Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that.
I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness.
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Behold, a new thing comes like a dove.
The nails in the door glimmer with light and my head is light.
I stop.
I start.
I am back to fishing. Fishing to forget.
I have bit my nails to the quick.
He says to be a shepherd.
I will feed his sheep forever.
Then you do not hate me?
Let us love and sing and wonder.
I grow excited again.
There is no because.
Just a go.
a do.
a believe.
a love.
Yes, I am excited.
The nails drop to the ground.
Surely this man was the son of God!
And the rain begins.
I do not care what the gardener has to say.
I am weeping. And I do not wish to be told to go.
He is speaking and I do not want to listen.
Why? Because they have taken my Lord from me.
There are lilies and sand.
I loved him.
He says my name.
I am altogether with him and my hands find his, the places the nails pierced
He says My God and Your God.
Never again will demons torment me.
Like a lamb
He was silent
Like a child
He did not weep
I am ashamed
I nail the door shut
I weep for him and
wash my hands
Tell me you love me
Take me back to the start
It's not as simple as that.
You're a bad person.
You deserve your lot.
Don't bite the hand that feeds you
rrrip
TODAY YOU WILL BE WITH ME IN PARADISE
amen and amen
i have calmed and quieted my soul
indeed, this is a new thing
The nails fall broken
Love is always a new thing.
We do not understand.
So
show
us
your
grace
We believe
in the name of Love
our Father
who art in heaven
We believe
in It is finished
in the water
and the blood
We believe in Joseph's wasted tomb
We believe in John's death
We believe in Peter's life
We believe in Mary's disgrace
And Pontius Pilate's downfall
We believe in the faith of a thief
Our sleeves are torn
Our hearts are whole
It is as simple as that.
(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)
Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that. A thief
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
blood
in
my
mouth
in my hands
nails
in my hands
darkpainbloodblackingoutheartbeat
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
i am not afraid to die
just let me die now
throw me in an unmarked grave like the rest
rest
i need rest
no one will remember my name
to be honest, i'm glad. i'm not a good person
blacking out again
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
memory and other things i don't need
sound and other things i don't want
beside me another forgotten
forgetful
what am i called again?
a thief?
a murderer?
a man?
there's another one beside me, wetting
me with his
black black black no air
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
words
words
i have no use for words
why are you speaking
you foolish
what do they call you?
i don't even remember my name
let alone who you are
ogodogodogod letmedienowpleaseletmedie
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
you are a fool
my brother
you are a fool
do you remember what you did to end up here?
i don't.
yes i do.
i can see the faces
don't you remember too, my brother?
and the one
the one in the center center center i can't
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
i ask nothing of you
i have nothing i can ask you for
you who chose this
bloodbreathsourwineburningbloodbloodblood
i did not choose it
i do not regret it
what else could have been done me?
i would bow before you
but all i can do is struggle against these
nailsnailsnails
to say
rip
rrrrrip
breath
out
o LORD
remember me
when YOU
enter
YOUR
KINGDOM
for i will never see you again
but you will judge my soul
stretching up trying to
breatheagainstnails
will i ever
see
you
again
.
.
.
out
Paradise finds its existence. (to be continued) (Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)
Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that. Pontius
The violins are a sweet song, and I like them much better than the cries of the dying and the ugly sound of a mob.
I like to think of myself as a gentleman. I'm not a bad man, not at all. I pay my taxes. Have a pleasant wife and a decent family. I do my job without deviation or bribery. I'm a servant of the people. Everything a governor should be. I'm not corrupt, not violent, just a genuinely good person.
So why do I sit here, cleaning blood out of my nails and pretending I can't see the way my hands are shaking?
My hands are clean. I have washed them many times.
But I can't escape the smell of blood. It's in my hair, in my hands, in the throats of the natives as they shout for it in the veins of the man who I am not responsible for, the one whose blood is running in rivers in Jerusalem.
He is not my responsibility. He is not my fault.
I stand up, thinking about going home. It's late, I think. My wife will be waiting up for me. It's long overdue for me to be headed home. And then I sit back down, feeling the olive trees around me and the weight of the world tipping dangerously. No. I can't go home. Not like this.
All of them shouted my name. Coupled it to things that I was afraid of. They say they know what they are doing.
No one knows the price of blood on your hands.
I don't allow myself to think about the one they call the king of the Jews.
He is not my responsibility.
