I'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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Lessons in Landscaping, or Coming Home
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.
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.
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.
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."
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."
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.
See also: Galations 5:5 "But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope."
Friday, November 6, 2009
Bookends.
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.
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.
See also: John 15:16 - "You did not choose me but I chose you, and I appointed you to go and bear fruit."
Dear Church,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.
You do not own God.
Dear Islam,
You do not own God.
Dear Hinduism,
You do not own God.
Dear Judaism,
You do not own God.
Dear Science,
You do not own God.
Dear Philosophy,
You do not own God.
Dear Atheism,
You do not own God.
Dear Reason,
You do not own God.
Dear Law,
You do not own God.
Dear Learnedness,
You do not own God.
Dear Simplicity,
You do not own God.
Dear Commerce,
You do not own God.
Dear Service,
You do not own God.
Dear Vengeance,
You do not own God.
Dear Hate,
You do not own God.
Dear Love,
You do not own God.
Dear Existence,
You do not own God.
Dear Life & Death,
You do not own God.
Dear Heaven & Hell,
You do not own God.
Dear Truth,
You do not own God.
What thing for which man has a name
Could be vast enough to contain
The one who stood 'for everything
Who spake the sun to shine in flame
Who spake pure life from dust & rain
Spake dust & rain from stars he's slain
Who groans in planetary strain
Who whispers throughout everything
From whom all truth originates
Whose wisdom gifts, withholds, creates,
Whose divine nature permeates,
Whom minds of men his breath negates
This is the one I yearn for
This is the one I seek
This is the one who holds me up
When hope is lost and life is bleak
This is the one who wants me
This is the one who knows my bones
This is the one for whom I'd gladly
Scatter my ashes at his throne
This is the one for whom I wait
On bended knee in quiet place
And make a space for him to fill
For here he is and fill he will
He vibrates in my atoms
He trickles in my veins
He made the tongue that speaks
So let it say no other name
And if it should fall silent
Should it be still and rest today
Let ring throughout eternity
That he will have his way
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.
See also: John 15:16 - "You did not choose me but I chose you, and I appointed you to go and bear fruit."
Monday, July 27, 2009
Coptic Inquisition
Yesterday, I was kind of put on the spot in front of 50 or 60 Arabic-speaking Egyptians at an outdoor café. They asked some pretty interesting questions.
“Why are you here?” “What are you doing?” “What drives you to do what you do?”
I said a quick prayer for wisdom and discernment, because the last thing I want to do is offend anyone, much less cause a stir of violence or get wrapped up in legal issues.
What came immediately out of my mouth was a simple reflection on where I am today, compared with where I was just one year ago. The change is staggering. I never ever would have thought one year ago that today I’d be in Cairo, in the midst of traveling the world with the simple charge of finding and spreading the love of God to his people.
Quick demographic note on the people surrounding me: Many were Coptic Christians, one of the most ancient establishments of the church, dating back to the first century. They make up between 10-15% of the Egyptian population, and they are very nationalistic. I talked for a while with a dude who has both his arms inked in traditional Coptic artwork. Young Copts adorn themselves as such, in many cases, simply to proclaim “I am not a Muslim, and I am every bit as Egyptian as you, if not more.” Others in the crowd were, similarly, “cultural Muslims.” That is to say that they consider themselves Muslim because they were born to an Islamic family in an Islamic society, not because they practice or find meaning in their faith. It’s a matter of identity.
I understand this matter of identity, to some degree, so it seemed pretty relevant to discuss certain aspects of the world in which I lived before. Mine was a good, solid American life up until about a year ago. Career, Bach’ Pad, Friends, Girlfriend, Generally Nice and Well-Liked, Utterly and Thoroughly Empty. Since finishing high school and leaving home I pretty much did what every upstanding young societal member ought – degree, job, home, 401K, and generally doing whatever the crap I wanted at any given moment.
Hm. Maybe these things aren’t bad, but they’re certainly not priorities I want to have. After the experience at the café, I dug out some old journal entries to help me get back in last year’s mindset. This is one I found:
I’m reminded reading this how small your world can get when you think you understand it. A manageable, fail-safe, succinct life just naturally atrophies and dies. I believe I am like most humans, if not worse. And, if I am like most humans, then we all have a condition that causes us to focus inward and ultimately become pretty loathsome creatures.
I guess that’s why I’m so freaking thankful for this journey, for deliverance from the lies I was living under. I guess that’s why there’s usually a smile on my face, and even hard and crappy situations can seem a delight. There’s just no comparison. Why would anyone knowingly live outside the perfect will of the Living God, if he or she truly knew His Goodness and Provision? How is it that the lies of our society seem to trump eternal truths born into our very soul?
