
<br />
This is the illogical path. But it's where my heart finds peace, so it's the direction I'm moving. <br />
<br />
The money is not there. The support system seems questionable. There's lots of work needed to make it happen. <br />
<br />
14 months into the apostolic journey, and I'm still not very good at explaining this thing. I hope it's never explainable. God must open our eyes to other dimensions to get us to swallow the gospel, and the need for its delivery. If I ever "get it," I quit. <br />
<br />
Won't you please join me on this absurd journey of love and joy? Help me spread the blessing and provision and peace like a lovely virus throughout all the land?<br />
<br />
I'll keep you posted on the details. I'm calling on you, because I can't do it alone. <br />
<br />
Blessings.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-66285722895506179312010-04-14T01:13:00.000-05:002010-04-14T01:13:58.065-05:00Grand Rapids.<iframe width="450" height="700" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&t=h&source=embed&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fcd9bac6e1f2ba6d&ll=51.645294,-83.803711&spn=19.13864,19.775391&z=5&iwloc=000480c0f280512689805&output=embed"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&t=h&source=embed&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fcd9bac6e1f2ba6d&ll=51.645294,-83.803711&spn=19.13864,19.775391&z=5&iwloc=000480c0f280512689805" style="color:#0000FF;text-align:left">Journey 2010</a> in a larger map</small><br />
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Click around the other points in Michigan to read about some of my other adventures while here.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-14366481082409098922010-03-22T12:37:00.000-05:002010-04-07T01:16:58.566-05:00Moments On the Road<blockquote>We cannot kindle when we will <br />
The fire which in the heart resides, <br />
The spirit bloweth and is still, <br />
In mystery our soul abides: <br />
But tasks, in hours of insight willed, <br />
May be through hours of gloom fulfilled.<br />
-Matthew Arnold</blockquote>It's been so good to be back in Nashville for these last few weeks. I'm reminded of all the people and things I love about this place. Returning has raised a deepened affection and longing, and the slim possibility of a new life here. But as I ask those questions of myself and God, I'm only affirmed in my current path to keep moving until He says "stop." This is not my town any more - I'm assured of that - and there's grief in this acceptance. And as I sit in quiet and give that grief away, I'm moment by moment flooded by the blessings the last year have held and the promise of those down the road. <br />
<br />
I feel a sense of purpose in moving on, even yet without a concrete plan. This has been the rule of my new life. Circumstances change on the daily, and the Spirit moves without warning. This is not a stagnant life. Untaken steps cannot be guided. So I'll fill up my identity from the wellspring of life each morning and walk boldly in the direction I hear the music. The words of someone wise are ringing in my head, saying you have to put out to sea before the wind can fill your sails. Sorry to whomever said this; I'd give credit if I recalled. I just know too many too wise people, I suppose. <br />
<br />
It's interesting interacting with people from my life before this journey, trying to catch each other up on the broad strokes of how we've become who we are, just a year later. I'm more and more convinced it's not the broad strokes that change us, but the moments. The major events in life often happen by themselves, but we're formed from the seconds and minutes between, and by the things we put in our minds and hearts as time rolls along. By our moment-by-moment responses to the life that lays before us, however inconsequential it may, in the moment, seem.<br />
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I've regaled any number of people with stories from my travels, surely leaving them with an impression far more grand than the reality of a life as it is lived in another place, not so different from here. All across the world, every person I've met breathes, laughs, longs, bleeds, struggles, loves, and wonders. It's a blessing to share a bit of life with each of them and to digest how differently one organizes his or her life depending on where it's lived. It's perhaps a greater blessing to begin to grasp what a thin layer of difference actually rests on the surface of human life. I could scratch straight through it with a hair from my weird little moustache. <br />
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I've been thinking a lot about the moments that have shaped this journey for me. There are so many epic moments, so many highs, so many pictures I'll keep in my mind forever. But when I get down to the times that have shaped me and transformed me as a person, I'm drawn to the moments that were really, really hard, when nothing was working right and, with every ounce of strength and skill I could muster, I couldn't even come close to making things right. I can't comprehend the fruit that has grown from those precious few moments where I was nothing if not broken and alone. I wrote to my friend Jaclyn during this time, <blockquote>I've had so many days on this freaking journey where I wake up in the morning and the only thing I have to give is a shitty attitude, frustration about relationships and 'programming' (whatever that is) and a desire to just quit and drink myself into a stupor. It seems like it's the hardest thing to wake up and take fifteen minutes to say, "Homeboy, this is what I have to offer - bones and dust. Do your thing." Some days, by the end of that fifteen minutes He's shown that bedrock you spoke about - that foundation of goodness that lies just beneath every bit of selfishness and hardship, and I'm brought to freaking tears at new revelations of the things He took to the cross for me. <br />
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Some days, there is no such revelation, and I spend the entire morning of labour commanding my muscles to move for a promise that's greater than the resistance they give. <br />