If they had not brought up Caesar -
But they did. It doesn't really matter - I straighten and run my hands over the nails in the gate - I am a servant of the people. I will do as they ask.
My stomach churns. Somewhere, a murderer is laughing at his good fortune and getting drunk in celebration. Not that far away - I tell myself I can not hear the screams and smell the blood - there is a man on a hill who is innocent. I feel sick.
He is not my fault.
I never could get the hang of Passover. So many Jews. Underfoot. Smelling of religion and subversiveness and mumbling frustration. I thought at first he was one of them. Just another Zealot calling for Roman blood.
He calls for his own blood.
He is innocent. I can not get past that.
I am all that a governor should be. I listened to my people.
So why do I stand, scrubbing at my hands as if they will never truly be clean, which, I think, they never will be?
Strange. I wash my hands and feel more dirty than before.
My wife has been crying her eyes out. She will say she knew it. She did. She was right.
No! I did what was right!
I can not get him out of my head. The way his tears were blood and his blood was water and the water that pours from the fountain is all blood too. I tell myself he is a criminal. I tell myself that the Jews want it this way. I tell myself that the lash in my hand was the scourge of justice.
I ignore the women - I refuse to give them names - who loved him most. His followers, who, with inked in lines on their bitter faces and frightened chewing-of-lips, cried their quiet tears.
The man they call the king called this love.
Love! Is this what you meant, you ignorant prophet?
Why can't I stop thinking of him? This is not the first death sentence I've given.
My stomach turns again.
He is not my responsibility. He is not my fault.
I wash my hands of you, you foolish martyr!
I look at my reddened nails and my heart seizes.
I will never be rid of him.
I know this now.
He will never really leave any of us, will he?
His silence is haunting. As deep as the ocean. Mysterious as death.
Or mysterious as love. I can not reconcile what I know and what the king said.
I feel the tug of life and of love in my stomach.
My hands shake.
He is not my responsibility.
He is
not
my
fault.
Love is irreconcilable. (to be continued) (Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)
Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that. Mary
My mouth tastes as bitter as nails. I could swear that when I saw his blood, it was mine too. My skin all over hurts. I'm quivering. I vomit up fear and shake more.
This is no place for a lady.
I am no lady, though, everyone knows that.
I can't stay here.
I run.
Until my feet are sore and bleeding and I'm beneath a palm tree somewhere far away and I don't really care what they think of me because, really, did they expect me to watch him die?
I know it shouldn't smell like blood here. Why does it?
I'm still shaking.
He won't die. He can't. He's like Elijah, my Lord. He is like Enoch. He will be taken to heaven in glory, I tell myself. But I can't shake the image of him, if indeed that was him, covered in blood and flayed skin, holding his insides in and carrying the burden of it all on his shoulders. Nails all in him.
He did warn us, I think. But never like this. Never did I picture it going like this.
My whole life is wrapped up in him. I don't know what I'd do without him.
It's with a sinking feeling that I gag and ask myself what this means. I just really don't know. I don't know anyone like him, my Lord.
What is really a marvel is the fact that it's been just a few years. I can still remember the days before my Lord. I envy, to think of it, the girls who will come after me and know him forever. Or something like forever. He's gone now, I try to tell myself.
The smell of sulfur always and the momentary appeasement of seven inner demons brought about by doing what they wanted, all the while sleeping in trees and by rocks and in homes I did not know. Blankly, I think that I was taken advantage of a lot, by the men and by the demons, but I really don't think I was. I invited it. I wanted it. But once it happened, I really wanted to take it all back.
He didn't mind the way I screamed. The thing I had become. I am not yet at a place where I can think about the seven demons and the way I was without crying. Maybe I never will.
Oh, who cares. Today I have a right to cry.
I have cried a lot in the past week. I think usually I'd be ashamed of this. But I've known what the others haven't, that this Passover is his death wish. I don't know what in me knew, but I've been mourning his death for days. Only now, when he is actually - probably, I say, not actually but probably - dead I can't accept it.
Maybe this is why I anointed him for burial on Sunday. I couldn't have done it today.
There's a nail on the tree trunk sticking out and my hand catches on it and bleeds.
I'm all alone now. I smell sulfur once again and I start to shake. I was alone before. I can do it again.
No. I really can't.
Anyone else, I'd say I'd fallen in love. But I know that's not what it is.
Is it fear that he's gone?
