I have slacked off severely in keeping this blog up to date with all the goings-of-on in my life.
To attempt to update the many thoughts and emotions... ahhhh, I don't even want to think about how long it might take!
Instead, I'll leave you with the skeleton of it all.
Christmas is quickly upon us. I feel as though this year the season will be vastly different than all the rest. I'm learning more and more what love looks like. I'm peeling away the layers, and I'm finding that presuppositions and traditions that I've associated with Love are nothing but a facade. Let-downs waiting to happen. But the more that I peel away, the closer I am to discovering the true qualities/nature of Love.
I'm reading books. It has been hard to find the time these days, but I'm finding it refreshing.
Finally, I am standing face to face with my heart. With the help of Jesus, I'm beginning to tackle the callouses that have formed around my heart...
I want to go into more depth on this, but it is late and I feel this deserves more effort.
Check out this video from Francis Chan...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
A Missionary Call by Robert E. Speer
What constitutes a missionary call? It is a good sign that men ask this question. First, because it suggests that they think of the missionary enterprise as singularly related to the will of God. Second, because it indicates that they believe their lives are owned by a Person who has a right to direct them and whose call they must await.
But when we have said these two things, I think we have said everything that can be said in favor of the question because, far too often, it is asked for thoroughly un-Christian reasons.
For instance, Christians will pursue a profession here in the United States having demanded far less positive assurance that this is God's will than it is for them to go out into the mission field. But by what right do they make such distinctions? Christianity contends that the whole of life and all services are to be consecrated; no man should dare to do anything but the will of God. And before he adopts a course of action, a man should know nothing less nor more than that it is God's will for him to pursue it.
If men are going to draw lines of division between different kinds of service, what preposterous reasoning leads them to think that it requires less divine sanction for a man to spend his life easily among Christians than it requires for him to go out as a missionary to the heathen? If men are to have special calls for anything, they ought to have special calls to go about their own business, to have a nice time all their lives, to choose the soft places, to make money, and to gratify their own ambitions.
How can any honest Christian say he must have a special call not to do that sort of thing? How can he say that, unless he gets some specific call of God to preach the Gospel to the heathen, he has a perfect right to spend his life lining his pockets with money? Is it not absurd to suggest that a special call is necessary to become a missionary, but no call is required to gratify his own will or personal ambitions?
There is a general obligation resting upon Christians to see that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is preached to the world. You and I need no special call to apply that general call of God to our lives. We do need a special call to exempt us from its application to our lives. In other words, every one of us stands under a presumptive obligation to give his life to the world unless we have some special exemption.
This whole business of asking for special calls to missionary work does violence to the Bible. There is the command, "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." We say, "That means other people." There is the promise, "Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." We say, "That means me." We must have a special divine indication that we fall under the command; we do not ask any special divine indication that we fall under the blessing. By what right do we draw this line of distinction between the obligations of Christianity and its privileges? By what right to we accept the privileges as applying to every Christian and relegate its obligations to the conscience of the few?
It does violence to the ordinary canons of common sense and honest judgment. We do not think of ordering other areas of our lives on this basis. I think ex-president Patton of Princeton was representing the situation accurately when he used the following illustration. He said, "Imagine I was employed by the owner of a vineyard to gather grapes in his vineyard. The general instructions were that as many grapes as possible should be gathered. I went down to the gate of the vineyard and found the area around the walls well plucked and the ground covered with pickers. Yet away off in the distance no pickers at all are in sight and the vines are loaded to the ground. Would I need a special visit and order from the owner of the vineyard to instruct me as to my duty?"
If I were standing by the bank of a stream, and some
little children were drowning, I would not need any officer of the law to come along and serve on me some legal paper commanding me under such and such a penalty to rescue those children. I should despise myself if I should stand there with the possibility of saving those little lives, waiting until, by some legal proceeding, I was personally designated to rescue them!
Why do we apply, in a matter of infinitely more consequence, principles that we would loathe and abhor if anybody should suggest that we should apply them in the practical affairs of our daily life? Listen for a moment to the wail of the hungry world. Feel for one hour its sufferings. Sympathize for one moment with its woes. And then regard it just as you would regard human want in your neighbor, or the want that you meet as you pass down the street, or anywhere in life.
There is something wonderfully misleading, full of hallucination and delusion in this business of missionary calls. With many of us it is not a missionary call at all that we are looking for; it is a shove. There are a great many of us who would never hear a call if it came. Somebody must come and coerce us before we will go into missionary work.