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I'm getting the sense that these are the hours that purify the saints and condition the martyrs. It's the moments when everything in your world and your head screams you're working your tail off for a lie, and you can only inhale in prayer, and the Spirit exhales the truth on your behalf in whispers the devil cannot hush.</blockquote>Any story of this journey would be incomplete without these moments. Of course it's always been about loving God and loving people, and I wouldn't go if He didn't say so and wasn't reaching others through my walk. But He's at work in me all the while. These moments gave me a new depth to understand Grace and to believe in supernatural healing and power. They broke through unmeasurable old layers of guilt, selfishness, loathing, shame, and unbelief, not burying them or pushing them off, but sinking straight to their base and letting them dissolve and crumble in the presence of pure, true love and mercy. I wouldn't trade these moments for anything.<br />
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<i>Currently reading:</i><br />
<iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=toh0a-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=031242440X&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align:left;padding-top:5px;width:131px;height:245px;padding-right:10px;"align="left" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-59312336375496480962010-03-11T10:19:00.000-06:002010-03-11T17:13:27.918-06:00I Opened My Big Mouth AgainThe other day an old friend from high school posted an album of inflammatory pictures. They depicted militant Islamic fundamentalists in hateful demonstration, as well as practices of conditioning children. She didn't know the source and her captions showed fear and misunderstanding. Troubled, I responded, cautioning her and others to be slow to take in such propaganda, as many images are doctored or fabricated, and whether real or fake, the participation in spreading them is succumbing to brainwashing and fear- and hate-mongering. <br /><br />I returned to the post several days later to find a discussion taking place. The poster was lamenting corruption in the media, and a Jewish friend was telling stories about being victimized by Islamic youth in a town in Michigan. It was sad, sad, sad to hear, and I can see why it's difficult for him and others to resist making broad, sweeping generalizations based on such trauma. But as I listen to all sides of this situation tell their stories, I hear the same words - everybody's hurt and few are interested in forgiveness. <br /><br />I began praying about how, or whether to join back into the conversation that I'd started, and continued browsing through the posted links to videos of radical conditioning. When I read the poster's summation statement, "The world has a serious problem on its hands," I felt the spirit move within me. Here's my response, with linked videos below:<br /><br /><blockquote>Yeah. We have a very serious problem on our hands. The problem is that this indoctrination is happening on every side of this global epidemic. <br /><br />There are pockets in which deliberate and concentrated conditioning is happening in the Islamic world. There are also many voices of reason and hope. For example, Dhiyaa Al-Musawi - <a href="http://bit.ly/1NhXEV">http://bit.ly/1NhXEV</a>. It would be better to hold up reason and hope as exemplary than to continue to perpetuate hate and mutual misunderstanding.<br /><br />An equally large part of the problem is in our own country, our own neighborhoods and streets, our own minds. We must never be persuaded there is an inherent difference in people because of their race, culture, or beliefs. You're absolutely correct, we are at the mercy of a corrupt and perverted media, and we ourselves are being conditioned to perpetuate the violence, misunderstanding, and hate. We're experiencing brainwashing just the same, albeit usually behind a much more subversive veil. Often it looks a lot more like chain-letters with really scary pictures attached. Accepting this inflammatory propaganda, particularly without knowledge of its source, research into the situation as a whole, or attention to countering arguments is participation in a system that, for thousands of years past and thousands of years to come, will only result in more confusion, bigotry, ignorance, hate, and genocide.<br /><br />I hope it isn't hard to believe that kids, teens, and young adults all across the Muslim world are seeing Toby Keith videos about the supremacy and bad-ass attitude of the American people, complete with spliced-in footage of actual children all across our nation holding guns, marching, and chanting to the demise of whatever Arab stereotype you could conjure. This material is only a portion true. Same with the lies they are fed about Israel.<br /><br />The reality that I will stake my life on is that forgiveness, grace, and love will ALWAYS win, even if only a dozen people practice it and are taken to their graves as a result. Hate begets hate, bringing more offense and retribution from each side of any quarrel in perpetuity. The only way to break the cycle is to voluntarily forfeit your "right" to pride and correctness, and in doing so give any aggressor the gift of simply being heard, and given another perspective. <br /><br />Unfortunately the world is full of ears that will not hear and minds that will not change. We only have the power to affect our own sphere of influence and encourage openness and grace where we can, starting with ourselves. An unwillingness to rise to that challenge, each for ourselves, results in the continuation of humanity's dire state. </blockquote><br /><br />In the moment, I didn't think to mention the many wonderful, faithful Muslim people I've met and grown to know and love in the last year. Like the hundreds of Muslims I met in India, Turkey, Tunisia, and Egypt that simply blew me away with their kindness, humor, and hospitality. Like the Alevi Muslims in Aydın, Turkey who invited me into their home and shared their heart of love, tolerance, and the beautiful search for transcendent truth. We had a blast - <a href="http://vimeo.com/5353264"> http://vimeo.com/5353264</a>. My experiences prohibit me from accepting, or ignoring, these blanket dismissals and defamations of a huge, diverse group of people. My prayer is that our eyes will be opened, that we'll be able to see what grace we've been given, and that we may offer that grace, in turn, to our neighbors all about the world. <br /><br />No one responded to the discussion any more.