Well, to wrap this up, I’ve got some great new Egyptian friends. I would have loved to have stayed and talked with them all day. The history here, their very way of life is so engaging. It’s always so wonderful having a great discussion with people you should in theory have nothing in common with, only to find that we’re all pretty much the same underneath. We parted ways with each others’ blessing and I feel that, at least today, I made good on the goal of my journey.
“Why are you here?” “What are you doing?” “What drives you to do what you do?”
I said a quick prayer for wisdom and discernment, because the last thing I want to do is offend anyone, much less cause a stir of violence or get wrapped up in legal issues.
What came immediately out of my mouth was a simple reflection on where I am today, compared with where I was just one year ago. The change is staggering. I never ever would have thought one year ago that today I’d be in Cairo, in the midst of traveling the world with the simple charge of finding and spreading the love of God to his people.
Quick demographic note on the people surrounding me: Many were Coptic Christians, one of the most ancient establishments of the church, dating back to the first century. They make up between 10-15% of the Egyptian population, and they are very nationalistic. I talked for a while with a dude who has both his arms inked in traditional Coptic artwork. Young Copts adorn themselves as such, in many cases, simply to proclaim “I am not a Muslim, and I am every bit as Egyptian as you, if not more.” Others in the crowd were, similarly, “cultural Muslims.” That is to say that they consider themselves Muslim because they were born to an Islamic family in an Islamic society, not because they practice or find meaning in their faith. It’s a matter of identity.
I understand this matter of identity, to some degree, so it seemed pretty relevant to discuss certain aspects of the world in which I lived before. Mine was a good, solid American life up until about a year ago. Career, Bach’ Pad, Friends, Girlfriend, Generally Nice and Well-Liked, Utterly and Thoroughly Empty. Since finishing high school and leaving home I pretty much did what every upstanding young societal member ought – degree, job, home, 401K, and generally doing whatever the crap I wanted at any given moment.
Hm. Maybe these things aren’t bad, but they’re certainly not priorities I want to have. After the experience at the café, I dug out some old journal entries to help me get back in last year’s mindset. This is one I found:
There’s an egg-timer in my chest.
It’s hooked to an alarm.
The alarm is a voice in my head that says
“It’s time to self-destruct,
to fuck everything you know.”
The only snooze is
Acquiescence.
A slow wringing.
Weeks, months, or
Years.
Followed by implosion.
I’m reminded reading this how small your world can get when you think you understand it. A manageable, fail-safe, succinct life just naturally atrophies and dies. I believe I am like most humans, if not worse. And, if I am like most humans, then we all have a condition that causes us to focus inward and ultimately become pretty loathsome creatures.
I guess that’s why I’m so freaking thankful for this journey, for deliverance from the lies I was living under. I guess that’s why there’s usually a smile on my face, and even hard and crappy situations can seem a delight. There’s just no comparison. Why would anyone knowingly live outside the perfect will of the Living God, if he or she truly knew His Goodness and Provision? How is it that the lies of our society seem to trump eternal truths born into our very soul?
Well, to wrap this up, I’ve got some great new Egyptian friends. I would have loved to have stayed and talked with them all day. The history here, their very way of life is so engaging. It’s always so wonderful having a great discussion with people you should in theory have nothing in common with, only to find that we’re all pretty much the same underneath. We parted ways with each others’ blessing and I feel that, at least today, I made good on the goal of my journey.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Oh, And . . .
I had a ten-hour bus-ride from Istanbul to Efes today. Plenty of time to nap, read and write an addition to my last blog, "An Official Declaration of the End of my Quarter-Life Crisis." Here it is:
I choose today a life comprised of harder bits, forsaking trivial & temporal comforts and preference in pursuit of that which I truly want, of becoming who I truly am. I say "No More" to the lies of my youth which would have me believe I am so small, not ready. I say "No More" to the the liars of my present, whispering weakness, short-coming, unchangeability, bondage to my faults and folly. In Jesus' name I bind them and send them away. I am ready to fail, and fail LOUDLY, paving my way into a wiser, stronger, humbler tomorrow. I will carry this raw and ripping glory of God through this bleeding and disengaged world, offering my flesh for its tariffs. Take it by the pound - perhaps it'll serve you better than me, but I doubt it. I will not be myopic or flippant in my daily actions, behaviour, attitude, or endeavors. I've come to grips with the idea of growing old. It's uncomfortable, but I will do it well if it kills me. I'm here. I'm alive. And I will not go down easy.