Every one of us rests under a sort of general obligation to give life and time and possession to the evangelization of the souls everywhere that have never heard of Jesus Christ. And we are bound to go, unless we can offer some sure ground of exemption which we could with a clear conscience present to Jesus Christ and be sure of His approval upon it.
"Well," you ask, "do you mean, then, that I should take my life in my own hands?" No! That is precisely what I am protesting against! That is exactly what we have done. We have taken our lives in our own hands and proposed to go our own way unless God compels us to go some other way. What I ask is that, until God reveals to us some special, individual path on either side, we should give our lives over into Jesus' hands to go in that path which He has clearly marked out before His church.
I want to say one last thing.
I think love will hear calls where the loveless heart will not know that they are sounding. If there were a hundred little children crying, a mother would be able to pick out the voices of her own - especially if they were voices of pain and suffering.
There is a mighty keenness in the ears of love, and I wonder, after all, whether that may not explain a great deal that one is perplexed over in this matter of a special missionary call. Is it possible that, in many cases, it is just a matter of a callused heart, a reluctant will, or a sealed mind?
God so loved the world that He gave. It was need in the world plus love in God that constituted a call for Jesus. Do we need more than what sufficed for Him? If they were our own, would we hesitate and hold back?
Let us lay aside all double-dealing, all moral subterfuge, all those shuffling evasions by which the Devil is attempting to persuade us to escape from our duty, and let us get up like men and look at it and do it.
Students are old enough to decide to do their duty. They are old enough to decide to go to college. They are old enough to decide for law and medicine and other professions. They are old enough, too, to decide this question. God forbid that we should try to hide from solemn consideration of our vital duty behind any kind of pretext.
But when we have said these two things, I think we have said everything that can be said in favor of the question because, far too often, it is asked for thoroughly un-Christian reasons.
For instance, Christians will pursue a profession here in the United States having demanded far less positive assurance that this is God's will than it is for them to go out into the mission field. But by what right do they make such distinctions? Christianity contends that the whole of life and all services are to be consecrated; no man should dare to do anything but the will of God. And before he adopts a course of action, a man should know nothing less nor more than that it is God's will for him to pursue it.
If men are going to draw lines of division between different kinds of service, what preposterous reasoning leads them to think that it requires less divine sanction for a man to spend his life easily among Christians than it requires for him to go out as a missionary to the heathen? If men are to have special calls for anything, they ought to have special calls to go about their own business, to have a nice time all their lives, to choose the soft places, to make money, and to gratify their own ambitions.
How can any honest Christian say he must have a special call not to do that sort of thing? How can he say that, unless he gets some specific call of God to preach the Gospel to the heathen, he has a perfect right to spend his life lining his pockets with money? Is it not absurd to suggest that a special call is necessary to become a missionary, but no call is required to gratify his own will or personal ambitions?
There is a general obligation resting upon Christians to see that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is preached to the world. You and I need no special call to apply that general call of God to our lives. We do need a special call to exempt us from its application to our lives. In other words, every one of us stands under a presumptive obligation to give his life to the world unless we have some special exemption.
This whole business of asking for special calls to missionary work does violence to the Bible. There is the command, "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." We say, "That means other people." There is the promise, "Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." We say, "That means me." We must have a special divine indication that we fall under the command; we do not ask any special divine indication that we fall under the blessing. By what right do we draw this line of distinction between the obligations of Christianity and its privileges? By what right to we accept the privileges as applying to every Christian and relegate its obligations to the conscience of the few?
It does violence to the ordinary canons of common sense and honest judgment. We do not think of ordering other areas of our lives on this basis. I think ex-president Patton of Princeton was representing the situation accurately when he used the following illustration. He said, "Imagine I was employed by the owner of a vineyard to gather grapes in his vineyard. The general instructions were that as many grapes as possible should be gathered. I went down to the gate of the vineyard and found the area around the walls well plucked and the ground covered with pickers. Yet away off in the distance no pickers at all are in sight and the vines are loaded to the ground. Would I need a special visit and order from the owner of the vineyard to instruct me as to my duty?"
If I were standing by the bank of a stream, and some
little children were drowning, I would not need any officer of the law to come along and serve on me some legal paper commanding me under such and such a penalty to rescue those children. I should despise myself if I should stand there with the possibility of saving those little lives, waiting until, by some legal proceeding, I was personally designated to rescue them!