<br /><br />Dhiyaa Al-Musawi interviewed:<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OPuETJppBtg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OPuETJppBtg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Feast in Aydın, Türkiye:<br /><object width="500" height="288"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=5353264&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=1&color=ffffff&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=5353264&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=1&color=ffffff&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="500" height="288"></embed></object>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-11855327082771042362010-02-22T13:21:00.000-06:002010-02-22T13:54:06.420-06:00Journey 2010: Rebuilding Hope<iframe width="500" height="700" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&t=h&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fcd9bac6e1f2ba6d&ll=47.368594,-98.041992&spn=20.852164,21.928711&z=5&iwloc=00048034a14cb51506282&output=embed"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&t=h&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fcd9bac6e1f2ba6d&ll=47.368594,-98.041992&spn=20.852164,21.928711&z=5&iwloc=00048034a14cb51506282&source=embed" style="color:#0000FF;text-align:left">Journey 2010</a> in a larger map</small><br />Here's a video showing some of the devastation:<br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ahT8qlLieUQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ahT8qlLieUQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-70261008718412653862010-02-16T20:21:00.000-06:002010-02-17T02:38:56.278-06:00World Tour 2009I'm starting an experiment. I've plotted points along my journey for the last year on a Google Map, and anyone can visit this map and click each point or leg of the journey to find out more about the places and activities I've been engaged with along the way. I'll continue to attach more stories, as well as begin new maps for coming adventures, but I thought I'd go ahead and post this now. Please peruse the map below, or for more detail, click the link underneath the map to visit it in a larger window.<br /><br />If you're unfamiliar with Google Maps, you can use the commands in the upper left of the map to navigate (+/- to zoom, and arrows to scroll) or you can click and drag, as well as double-click to zoom.<br /><br />Maybe not very many people will backtrack along with the last year, but it's great for personal processing, as well as pulling together thoughts, media, journals, and film from every stop of the way. And I know it will be fun to share events in the future more diligently.<br /><br />Cheers.<br /><br /><iframe width="500" height="400" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&t=h&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fbfa4f83219f2dd9&ll=17.978733,127.265625&spn=165.698164,322.734375&z=1&output=embed"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&t=h&msa=0&msid=117559232335979425272.00047fbfa4f83219f2dd9&ll=17.978733,127.265625&spn=165.698164,322.734375&z=1&source=embed" style="color:#0000FF;text-align:left">World Tour, 2009</a> in a larger map</small>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-69196215455672060652010-02-12T06:37:00.000-06:002010-03-11T16:13:00.537-06:00Stick.Some of my traveling mates and I came up with a sort of game one day when we were clearing brush away from the garden on our YWAM base in New Zealand. As we'd happen upon sticks of a notable size or shape, we'd examine it, name it, and hold it up declaring it's goodness for everyone to hear.<br /><br /><div>It all started when Emrie picked up a gnarled, knobby stick (really more of a limb) held it up valiantly, and dubbed it "RidicStick." Em, Jaclyn, Phil and myself began sorting, clearing, and displacing foliage in a frenzy, uncovering more and more</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimur8U74t8i6MRUeiY52fsmQX44jds9I-CUwqveADOMjHnFZvJh4Z_nYkthxipfYzgANeTx0MWdS7TcD_YQHh4_gJY2BQk7ltzeRSroCJtExm3MMhuQO4W3evujhL_b5eOcBoM2HqyMSo/s200/0233.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437385261782482226" /><div>noteworthy finds. There was ShortStick, LipStick, and FatStick, BentStick, BurntStick, and BatStick. We must have named in excess of 300 specimens, doubling over in laughter. How I wish we had photographed and cataloged our findings. On second thought, these things usually serve as better memories for regaling than actual factual accounts. It may have been a silly game to pass the workday, but it drew upon some seriously solid principles. There was something very Genesis 2 about the whole thing - humans organizing, ruling over, and naming things of the Earth, things that God designed for our pleasure. And doing so in community, as "it is not good for man to be alone."</div><div><div><div><br />Days continued to pass after StickDay, but the memory lingered. For one, our vernacular had changed. Ridicstick remains synonymous with any jubilant exclamation, suitable in describing any extraordinary thing or event. But, perhaps more than that, friendships that had begun on levels of life and change and faith and humor were taking deeper root and bearing fruit, as only sheer abandonment in a common and altogether ridiculous endeavor can produce.<br /><br />Weeks later, Jaclyn, Emrie, and I were walking home from a coffee/study/banter session at Seagars. I don't remember the particulars, except that there was some frustration in the air. I think it had to do with me dilly dallying and everyone around being tired of always waiting for me to wrap up some frivolous engagement. At any rate, definitively gracious and cool Emrie had walked on ahead, rightfully irritated, and I remember momentarily searching for some gesture of apology and kinship greater than words for a moment such as this. I happened upon a small, gnarled but straightish stick, hardly more than a twig, with the striking appearance of a wand from any great work of mythic fiction. Without thought, I seized it and called out to Emrie. She stopped and turned as Jaclyn and I approached with the stick. We held a sidewalk ceremony, knighting Emrie for her exemplary patience, and we bequeathed the WillowStick unto her for safeguarding. Emrie's frustration dissolved in an easily forgiving grin and we continued our walk through the idyllic Oxford Autumn air.