I watch the blood pool in my hand.
I don't know what love is.
I've had so many men in my life. It would be easy to write this one off as a particularly bad choice. Sorry, everyone, I picked a crazy blasphemer. Oops.
But lies taste like sulfur and I can't abide sulfur.
I gag.
I don't know how to love him.
Blood and dirt and vomit.
That's just it, isn't it? I do know what love is. It's him. But it is new. Newer than the blood sun rising up.
God! Give me back the demons and let him go!
I don't know
how
help
me
I've fallen
and
I
can't
find
my
way
back
he's a man, right?
There's more to him. (to be continued) (Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)
Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that. Peter
Never have I hated roosters more than right now.
I know it's not right for me to blame it. But I choose to blame everything. Everything and everyone. And very much myself.
I think, Simon. Really. You couldn't get your act together by the third time?
I reply, No, I'm an idiot. What do you expect?
As I stare at the nails hammered into the gate, the gate to a garden which I would like to forget about, I gloomily recall other idiotic moments. There are too many of them. More since I met the Teacher.
The time I got all excited about walking on water and nearly drowned because I was faithless. Not my best moment. Me, faithless in front of the whole group. No, not my proudest moment in the least.
So many times I shouted out some stupid answer because it was just burning at my throat to be said and then I'd get this look from him or from them that was clearly saying, Simon. Stick to fishing. You don't know anything.
Bitterly, with darkness laughing against my cheeks, I realize it's true.
Three times!
There is a stony darkness in me that that is burning my belly. I think of the Teacher, who is really the only person who ever believed I could do something right. The darkness is clawing its way up my jaw. I feel my face tighten and burn. I refuse to let myself believe that he is dead.
But I know he is.
I have a nail in my hands and I'm running it against the ground, absently writing. I think it's my name.
I brush my hand over it. I am Simon now, because Peter would have held fast.
I am not a rock. I'm as changeable as the wind and no amount of excitement can change that.
Lying is so easy. You just let a little half-truth slip out, grin in bitter memory, and carry on.
His name, paired with lies bitter as soap, is burned on my tongue. I'll never be able to look him in the face again.
And I might not be able to, I realize and then my heart seizes up again.
I don't love him, I tell myself. It's not like if Andrew had been carted off or something. Then I wouldn't deny it - he's my brother, of course not - but I would know what this tightness in my throat was called.
I'm too ashamed to look into the sky and pray, God forgive me, I am an idiot.
So I bow my chin against my chest and weep. The nails falls from my fingers and I am overcome by what I've done.
Why do you believe in me, Lord?
Because you believe in me.
My hands are dirty.
I want to make it up to him somehow.
And then I realize it. He is new. He is doing a new thing.
Oh take me back to the start
I could not hear
My ears have forgotten
I miss
I miss
The dawn comes softly and I put the nail in the garden gate, which I remember well. He is greater than me I fail not, and all is well.
Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert. Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation... I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn't as simple as that.
John
I weep a lot these days. They'd laugh if they could hear me say that, the men who travelled with me in the desert. "Really now, John?" They'd say, pounding nails for the tents into ground. "You, a weeping man? Where's the repent and fire business?"
Or maybe not. They had been there too, the first time I really wept before men.
My mother, when she was alive, would look at me with those sad brown eyes, turned golden by sun and by age and say, "John what is wrong?" I can't even count how many times she'd said that while I was growing up, because I did not weep. My mother was special that way. She always knew things. She saw things that others shut their eyes to, like how I never wept.
I miss mother, I think, with tears in my eyes. My father too. I think of them often these days, now that I see.
I remember being a much younger man and my father telling me about the child I was born to herald. He said love a lot, with his cloudy voice. "Father, I'm a man." I'd say. "Not some simpering magician, a prophet, Father. A prophet's passion must leave no room for silly love."
He wept at that.
For a long time, while I fought Herod among the lions in the desert, I told myself the same thing. I'd pound in the nails for my tent and say, "God is just."
I met the child, you know. The one my father used to tell me about, the Christ. He came to me as I shouted and my heart grew full of fire as I stood in the river, wet with the Jordan and with teh sweat of righteous anger.
Oh no, Lord. I am unworthy to even untie your sandals.
I all of a sudden understood my parents in that moment. All of a sudden, my eyes were full of tears and I knew what was wrong with me when my mother asked. It was the same thing that my father had tried to ask me.