I choose today a life comprised of harder bits, forsaking trivial & temporal comforts and preference in pursuit of that which I truly want, of becoming who I truly am. I say "No More" to the lies of my youth which would have me believe I am so small, not ready. I say "No More" to the the liars of my present, whispering weakness, short-coming, unchangeability, bondage to my faults and folly. In Jesus' name I bind them and send them away. I am ready to fail, and fail LOUDLY, paving my way into a wiser, stronger, humbler tomorrow. I will carry this raw and ripping glory of God through this bleeding and disengaged world, offering my flesh for its tariffs. Take it by the pound - perhaps it'll serve you better than me, but I doubt it. I will not be myopic or flippant in my daily actions, behaviour, attitude, or endeavors. I've come to grips with the idea of growing old. It's uncomfortable, but I will do it well if it kills me. I'm here. I'm alive. And I will not go down easy.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
An Official Declaration Of The End Of My Quarter-Life Crisis
So, I'm not a kid anymore. Not that I have to be all mature or anything, but I officially can no longer allow myself to slide through life putting forth minimal effort and expecting maximum returns. I can't afford anymore to have a mindset of trying to get all I can, trying to beat the proverbial system, trying to get "ahead." I will, instead, try to help others get "ahead" when possible, and cherish my spot in line, wherever it is. When I was a child I thought like a child, and so on and so on.
This means I will chill out and not do everything within my power to be the first one at every red traffic light in order to red-line it off the line. I know that this makes me arrive at my destination with a tmj flair-up from clinching my teeth. Not cool.
I will quit referring to myself as a "spiritual infant," and expecting slack from people for not knowing what I believe. For God's sake, I've known Christ since I was tiny. Just 'cause somehow my little mind has a bunch of it confused hardly excuses rationalizing, inactivity, selfishness, and cynicism. For real, I'm sure I still have more of it mixed up than I have right, but that should leave a lifetime of room for growth.
I will seek a better balance between being down on myself half the time and thinking I'm pretty hot stuff half the time. Both are sick and prideful. I will try to be OK with myself, to the point of not worrying about myself very much of the time. WOW, how much energy will that save for worthwhile endeavors.
I will, moment by moment, ask for the grace to shift my attitude from that of entitlement to that of gratitude. If I know anything, it's that I'm entitled to nothing but a shallow grave. The fact that I'm blessed beyond measure, living a life of which most only dream should mean my lips never cease to give thanks. No more grumpiness. No more defensive responses. No more fear.
I will try to become more humble without being forced to learn the hard way. Asking for grace each morning to have my prideful pieces revealed and removed peacefully sounds a lot more productive and enjoyable than learning the tough lessons of life through a constantly breaking spirit.
I will dream big dreams, write them down, and work towards them.
That's all I got for now. I hope to add to this list as the spirit strikes.
This means I will chill out and not do everything within my power to be the first one at every red traffic light in order to red-line it off the line. I know that this makes me arrive at my destination with a tmj flair-up from clinching my teeth. Not cool.
I will quit referring to myself as a "spiritual infant," and expecting slack from people for not knowing what I believe. For God's sake, I've known Christ since I was tiny. Just 'cause somehow my little mind has a bunch of it confused hardly excuses rationalizing, inactivity, selfishness, and cynicism. For real, I'm sure I still have more of it mixed up than I have right, but that should leave a lifetime of room for growth.
I will seek a better balance between being down on myself half the time and thinking I'm pretty hot stuff half the time. Both are sick and prideful. I will try to be OK with myself, to the point of not worrying about myself very much of the time. WOW, how much energy will that save for worthwhile endeavors.
I will, moment by moment, ask for the grace to shift my attitude from that of entitlement to that of gratitude. If I know anything, it's that I'm entitled to nothing but a shallow grave. The fact that I'm blessed beyond measure, living a life of which most only dream should mean my lips never cease to give thanks. No more grumpiness. No more defensive responses. No more fear.
I will try to become more humble without being forced to learn the hard way. Asking for grace each morning to have my prideful pieces revealed and removed peacefully sounds a lot more productive and enjoyable than learning the tough lessons of life through a constantly breaking spirit.
I will dream big dreams, write them down, and work towards them.
That's all I got for now. I hope to add to this list as the spirit strikes.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Entitlement
Today I was reading a post by my friend Abbie about entitlement.
I love Abbie's thoughts about things of this nature. He's got a brilliant mind, he's a phenomenal musician, and he's a recovering alcoholic. He's got great perspectives. Check out this bit:
I was reading the Daily Reflections today and it was talking about conceptualizing a God of your own understanding to ask for help in keeping you sober. And I've done that and it's worked.