<br /><br />Winter set in as our classes drew to completion, and we made preparations for our missional deployment to the far ends of the Earth. I grew to know and love everyone in our small school of 50 or so, but you can't help but make a particular connection with just a few in such a short time. By divine design or staff's judgement, several of us who had grown especially close were each split into different teams. Phil was Africa/Asia-bound, Jaclyn would lock down the African continent, Kristi was our South American correspondent, Emrie and Katy headed for Southeast Asia, Kenny and Dan were on the Far East Asia team, and I was going to the Middle East.<br /><br />Days were busy finishing studies, cleaning, and gathering essentials into packs - 'skeeter net, bible, and two pair undies ought to do. Evenings were spent in the roasty den, dining on peanut butter-cinnamon-toast, fire blazing to fight the cold through the cellophane windows. We occupied several long evenings unpacking everything that God had done in our lives to get us where we were, taking inventory of the people we had discovered ourselves to be, and speculating where our roads might lead and intersect. Someone mentioned the crassness of a mere "goodbye," and Emrie sprang into action. Producing the WillowStick from her belongings, she hurriedly broke it into 6 pieces - a piece to travel with each team, each person, in each direction, and we selected a day several months into our journeys to stop what we were doing, find a high place in whatever town we were in, and bury the WillowStick. Together. Tearful goodbyes were said as one-by-one we departed into the unknown.<br /><br />I went to sleep late last night with a silent, groaning prayer for God to evidence himself in my life. I know he's there, doing his thing, as he always is. I just needed that knowledge to breach my brain and penetrate my anxiety about where I am right now. And maybe provide some peace, and a little joy if it's not too much to ask. I woke up early this morning with Psalm 23 on my lips as all these memories came flooding back.<br /><br />In Ezekial 37:16, God speaks to the prophet: "And you, son of man, take for yourself one stick and write on it, 'For Judah and for the sons of Israel, his companions'; then take another stick and write on it, 'For Joseph, the stick of Ephraim and all the house of Israel, his companions.' Then join them for yourself one to another into one stick, that they may become one in your hand." God has always tended to use the natural to represent his goodness and to bind his followers together in seeking his face. In fact, that's the primary reason he created "the natural" in the first place.<br /><br />1 Samuel 7 finds the Israelites on the brink of war with the Philistines, who had twice defeated Israel and seized the Ark of the Covenant. The Philistine army is encroaching, so Samuel seeks the Lord. As Sam sacrifices a burnt offering on the alter, the Philistine army is thrown into confusion by God's thunderous intervention. Verse 12: "Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, 'Thus far has the LORD helped us.'" This is where the hymn Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing derives the line "Here I raise mine Ebenezer, hither by thy help I'm come." Ebenezer is a name combining the Hebrew "Even Haazer," meaning literally "Stone of Help." It's a marker in history, one's personal history or the history of a people, where a monument is raised to remind that God has a proven track record of hooking us up. We have no reason to worry. It is the Lord that delivers, and blessing comes from his hand. It's just Homeboy doing what Homeboy does.<br /><br />As it was on my lips this morning, Psalm 23:4 says "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me." If God has a recorded history of using sticks and stones to exemplify his presence and action, far be it from me to discount such elements' presence in my own story. If fellowship was born on StickDay, it was tested and cemented on WillowStickDay. And if kinship when we broke bread and divided the WillowStick, then we made covenant the day the WillowStick took root around the world. In our journeys, by some degree of intention, the WillowStick was planted. In modern-day Ephesus. Erdenet, Mongolia. Argentina. Lake Victoria, Uganda. Darjeeling. Thaiwan. We remain distanced by oceans, but connected by the love of a redeeming God who brought us together and called us to a higher purpose. During the dry times, I continue to look back on God's provenance and providence and our covenant as evidence of motion and deliverance in my life. It helps me find purpose in short nights and perspective in long days. It's all the manna I need to start fresh, and more than plenty reason to smile. And that, my friends, is ridicstick.</div></div></div>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-19951071336864068492010-02-11T00:32:00.000-06:002010-02-12T09:58:28.118-06:00WHAT THE CRAP AM I DOING.Alright I'm hopped up on tea, so let's get this thing cranking before I totally fritz out. I write this evening from the void, from that place between what was and what will be, the valley between lessons and application. <br /><br />Pardon the drama. I'll bring it back down to Earth.