Why do we apply, in a matter of infinitely more consequence, principles that we would loathe and abhor if anybody should suggest that we should apply them in the practical affairs of our daily life? Listen for a moment to the wail of the hungry world. Feel for one hour its sufferings. Sympathize for one moment with its woes. And then regard it just as you would regard human want in your neighbor, or the want that you meet as you pass down the street, or anywhere in life.
There is something wonderfully misleading, full of hallucination and delusion in this business of missionary calls. With many of us it is not a missionary call at all that we are looking for; it is a shove. There are a great many of us who would never hear a call if it came. Somebody must come and coerce us before we will go into missionary work.
Every one of us rests under a sort of general obligation to give life and time and possession to the evangelization of the souls everywhere that have never heard of Jesus Christ. And we are bound to go, unless we can offer some sure ground of exemption which we could with a clear conscience present to Jesus Christ and be sure of His approval upon it.
"Well," you ask, "do you mean, then, that I should take my life in my own hands?" No! That is precisely what I am protesting against! That is exactly what we have done. We have taken our lives in our own hands and proposed to go our own way unless God compels us to go some other way. What I ask is that, until God reveals to us some special, individual path on either side, we should give our lives over into Jesus' hands to go in that path which He has clearly marked out before His church.
I want to say one last thing.
I think love will hear calls where the loveless heart will not know that they are sounding. If there were a hundred little children crying, a mother would be able to pick out the voices of her own - especially if they were voices of pain and suffering.
There is a mighty keenness in the ears of love, and I wonder, after all, whether that may not explain a great deal that one is perplexed over in this matter of a special missionary call. Is it possible that, in many cases, it is just a matter of a callused heart, a reluctant will, or a sealed mind?
God so loved the world that He gave. It was need in the world plus love in God that constituted a call for Jesus. Do we need more than what sufficed for Him? If they were our own, would we hesitate and hold back?
Let us lay aside all double-dealing, all moral subterfuge, all those shuffling evasions by which the Devil is attempting to persuade us to escape from our duty, and let us get up like men and look at it and do it.
Students are old enough to decide to do their duty. They are old enough to decide to go to college. They are old enough to decide for law and medicine and other professions. They are old enough, too, to decide this question. God forbid that we should try to hide from solemn consideration of our vital duty behind any kind of pretext.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Forgive.
It's harder than you think. And it might have to be done more than once.
But I find that it's easier when you take a step away from yourself. When I think of the horrible things I have done, it's easier to forgive others. And when I think of the Love that God pours out upon me each day... how can I refrain from forgiving those who wrong me?
Easier said than done, you say? Yes. But if you are a believer, it can be done.
Life is too beautiful and fragile to let bitterness eat around the seams of your heart.
But I find that it's easier when you take a step away from yourself. When I think of the horrible things I have done, it's easier to forgive others. And when I think of the Love that God pours out upon me each day... how can I refrain from forgiving those who wrong me?
Easier said than done, you say? Yes. But if you are a believer, it can be done.
Life is too beautiful and fragile to let bitterness eat around the seams of your heart.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
"Death In His Grave"- John Mark McMillan
We are all swept up in a this beautiful story... this great Love pursues us relentlessly.
Though the Earth Cried out for blood
Satisfied her hunger was
Her billows calmed on raging seas
for the souls on men she craved
Sun and moon from balcony
Turned their head in disbelief
Their precious Love would taste the sting
disfigured and disdained
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
So three days in darkness slept
The Morning Sun of righteousness
But rose to shame the throes of death
And over turn his rule
Now daughters and the sons of men
Would pay not their dues again
The debt of blood they owed was rent
When the day rolled a new
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke holding keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
Of Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
He has cheated
Hell and seated
Us above the fall
In desperate places
He paid our wages
One time once and for all
Though the Earth Cried out for blood
Satisfied her hunger was
Her billows calmed on raging seas
for the souls on men she craved
Sun and moon from balcony
Turned their head in disbelief
Their precious Love would taste the sting
disfigured and disdained
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
So three days in darkness slept
The Morning Sun of righteousness
But rose to shame the throes of death
And over turn his rule
Now daughters and the sons of men
Would pay not their dues again
The debt of blood they owed was rent
When the day rolled a new
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke holding keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
Of Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave
He has cheated
Hell and seated
Us above the fall
In desperate places
He paid our wages
One time once and for all
Monday, June 7, 2010
Culture is Everything!