He went on . . .
WHO AM I to think that I'm entitled to direction from God? Has my reaction to my last drunk been a sort of mental survival instinct?
Just now since I've been asking that question I've thought, "Well, do I not have the gift of Life in me simply because I am breathing, reasoning and animated?" I certainly do. Doesn't that come from God? Yes. Does that not qualify me somehow to at least get assistance from The Source that stitched me together? I think so.
Just like if I'm in Chattanooga. I have a key to my mother's house. I can go in and get something out of the fridge and spend the night if I want because I'm entitled. I'm her child.
I don't think it's any more complicated than that with God.
I've been studying and thinking on this a lot as of late, and I love where his head's at.
Here's my latest take:
What we're ENTITLED to is death and condemnation, each and every one. We are crappy, selfish people who only consider others when it's within a small margin of our own comfort. We will someday die, and we are powerless to earn ourselves anything afterwards.
What is bestowed upon us, each and every one, is the belonging of which Abbie speaks, like honorary keys to the King's fridge.
Pretty humbling to be so undeserving. Pretty mind-blowing to be loved anyway.
The part where I got hung up for several years was the whole "god of my understanding" part. I got lost in a world where god was understandable, fallible, limitable. The god I had in my head from my childhood was little and powerless. It was not even big enough to throw my crap and baggage at. So I replaced him with more entertaining things like Rock and Whimsy and Good Times. All beautiful things, but utterly meaningless in and of themselves. So I filled my life with things like Stuff and Busy-ness to drown out the numbness and hurt and yearning. It all got kind of dark for a while, because I had no reason to believe in my dreams or even myself. Entropy ensued and my world was crumbling, stone-by-stone. I got hungry for more. For transcendence. Redemption. Relief. Purpose.
So I started looking.
My girlfriend was fantastic, but couldn't tell me why I exist or fix the world I live in.
Losing her got me depression.
Booze got me jail-time and a headache.
Work was, well, work, even though I was doing pretty much exactly what I wanted to do.
Then Truth started popping up in the most unlikely places: Physics, Eastern Philosophy, Taoist principles, Macrobiotics, banned literature, nature. Call it a series of moments akin to the Bag-Caught-In-The-Swirling-Wind scene in American Beauty. Shouts of clarity and guidance amidst the fog.
Then I started to hear a subtle voice. "Hey, it's me. Bet you didn't expect to find me here. People try to stuff me into pretty tight, ill-fitting spaces these days, but I'm no different than I've ever been. If it's truth, then it's me, wherever it may be found. If it hates or destroys, it simply lacks my input. I've given you the choice: Look for truth and beauty and there's my face. Chase honour and wisdom and you'll learn more about my character. Love and welcome each other, and you're spreading pieces of my gospel, no matter what you call it. I've come that you may have life, and have it to the full."
Whoa. That sounds like some of the stuff Jesus said. How come he's made out to be condemning, boring, and irrelevant?
I'm really thankful for my time in the dark. I'm beginning to see the process differently now. No guilt, no shame, just me as I am, and who I'm becoming as I burn all these lies the world sold me.
So I'm thankful for this constant humbling - this re-posturing within the vastness of creation and truth. It's made me to realize to a greater degree my own smallness within the vastness of a real, limitless God. And it makes His personal nature that much more astounding.
What I'm worrying for at the moment is the unfortunate people all around the world who have no picture of anything resembling real love. Child trafficking, child soldiers, child labor, and a cycle of abuse that turns victims into aggressors. Parents, your children are blessed to have you. Most of my friends, you've got at least some idea of love from someone who's taken care of you. But how do you explain mercy to someone who's never received an ounce of it? How do you show limitless love to people who've been marginalized and beat from the day they were born?
This may be a tangent, but I was really convicted this morning. I just don't think we can afford to be silent. A Derek Webb song says "We join the oppressors of those we choose to ignore." Not me, man. Not anymore. It seems every generation is marred by the atrocities they watched transpire. But we can be different. Bold. We can be voices for the voiceless. It's daunting, but darkness can't cohabitate with light, so start where you are. Be nice in traffic. Give a bum a cheeseburger. Smile at the crabby lady in line with you at the supermarket. We're all the same, all in need. As you let out this love, it'll grow in you, but sometimes you have to act on it to activate it.