<br /><br />I've been home at my folks' place for several months now. It's been, in general, really really great to connect with family quite a bit and hang with my awesome new nephew Drew and just generally "take a breather" as my Dad would say. The transitional season started off with a bang of Godly provision: complimentary car, job, and phone to use for the short-term while I generate the fundage and make preparations to hit the road again in search of further ministry opportunities on my way back to New Zealand. Man, I was so sure that's what was going to happen. I thought God's fingerprints were all over it with the way things were coming together. <br /><br />Then the gears started turning more slowly. Work became infrequent as winter set in, and has now ceased entirely. Other opportunities for income have consistently not panned out. The car went away. The phone's gone. I've kept busy enough (aside from looking for more work) with a bunch of good things - from lots and lots of worship with several churches and groups, to being special guest speaker at a youth trip to Colorado in January, to all kinds of odds and ends with Perception Funding and their approaching trip to Haiti. And for some time I just felt such a fire to just encounter people wherever they are and bring them the encouragement and joy of a good God. <br /><br />As this process has continued to unfold (or rather grind to a halt) I've begun to wonder what it really is I'm supposed to be doing here. It's not that I don't see God's hand in my life right now, nor that I'm not enjoying time with old friends and family in KC. It's just that everything I've learned from the last year or two seems to be driving me towards a few things: intimacy with the Creator, creation of music, serving people, and the open road. And yet here I am, an unemployed 27-year-old living with my parents without a way to get anywhere or a dime to my name. I don't doubt where I am for a second, because in faith I've stepped out in the last year, and I've seen God do incredible things. But this certainly seems to fly in the face of the definition the world gives us of a successful, together young man. I would never, ever go back to where I was before, but what the heck, am I really supposed to be at a standstill here because of something as unHeavenly as finances? I've seen Godmath turn zeros into ones and 100's into thousands in the last year, but somehow now the "almighty dollar" has its filthy little cuffs on my wrists. I don't like it. BUT . . .<br /><br />God is good. God is in control. He works this stuff out all the time. I'm seeking Him, and folks are praying for me. So, it must be going down this way because God's allowing it. That leaves me wondering, am I supposed to push through this, in pursuit of what I believe to be true about this season in my life? At what point do I really start to reevaluate my trajectory? I've been waking up every day, telling God I'm placing all this on the alter, I'll go wherever he wants, stay if he says stay, do anything. What I feel I'm continually getting from him is encouragement to stay the course. And yet my circumstances are just not changing. I'm trying, I'm really really trying, to spend every day in the knowledge of what's true and good. I'm trying to lean on the promises of scripture in places like Romans 8:28, where it says " . . . we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (NIV)<br /><br />This is said so often it sounds trite. I, myself, speak this verse so many times a day that it's a struggle to keep its supernatural origin in perspective. A new light was cast today, however, when I looked at The Message translation. I've been cross-referencing more and more in my studies, finding that new language so often has the ability to dig deeper, to till soft, new soil for old, familiar concepts and scripture that's become, ugh, "colloquialism." Check it out:<br /><br /><blockquote> Romans 8:26-28: <br />Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.</blockquote><br /><br />So, Lord, forgive my sighs of frustration. Please intercede with your spirit and, knowing my heart, guide my steps. I'll be searching tirelessly for you as I travel this beaten road toward only-you-know-where. You are so, so good in the journey, and I pray to be continually less blind to the places you appear in my midst. I'll seek to rest in the contentment and joy that comes only from you, and not from my own myopic perception of my situation. In Jesus' ridiculously all-encompassingly powerful and mind-boggling name, Amen.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-30780388738141859262010-02-09T21:59:00.000-06:002010-02-09T22:09:34.948-06:00Film.So, most everyone who has a reason to read my blog probably also knows I like to make fun videos. Many of these can be found on my Vimeo. They present a narrow window to some of the things I've been up to for the last year. Feel free to check a few of them out below, or view my Vimeo channel <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1241640">here</a>.<br /><br />India Video Scrapbook:<br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9007764&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9007764&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br /><br />Feast with Alevi in Turkey:<br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=5353264&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=5353264&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br /><br />Colorado Trip with Kansas City Youth:<br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9143516&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9143516&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br /><br />5 Habits of a World Christian:<br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4491242&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4491242&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-64833477973640008132010-01-25T11:02:00.001-06:002010-02-17T11:02:43.097-06:00Plenipotentiary.Plenipotentiary, Dictionary.com's word of the day one day last week. It means "Containing or conferring full power; invested with full power." <br /><br />I've been feeling particularly empty lately, like I have nothing to offer the world, anyone around me, or God.<br /><br />There is nothing good within me, except you. I offer just that - all my Nothing. Hover, Lord, and spin it into your craft, like the shapeless void in the beginning.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-53505960992102011872009-12-20T13:25:00.001-06:002010-02-17T11:01:14.001-06:00Step Ya Game UpI will get out of the way as God wills to infiltrate our sorry planet through my flesh. I forgive everyone. I apologize for residual suckiness from transgressions past. <br /><br />I take ownership of my authority to call out evil in its tracks and send it away. I accept my responsibility to call heaven down to fill the remaining void.<br /><br />I'll love when it's great. I'll love when it sucks. I'll give more love than I feel I can afford, stepping forward in faith that it will be replenished with interest gained. <br /><br />I'll call pastors out when they make rules against walking in front of the crackhouse down the street. I'll point out tactfully and graciously that my Jesus is already in there waiting for us, and then I'll go look for him. THERE are some people looking for answers.