Culture is Everything, and this can be so frustrating when trying to communicate. I was rummaging through some old text books (I have a lot of free time) and I found myself reading a passage on culture and language and communication. Most of what I read was in the context of communicating the Gospel of Christ to cultures other than the Western world. Immediately I thought that sharing the message of Christ sounded like an impossible task. How do you break down such cultural barriers in order to communicate truth in a way that is properly understood?
But immediately after that thought, the author put me in my place. [The context of the following excerpt rests in "Christianizing" non-Christian terms (usually terms in languages or cultures other than our own). This indefinitely causes a confusion due to the differences in cultural meanings.]
It said:
"The missionary who takes the Fall seriously, then, must stop to define his terms. Which terms? Those terms indicated by the distance between divine truth and cultural error. The definitional process must proceed by compassion and contrast. If this process seems too painstaking for the Western missionary who is used to instant everything-- from instant cake to instant coffee-- so be it. But he should know that to build Christian conversion on non-Christian foundations is like building skyscrapers on sand."
Fruit from the labor is not instantaneously produced. And to conquer a cultural mountain will ultimately take time and effort whether it be across the Atlantic or across the Mason-Dixon.
Culture is Everything!
But immediately after that thought, the author put me in my place. [The context of the following excerpt rests in "Christianizing" non-Christian terms (usually terms in languages or cultures other than our own). This indefinitely causes a confusion due to the differences in cultural meanings.]
It said:
"The missionary who takes the Fall seriously, then, must stop to define his terms. Which terms? Those terms indicated by the distance between divine truth and cultural error. The definitional process must proceed by compassion and contrast. If this process seems too painstaking for the Western missionary who is used to instant everything-- from instant cake to instant coffee-- so be it. But he should know that to build Christian conversion on non-Christian foundations is like building skyscrapers on sand."
Fruit from the labor is not instantaneously produced. And to conquer a cultural mountain will ultimately take time and effort whether it be across the Atlantic or across the Mason-Dixon.
Culture is Everything!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
The Simple Pleasures in Life.
My nephews spent the weekend with me. Although it was a rainy weekend, we still made the best of it. They found the simple pleasure of playing in the rain. It was a good day.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The breath in my Lungs.
I've been staring at my computer screen for about 10 minutes wondering how to pour out refurbished words regarding Jesus, the cross, His waking, and His ascension.
My fear, ultimately, is that I will sound cliché and fanatic. I'm always concerned at how the majority of the western world views a Christ believer... mostly, the view they hold is what they draw from very misguided people who only imitate hate and/or diluted Christianity. I refuse to be associated with these extremists who delegate aversion and half-truths. They are (if they are lucky) the embarrassing family member of the body.
Jesus.
That name has been tainted throughout the years. Many have never heard the name, but for some, the name only conveys intolerance, condemnation, scorn, guilt, hopelessness, hurt, frustration, scandal, shame, ect. Humanity to blame.
When the story, in its complexity and wholeness, is consumed and stirred and savored, the theme of love, forgiveness, hope, suspense, perseverance, endurance, adventure, sorrow yet coaxed by sustaining joy, imperfection cured by the incarnation, cursed but finally redeemed, heartache remedied in the final hope.... all of this is the remnants of the story. This is the gospel. The "good news". The feet of Jesus delivered this message, and He required us to continue carrying it, living it, and embracing it. It remained, it remains, and it will remain. Forever.
Easter is tomorrow. For the skeptics, I am well learned in the history of Easter and where it derived from and why we celebrate it when we do.... and I count it irrelevant to the issue at hand, so I will save you the time and inform you that I am not ignorant and I am not naive in my faith or belief. (I once heard it said that it is in our human nature to be religious. Such holidays fall under that category... whether it derives from a pagan holiday, tradition, and/or practice, it is almost natural for us to want some type of ceremonial ritual, remembrance, and/or celebration, ect.)
And because it is Easter, I can't help but recall Jesus and my debt He paid for me. In all humility I remember and I am thankful to no end.
My Christ, I love you very much. Thank you for sacrificing your life for me and everyone you knew would believe in You. I rest in the Hope that I will see you one day because life is so tiny and short. But I also rest in Your promises. I only hope that while I am here I make you smile. May my life be a sweet fragrance to You. Be as close as the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs.
Amen.