Signing off for now,
the lowliest of these
I love Abbie's thoughts about things of this nature. He's got a brilliant mind, he's a phenomenal musician, and he's a recovering alcoholic. He's got great perspectives. Check out this bit:
I was reading the Daily Reflections today and it was talking about conceptualizing a God of your own understanding to ask for help in keeping you sober. And I've done that and it's worked.
He went on . . .
WHO AM I to think that I'm entitled to direction from God? Has my reaction to my last drunk been a sort of mental survival instinct?
Just now since I've been asking that question I've thought, "Well, do I not have the gift of Life in me simply because I am breathing, reasoning and animated?" I certainly do. Doesn't that come from God? Yes. Does that not qualify me somehow to at least get assistance from The Source that stitched me together? I think so.
Just like if I'm in Chattanooga. I have a key to my mother's house. I can go in and get something out of the fridge and spend the night if I want because I'm entitled. I'm her child.
I don't think it's any more complicated than that with God.
I've been studying and thinking on this a lot as of late, and I love where his head's at.
Here's my latest take:
What we're ENTITLED to is death and condemnation, each and every one. We are crappy, selfish people who only consider others when it's within a small margin of our own comfort. We will someday die, and we are powerless to earn ourselves anything afterwards.
What is bestowed upon us, each and every one, is the belonging of which Abbie speaks, like honorary keys to the King's fridge.
Pretty humbling to be so undeserving. Pretty mind-blowing to be loved anyway.
The part where I got hung up for several years was the whole "god of my understanding" part. I got lost in a world where god was understandable, fallible, limitable. The god I had in my head from my childhood was little and powerless. It was not even big enough to throw my crap and baggage at. So I replaced him with more entertaining things like Rock and Whimsy and Good Times. All beautiful things, but utterly meaningless in and of themselves. So I filled my life with things like Stuff and Busy-ness to drown out the numbness and hurt and yearning. It all got kind of dark for a while, because I had no reason to believe in my dreams or even myself. Entropy ensued and my world was crumbling, stone-by-stone. I got hungry for more. For transcendence. Redemption. Relief. Purpose.
So I started looking.
My girlfriend was fantastic, but couldn't tell me why I exist or fix the world I live in.
Losing her got me depression.
Booze got me jail-time and a headache.
Work was, well, work, even though I was doing pretty much exactly what I wanted to do.
Then Truth started popping up in the most unlikely places: Physics, Eastern Philosophy, Taoist principles, Macrobiotics, banned literature, nature. Call it a series of moments akin to the Bag-Caught-In-The-Swirling-Wind scene in American Beauty. Shouts of clarity and guidance amidst the fog.
Then I started to hear a subtle voice. "Hey, it's me. Bet you didn't expect to find me here. People try to stuff me into pretty tight, ill-fitting spaces these days, but I'm no different than I've ever been. If it's truth, then it's me, wherever it may be found. If it hates or destroys, it simply lacks my input. I've given you the choice: Look for truth and beauty and there's my face. Chase honour and wisdom and you'll learn more about my character. Love and welcome each other, and you're spreading pieces of my gospel, no matter what you call it. I've come that you may have life, and have it to the full."
Whoa. That sounds like some of the stuff Jesus said. How come he's made out to be condemning, boring, and irrelevant?
I'm really thankful for my time in the dark. I'm beginning to see the process differently now. No guilt, no shame, just me as I am, and who I'm becoming as I burn all these lies the world sold me.
So I'm thankful for this constant humbling - this re-posturing within the vastness of creation and truth. It's made me to realize to a greater degree my own smallness within the vastness of a real, limitless God. And it makes His personal nature that much more astounding.
What I'm worrying for at the moment is the unfortunate people all around the world who have no picture of anything resembling real love. Child trafficking, child soldiers, child labor, and a cycle of abuse that turns victims into aggressors. Parents, your children are blessed to have you. Most of my friends, you've got at least some idea of love from someone who's taken care of you. But how do you explain mercy to someone who's never received an ounce of it? How do you show limitless love to people who've been marginalized and beat from the day they were born?
This may be a tangent, but I was really convicted this morning. I just don't think we can afford to be silent. A Derek Webb song says "We join the oppressors of those we choose to ignore." Not me, man. Not anymore. It seems every generation is marred by the atrocities they watched transpire. But we can be different. Bold. We can be voices for the voiceless. It's daunting, but darkness can't cohabitate with light, so start where you are. Be nice in traffic. Give a bum a cheeseburger. Smile at the crabby lady in line with you at the supermarket. We're all the same, all in need. As you let out this love, it'll grow in you, but sometimes you have to act on it to activate it.
Signing off for now,
the lowliest of these
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