<br /><br />Oh, and I'll do my best not to do any crack while I'm in there, Mom.<br /><br />Somehow I'm still taking myself a little too seriously in regard to societal pressures and lies, and not seriously enough concerning my identity as a creator and entrepreneur. I'll keep working on those ones. <br /><br />I'll get bolder and bolder about inviting everyone around me into the fullness of this good life laid before us.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-68933000914175135002009-12-04T16:21:00.000-06:002009-12-04T18:34:58.409-06:00Leave.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50JoBQahe3QEIVqF1xZJAddD24Rmqgcl0CBItT3TFB48zRRjKlLZ-35vnVfs-Hb41udIiEt5lH0yI__5OigDM-pq1dnkR6PrZGp9mFU8q6_0BU3HSvwq-5D_r_PGeNVc4lehnKOJ1QQ8/s1600-h/9523_286115920471_621605471_9132844_6317988_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50JoBQahe3QEIVqF1xZJAddD24Rmqgcl0CBItT3TFB48zRRjKlLZ-35vnVfs-Hb41udIiEt5lH0yI__5OigDM-pq1dnkR6PrZGp9mFU8q6_0BU3HSvwq-5D_r_PGeNVc4lehnKOJ1QQ8/s400/9523_286115920471_621605471_9132844_6317988_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411521644594969714" /></a><br />To everyone who has said to me over the last year, "gee, I wish I could do something like you're doing - getting out, seeing the world, truly making a difference."<br /><br />Do you? Do you really? Because there's really not much else to it. I understand we'll always have an infinite list of "buts." BUT, I sounded exactly like that a year ago. BUT job. BUT debt. BUT relationships. BUT fear. BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT. <br /><br />I've been reading over old journals, and I'm reminded again how much work God does when you give him the space to do so. <br /><br />What if I I told you that God is in absolute control of everything that you yield to his hand, and he loves you with absolute perfection - literally gaga over you - and knows absolutely what's best for you in every situation? I know a lot of us believe this, but I want us all to really try live like it's true. I know a lot of us have trouble believing it at all, but we should try living as if it were true anyway. We can't lose. Either we discover we were right and life goes on as it always has, or we start seeing evidence that it really is true. Really. And if it's really true, than it kicks BUT'S butt. No excuse not to dream big and hit the road. <br /><br />I learned an important lesson from my friend KJay several years ago, and it's this: Everybody always does exactly what they want. You always have a choice. And it's not what you want, it's what you'll give up to get it. Comfort v Adventure. Stability v Growth. the Status Quo v the Extraordinary. Now if your dream-come-true is the 9 to 5 in the same ol' town, then I could almost envy you - BUT - I know I want so much more. <br /><br />About this time last year, my friend Jon gave me Donald Miller's memoir Through Painted Deserts. There's some good moments, but the introduction alone hit me like a train heading out of town. It ends:<br /><br /><blockquote>I want to repeat one word for you: <br /><br />Leave. <br /><br />Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn't it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.</blockquote><br /><br />We'll see you out there.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-23491967878014222052009-11-26T15:26:00.000-06:002009-11-26T22:38:52.260-06:00More Lessons in Landscaping, or Miracles in MudI've been feeling a bit numb, and a bit down in general lately. I think it's mostly just travel-withdrawal, so I haven't let it bother me too much. There's been moments of really cool revelation, and moments of trudgery in being "home", but in general it's just been kind of a slow winding-down. I like to think I'm gradually decompressing in the context of good family-time and good Homeboy-time out in the field doing my landscaping.<br /><br />The other day I was cleaning up some newly planted trees, ankle deep in mud soup in the rain. It was a pretty crummy day for work, but I really wanted to get this job done before leaving for Grandma's farm for Thanksgiving. I was complaining my butt off to Homeboy about the job, the place I'm in, the stagnancy, the finances, blah blah blah blah blah, and really just saying If you love me, prove it. I'm such a whiny baby sometimes. What do I do, God? What am I here for? Where are you taking me?<br /><br />After a while, he was like Beau, you already know this one. Start singing my name and worshipping, man. That's why I made you. So I started off just organizing ideas for some arrangements as I went about my work. Not much else to do out there anyway. I started singing How He Loves by John Mark McMillan, which brought me back to this story. Please watch at least the first portion where John explains the origin of the song.<br /><embed src="http://blip.tv/play/AdDEJAI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="390" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed> <br /><br />As I played this out in my head I just started CRYING and CRYING and CRYING, and singing through the verses, letting them hit me in light of where it came from, and in light of my OWN seasons of mourning, and God was totally just ripping off the hard crusty stuff that has caked on in the last few months -- the stuff that builds up over the life he puts in us.<br /><br />I was clearing this muddy soupy dirt off of the grass around the trees, and I was like FLETCH NO, I will not let you cover over my RIGHTEOUSNESS. I will NOT let you bury this life born into me with your displacement, lies, and bull. It came at too great a cost, and in Jesus' name, GET OFF. I began to ask God for help to keep me RAW, to keep tilling and hoeing and keep me muddy and messy and just please please please don't let me get too far away.<br /><br />I feel like I sort of lost consciousness in this place for a while and started seeing myself in the heavens, worshipping and singing and shouting to armies marching forward. He told me somewhere in there that I already know the next step. I know who I am and why I was made, and I don't need to worry about the details of the hows and whens and wheres. I just need to start living it. NOW. He said NOW, and I just kind of snapped back to real life. Surprised, I was almost done with the trees and it was some 3 hours later. I couldn't even feel my arthritic hand, and the job was very nearly done.