My fear, ultimately, is that I will sound cliché and fanatic. I'm always concerned at how the majority of the western world views a Christ believer... mostly, the view they hold is what they draw from very misguided people who only imitate hate and/or diluted Christianity. I refuse to be associated with these extremists who delegate aversion and half-truths. They are (if they are lucky) the embarrassing family member of the body.
Jesus.
That name has been tainted throughout the years. Many have never heard the name, but for some, the name only conveys intolerance, condemnation, scorn, guilt, hopelessness, hurt, frustration, scandal, shame, ect. Humanity to blame.
When the story, in its complexity and wholeness, is consumed and stirred and savored, the theme of love, forgiveness, hope, suspense, perseverance, endurance, adventure, sorrow yet coaxed by sustaining joy, imperfection cured by the incarnation, cursed but finally redeemed, heartache remedied in the final hope.... all of this is the remnants of the story. This is the gospel. The "good news". The feet of Jesus delivered this message, and He required us to continue carrying it, living it, and embracing it. It remained, it remains, and it will remain. Forever.
Easter is tomorrow. For the skeptics, I am well learned in the history of Easter and where it derived from and why we celebrate it when we do.... and I count it irrelevant to the issue at hand, so I will save you the time and inform you that I am not ignorant and I am not naive in my faith or belief. (I once heard it said that it is in our human nature to be religious. Such holidays fall under that category... whether it derives from a pagan holiday, tradition, and/or practice, it is almost natural for us to want some type of ceremonial ritual, remembrance, and/or celebration, ect.)
And because it is Easter, I can't help but recall Jesus and my debt He paid for me. In all humility I remember and I am thankful to no end.
My Christ, I love you very much. Thank you for sacrificing your life for me and everyone you knew would believe in You. I rest in the Hope that I will see you one day because life is so tiny and short. But I also rest in Your promises. I only hope that while I am here I make you smile. May my life be a sweet fragrance to You. Be as close as the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs.
Amen.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Overtake me.
To be quite honest, I'm overly exhausted and writing a blog is the last thing I really desire to do right now. However, I feel like I'm over due, and there are a few fresh thoughts napping on my heart.
A year ago yesterday, a friend of mine touched the hand of Jesus after a fatal car accident. An anniversary like that is always difficult to endure. Even more difficult for those extremely close to the one who's gone. He left this earth at the age of potential. As a college student, junior year, he held the potential to move mountains and conquer all obstacles with the brawn of youth and the wisdom of Scholar. The brink of aspiration.... and it is not fair to leave at such a stage in life.
This past weekend I attended a wedding and a funeral. On Saturday, I celebrated two good friends dedicating their lives to one another and to God. A day on which what you feel can't be described because you can't describe what you have never felt (the words of Dan). The day of solid vows, promises that are etched to the bone. And every heart and hand can't help but congratulate in ecstasy on such an occasion.
On Sunday, I stood at a graveside as two dear friends buried their first born child. Too tender a subject to even find the words. My spirit grieves with my friends. It is the beauty and the hag of the Body... to bare the burdens of one another. Who wants to bare such a tragic burden? But. The beauty... the beauty in the oneness of the Body of Christ. Designed to edify the other. Lifting each other from the depths of despair and decay. Brotherhood. Sisterhood. Under Christ. With Christ. Through Christ. In Christ.
A stew of emotions overtake me.
And I don't understand the purpose of what happens.
But I trust. I hope in Hope.
I know that one day, I will be Home. I will belong.
A year ago yesterday, a friend of mine touched the hand of Jesus after a fatal car accident. An anniversary like that is always difficult to endure. Even more difficult for those extremely close to the one who's gone. He left this earth at the age of potential. As a college student, junior year, he held the potential to move mountains and conquer all obstacles with the brawn of youth and the wisdom of Scholar. The brink of aspiration.... and it is not fair to leave at such a stage in life.
This past weekend I attended a wedding and a funeral. On Saturday, I celebrated two good friends dedicating their lives to one another and to God. A day on which what you feel can't be described because you can't describe what you have never felt (the words of Dan). The day of solid vows, promises that are etched to the bone. And every heart and hand can't help but congratulate in ecstasy on such an occasion.
On Sunday, I stood at a graveside as two dear friends buried their first born child. Too tender a subject to even find the words. My spirit grieves with my friends. It is the beauty and the hag of the Body... to bare the burdens of one another. Who wants to bare such a tragic burden? But. The beauty... the beauty in the oneness of the Body of Christ. Designed to edify the other. Lifting each other from the depths of despair and decay. Brotherhood. Sisterhood. Under Christ. With Christ. Through Christ. In Christ.