<br /><br />The next day I was listening to Thrice on my iPod while finishing another job at South Haven Baptist Church. I paused the music to take a call, and when I turned it back on, it was somehow, inexplicably on a Bill Johnson message called He Tore The Heavens Open that just totally affirmed everything - the whole message from the day before. Entirely. Specifically. This is perplexing, because I don't even have this message in my iTunes. I'm sure Phil snuck it onto my iPod during our travels a few months ago. I've said it before, but God is totally in my iPod.<br /><br />As I was packing up to leave, I walked across the parking lot with a shovel in one hand, the other hand in the air. I guess I was kind of shouting and actually feeling Heaven open up and invade the neighborhood, even while the people were probably peaking out their windows looking at me like I'm some freako, screaming with my hands in the air. Then some dude in a Jeep Wrangler and offered me a red Slushee from QuickTrip. Of course I said yes. I don't think I've ever bought myself a red Slushee before in my life, but it was SOOO GOOD. He turned out to be the youth pastor of the church, just showing hospitality to the landscape guy. We got to talking and he's having me visit his youth group later this month to share stories. Goes to show - when I conscientiously rest in God's goodness, he's pretty quick to give me opportunities to share it with others. <br /><br />So, that's all fine and good. But here's what I think it means practically for me over the next few months. I think I'm going to record some of the mashups I've concieved over the last year (i.e. Three Little Birds/I Have Decided and Shallow Grave/How He Loves). STOKED about this. These songs really breathed life into my walk and into my traveling community over the last 9 months. I also hope to flesh out some of the stuff I've written on the road. I've started doing research for a good School of Worship through YWAM sometime over the next year. I've been really resistant to the idea of returning to YWAM, but I now think it would be a great way to get over my baggage about not trusting people and not liking corporate settings, and to get over thinking I'm no good. I want to get over all my crap, because that's all it is, really. And you're supposed to leave your crap in the toilet, flush it and walk away. I don't want to carry my spiritual catheter around anymore.<br /><br />When it comes down to it, there's certain things about worship that I need a lot of work on. Like being able to do it, and being able to lead it, and letting it be a celebration and a declaration of God's goodness instead of just a groaning in our human depravity. It can start there, but again, I can be such a whiny baby sometimes. So I'm just approaching the possibility of another school as a natural way to walk towards my identity as a worshipper. I've not entertained the idea until now because A) it just seemed too logical to be legit and B) It would require me to leave my catheter behind, and that will undoubtedly require some uncomfortable soul-work.<br /><br />My buddy Mark Parker talked about communication from the Holy Spirit in an interesting manner. He kind of made this weird gesture where he kept placing the palm of one hand on his head. He'd push it off with his other hand, but it would come back and rest gently on his head again like some strange, heat-seeking alien octopus. His point was that ideas from God can keep returning to your consciousness. They rest gently and return every time you refuse them.<br /><br />I guess that's kind of how I feel about this idea of getting back into the YWAM paradigm. The few struggles I've had within their ministry structure have mostly just resulted in clarifying and rehabbing my own insecurities. And frankly, I believe my buddies and former leaders when they say there's no better way to go deeper in Christ than to continue down the road of discipleship. <br /><br />In a lot of ways, this step is similar to my decision to leave my home, belongings, and the life I knew and loved in Nashville a year ago. I'm in the early stages of setting off on a new and uncertain adventure. It will require logistical and financial support that I can't provide for myself. Essentially, I have no ability to do this without God's direct involvement. Last year I was an anxious, apprehensive, tightly-wound basket case. This year I feel pretty well resigned and confident. I think it's his will. Ask me if it's happened a year from now, and I'll be able to tell you for sure.PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-6442423160495527292009-11-15T21:12:00.000-06:002009-12-06T16:25:15.543-06:00Lessons in Landscaping, or Coming Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs009.snc3/11666_1253709857003_1057230026_30813273_3039545_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 175px;" src="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs009.snc3/11666_1253709857003_1057230026_30813273_3039545_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#551A8B;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div>I've had discussions with several people lately on the peculiar pressures of coming "home," especially from a long and rather intense season of travel. I wound up compiling my thoughts in a letter to a friend going through a similar transition the other day. It's a pretty good depiction of my current headspace, so I thought I'd share. Here's an excerpt:<br /><br /><blockquote>Here's what I decided on Friday. Every place you've ever spent a worthy chunk of time, you leave a "you-shaped hole." It is precisely the same size and shape as the perception you left on those closest to you at that time, and your own perception of your role in that particular environment (+/-, of course, a margin for exaggeration and forgetfulness). The thing with wandering types is, we change and grow much during our exploits on the road, often not even able to keep up with our own internal progress. Upon returning to places once familiar, a natural gravity tries to pull you directly back into the vacuum left at your departure. It's awkward, and at times a bit painful, because you just don't fit anymore.