A stew of emotions overtake me.
And I don't understand the purpose of what happens.
But I trust. I hope in Hope.
I know that one day, I will be Home. I will belong.
And even if everything in my life never makes sense... one day, I will be with my Father. With Jesus. With my family in Christ. The Body, the Bride.
And there will be an End to this mist of a life.
As for now, I will cling to the promise of Eternity.
I will cling to the promise of Hope.
Overtake me.
And there will be an End to this mist of a life.
As for now, I will cling to the promise of Eternity.
I will cling to the promise of Hope.
Overtake me.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Behind the Ramparts.
The benefit of pen and paper rests in the fact that it is mostly available at all times. It happens on a regular occasion during the day that I find myself captured by my thoughts, but rarely do I reach for a pen and pad to jot it down.
I probably should start.
Today is Saturday, and it was a great Saturday. John and I took my car to the mechanics and we met up with my parents and little sister for breakfast. Sadly, we are almost never up for the most important meal of the day, and if by some chance we are, the norm is to neglect it due to our fast paced, "I'm running late" schedule.
After breakfast, we went to the bank and then to Barnes and Noble. John immediately snagged a few audio engineering (recording) magazines, and I restlessly browsed about in the fiction section. Book title after book title took me back to many reading assignments from Junior High into High School and even to more recent literature from college. I read a little from Geoffrey Chaucer, TS Elliot, and a few others. It was good to reminisce. I finally settled with a book I'd gotten wind of from a friend and nestled into a creaky chair beside John.
And we read.
We came home and watched a few episodes of Lost (of which I am now addicted to), and then I napped a little while watching a suggested Zombieland. I woke to John playing with my hair, moving it out of my face and whispering that he was ready to grab some late lunch. I smiled and submitted. I wasn't much hungry, but he was very convincing.
It's days like this that form this undeniable battle within me: it's my silver-spoon of a life vs. 2/3 of the world that face the realty of survival at each sunrise.
I read about it and gaze at the pictures oh-so conveniently from my yahoo.news homepage.
Every part of me knows that I am not worthy to live the life that I have. I am a rotten, self-centered person, yet God has given me so much. And I am haunted with the question of "why?" I could have easily been born on the other side of the Ramparts, but I wasn't.
One day, maybe soon... maybe years from now, John and I will take our first step onto the soil that rests outside the walls the American life. And we may never look back. Instead, we will look into the faces of those richer than I have ever seen. We will see into lives filled with pain, hopelessness, false promises, sickness, starvation, abuse, hypocrisy, and lies. The least of these.
I probably should start.
Today is Saturday, and it was a great Saturday. John and I took my car to the mechanics and we met up with my parents and little sister for breakfast. Sadly, we are almost never up for the most important meal of the day, and if by some chance we are, the norm is to neglect it due to our fast paced, "I'm running late" schedule.
After breakfast, we went to the bank and then to Barnes and Noble. John immediately snagged a few audio engineering (recording) magazines, and I restlessly browsed about in the fiction section. Book title after book title took me back to many reading assignments from Junior High into High School and even to more recent literature from college. I read a little from Geoffrey Chaucer, TS Elliot, and a few others. It was good to reminisce. I finally settled with a book I'd gotten wind of from a friend and nestled into a creaky chair beside John.
And we read.
We came home and watched a few episodes of Lost (of which I am now addicted to), and then I napped a little while watching a suggested Zombieland. I woke to John playing with my hair, moving it out of my face and whispering that he was ready to grab some late lunch. I smiled and submitted. I wasn't much hungry, but he was very convincing.
It's days like this that form this undeniable battle within me: it's my silver-spoon of a life vs. 2/3 of the world that face the realty of survival at each sunrise.
I read about it and gaze at the pictures oh-so conveniently from my yahoo.news homepage.
Every part of me knows that I am not worthy to live the life that I have. I am a rotten, self-centered person, yet God has given me so much. And I am haunted with the question of "why?" I could have easily been born on the other side of the Ramparts, but I wasn't.
One day, maybe soon... maybe years from now, John and I will take our first step onto the soil that rests outside the walls the American life. And we may never look back. Instead, we will look into the faces of those richer than I have ever seen. We will see into lives filled with pain, hopelessness, false promises, sickness, starvation, abuse, hypocrisy, and lies. The least of these.
And we will sit at their feet and listen and weep. We will walk with them. We will love.
Everyday, I pray this will happen.
Remember.
Remember.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Worth the Fight.
Today, while daydreaming, I remembered a time in kindergarten when my teacher asked me to say a blessing before we went to lunch. I suppose this was before "they took prayer out of the schools" (which this statement never made sense to me, because who can take away something that happens in the soul?
This memory is special to me now because I can see God gently sweeping me into His story at a fragile age. I hardly ever attended church as a child, but my mom still told me about Jesus and about praying. I even had a bible that my grandma bought me when I was born. Sometimes, mom would read it to me.
I remember that everyday before lunch my teacher would ask someone to pray, and everyday someone would say prayer. It was always a rhyming prayer, almost like a poem, something that was taught in sunday school or something: "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food...." and so on. This was the FIRST time I had ever heard this. I remember thinking, "this must be the right way to pray... I really hope I don't get asked to pray because I don't know how this goes."
Then one day, I was asked to "say the blessing."
I don't remember what I said, but I remember it was not the rhyming prayer. I took a deep breathe...
And prayed.
After the Amen, I looked up and my teacher had tears in her eyes. I don't know why. But she later told my mom how it was the sweetest prayer she had ever heard. (Then my mom wanted me to pray at every family function... I don't think my any of my prayers have ever lived up to that one I prayed in kindergarten.)
I'm not writing this to puff myself up at all, but I just remember this and think of how tender the heart of a child must be. How vulnerable our hearts can be in the days of our childhood... I'm sure at that moment, I was having a conversation with the Almighty... just me and my Daddy.
Yet, my heart saddens at the thought of how fast I ran from Him as I grew a little older.
But how thankful am I that He pursued me and wooed me back to His heart!
A little sappy... but, man, God just didn't let go... and I had no clue that He was fighting for my heart through all the hell that my childhood endured. Oh, what
When I had no daddy... He was holding my heart in his hands.
When I moved from house to house... He was making a home for me in eternity.
This memory is special to me now because I can see God gently sweeping me into His story at a fragile age. I hardly ever attended church as a child, but my mom still told me about Jesus and about praying. I even had a bible that my grandma bought me when I was born. Sometimes, mom would read it to me.
I remember that everyday before lunch my teacher would ask someone to pray, and everyday someone would say prayer. It was always a rhyming prayer, almost like a poem, something that was taught in sunday school or something: "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food...." and so on. This was the FIRST time I had ever heard this. I remember thinking, "this must be the right way to pray... I really hope I don't get asked to pray because I don't know how this goes."
Then one day, I was asked to "say the blessing."
I don't remember what I said, but I remember it was not the rhyming prayer. I took a deep breathe...
And prayed.
After the Amen, I looked up and my teacher had tears in her eyes. I don't know why. But she later told my mom how it was the sweetest prayer she had ever heard. (Then my mom wanted me to pray at every family function... I don't think my any of my prayers have ever lived up to that one I prayed in kindergarten.)
I'm not writing this to puff myself up at all, but I just remember this and think of how tender the heart of a child must be. How vulnerable our hearts can be in the days of our childhood... I'm sure at that moment, I was having a conversation with the Almighty... just me and my Daddy.
Yet, my heart saddens at the thought of how fast I ran from Him as I grew a little older.
But how thankful am I that He pursued me and wooed me back to His heart!
A little sappy... but, man, God just didn't let go... and I had no clue that He was fighting for my heart through all the hell that my childhood endured. Oh, what
When I had no daddy... He was holding my heart in his hands.
When I moved from house to house... He was making a home for me in eternity.
He thought I was worth the fight.
And you just can't compete with that kind of love...
And you just can't compete with that kind of love...
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Refrain.
Most of the time I refrain. Mostly out of fear, mostly out of self-esteem, mostly out of hind-sight. Sometimes, it is good to refrain. If I were to unleash every thought that came to mind, I'd probably stamp unfortunate destruction in the lives of those so dear to me. Words do cut so deep. But sometimes, it's dull to refrain. Life could be so very boring and "un-indulged". We should never refrain from Love.
I hope for wisdom to know when to refrain and when not to refrain.
But may I never refrain from Love.
I hope for wisdom to know when to refrain and when not to refrain.
But may I never refrain from Love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