<br /><br />This was causing me some anxiety until the revelation that this gravity isn't real. We're citizens of the Heavenlies, free to traipse above the grasp of perceptions, fears, limitations, societal and relational constructs, and our own dogma. We're free to dream the biggest dreams we can and set them into action, and God is on our side. He likes creators, because he is one. So I'm trying more and more to divorce myself from the mundane, even as life begins to take on forms that look more familiar. I'm making lists of things I know about myself, and other lists of things I want to know about myself and the world around me. I'm making lists of things that change and things that remain. And I'm trying to see this old, familiar world through eyes that I know are new, finding new ways to bless the world around me as I soak it in to new depths.<br /><br />The other thing hampering me has been the horrible always-present question, "What's Next?" And nobody wants to know more than me. Especially seeing as I've been spending my time this last week picking up odd landscaping jobs, doing the exact same things I did at my first job when I was just 14. It's humbling, and generally I think humbling things are good things. It's given me plenty of time to think and then worry and eventually remember to pray and then still ample time left over to do nothing but wait on answers. And knee-deep in mud with an aching back is a pretty good place to get revelation.<br /><br />A number of my favourite people point out the relationship between the natural/physical and the spiritual, so I try to tread lightly with open eyes. Yesterday, Todd (the guy paying me to plant trees) was telling me why he's not too crazy about the type of tree we were putting in the ground. Todd said, "They grow really fast. But, they tend to forget which is their main trunk and split off in other directions. They get really unruly and hard to maintain."<br /><br />It's rare that I'm hit immediately by the weight of statements concerning the growth of trees, but this was one such occasion. I felt like God was saying "I don't want you to be an unruly Red Maple. I want you to be a freaking ginormous Redwood. But that takes TIME. I've torn you up a bit. CHILL OUT. Let this stuff sink in and settle. Then the growing can happen straight and strong and purposeful."<br /><br />I'm left in a peculiar tension between chapters. And I guess that's good. The pull of what's to come may keep me from getting too settled, while the warmth of the familiar could keep me from rushing ahead. So, until further notice I will remain planless, phoneless, content, and available for hire.</blockquote><br /><br />See also: Galations 5:5 "But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope."PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161637810879605123.post-74941584469829334202009-11-06T02:00:00.000-06:002010-03-24T13:15:43.032-05:00Bookends.I had this on my heart the morning I left the States 8 1/2 months ago. I awoke early from a unlikely restful slumber on the love seat of my friend Lucy's Los Angeles apartment, and scribbled this like an exhale, as if I'd memorized it in a dreamscape conversation with God himself. It remains one of my favourite pieces. <br />
<blockquote>Dear Church,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Islam,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Hinduism,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Judaism,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Science,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Philosophy,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Atheism,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Reason,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Law,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Learnedness,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Simplicity,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Commerce,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Service,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Vengeance,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Hate,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Love,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Existence, <br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Life & Death,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Heaven & Hell,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
Dear Truth,<br />
You do not own God.<br />
<br />
What thing for which man has a name<br />
Could be vast enough to contain<br />
The one who stood 'for everything<br />
Who spake the sun to shine in flame<br />
Who spake pure life from dust & rain<br />
Spake dust & rain from stars he's slain<br />
Who groans in planetary strain<br />
Who whispers throughout everything<br />
From whom all truth originates<br />
Whose wisdom gifts, withholds, creates,<br />
Whose divine nature permeates,<br />
Whom minds of men his breath negates<br />
<br />
This is the one I yearn for<br />
This is the one I seek<br />
This is the one who holds me up<br />
When hope is lost and life is bleak<br />
<br />
This is the one who wants me <br />
This is the one who knows my bones<br />
This is the one for whom I'd gladly <br />
Scatter my ashes at his throne<br />
<br />
This is the one for whom I wait<br />
On bended knee in quiet place<br />
And make a space for him to fill<br />
For here he is and fill he will<br />
<br />
He vibrates in my atoms<br />
He trickles in my veins<br />
He made the tongue that speaks<br />
So let it say no other name<br />
And if it should fall silent<br />
Should it be still and rest today<br />
Let ring throughout eternity<br />
That he will have his way</blockquote>It seems that through the adventures, lessons, and trials, I've only been drawn more into this frame of mind. I thought this an appropriate time to share. <br />
<br />
Just got back to Kansas City tonight, and I'm stoked for this season. Homeboy's been saying for a while now that he's just waiting through the open door, and these first few steps seem drenched in his presence. <br />
<br />
See also: John 15:16 - "You did not choose me but I chose you, and I appointed you to go and bear fruit."PlusSeeBeauhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07173379743514659820noreply@blogger.com1