What is love?
Look how far I've come. I'm not sure if it is blood or tears running down my face. Far cry from the voice crying in the wilderness, I'm reduced to counting nails in the prison door, counting time by the shadows of the sun and times my enemy has asked me who I am now. What I am now.
My insides are being eaten away and my enemy exults and what do I do? I weep.
I weep for Herod and for the hungry fire of my enemy eating with pain at his soul.
I weep for the girl who dances while she asks for my death as a game and the way that she will one day weep in bitterness because her childhood has been stolen in fear.
I weep for my disciples, who laugh and preach and sing the psalms, but who will fall to pieces like a jar when I am gone. They just don't know. Please God, they don't know what they're doing.
Mostly, I weep for the child. My father was right. Love isn't what I thought it was. What love is this? He is my friend.
And I tremble as I think this.
I know him.
I weep.
I am just a voice, Child. I am yours, save me.
Somewhere, I think he weeps too, and there is glory in his tears.
My enemy is trembling now. I can see the devouring fire in his belly and I choose to stand and laugh amidst my tears.
This is called love, my enemy.
A dove alights.
I hear my Savior say, Thy strength indeed is small.
My head, my head
Tears fail not.
A nail falls like a pin dropping
And
i
with
it
Love is a new thing. (to be continued) (Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's Henry and June, and W.S. Merwin's The Nails provide the epigraph.)
Maybe that song is not quite as appropriate as I had first thought. Though I hope the next time I see all of you, it won't be on a plate.
Tomorrow at the crack of dawn, Joss and I are heading off to Tennessee, for a few days and a few weeks, respectively. So, to all of you Colorado people, to my family, and to many of you, I guess this is goodbye. But I'll see you soon again, in a few weeks.
I love you. Goodbye.
"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called to one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs with thankfulness in your heart to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."
Toss to the sunset our broken bouquet until the dusk is here
"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light."
Then came the Day of the Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed...
Afraid, I walked
In gloomy streets God, O God, pass over me...So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat it."
We walk together
He and I, we saw
On every corner, a face
Ah, how we should have known it
For it was the face of him
They said to him, "Where will you have us prepare it?"
Sadness
Glory
On his brow
Where is a place for this man?
I can not find him
He said to them, "Behold, when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters,"
Water, I thirst Why can not this void within be quenched? I will follow you Where are you? Where are you taking me?"And tell the master of the house, 'The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?'
In the corner of the room,
There is a vase
-We are all fearful -
In it, still, still his face
Why do I not recognize it?
And he said to them, "I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer."
Everywhere, I see guilt
And faces
Faces, I see them, I am
Afraid, I do not know who this is
I earnestly desire to be in your kingdom, Teacher
I would not be afraid there
And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying,"> "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me."
Broken, like my heart
I do not see anything but this unknown face
Who are you?
I remember, Lord, but
Why, why indeed, would I need to?
And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him.
I see more clearly here in the dark
Here you are!
I see the face and I know you.
And here you come to leave us all
Paradox
I don't understand, but tomorrow
Tomorrow, I will see
Tomorrow I will understand
Now I know in part
Perhaps I will understand as I am understood
What a sad, sad story
To see your face in prayer
Here among the Olive Trees
You are, I recognize, your face
In paradox
I've realized something. All adults struggle with confidence. We all live as half-people, showing our one face to the light, hiding the other in the darkness. We live just flashing hints of the other side, but so infrequently that others don't even know it's there.
Why is this? All children are born with a natural confidence. Having worked with them for years, I can tell you that if you compliment any (verbal) child between the ages of 2 and 5, he or she will always respond with 'yes', 'I know', or 'I'm good at that'. It's genuinely felt, too. Perhaps a young child's self-confidence is a little extreme, but still, why does none of that carry over into later childhood and adulthood?
Why is it that one can appear so poised, and feel so empty inside? Why do you say, 'I'm beautiful', 'I'm awesome' and think, 'I'm ugly', 'I'm worthless'? Why do you applaud achievement, and yet never even realize that you have things worth applauding too? Why do you compare yourself to a dead body, and find yourself wanting?
I've been reading up on reactive attachment disorder, and I've noticed that as people, we've all developed this. Reactive attachment disorder is defined as a disorder that occurs when a child wasn't given proper attention, care, and love as a child and infant, and consequently has learned that they are unworthy of love, that all people are unworthy of love.
RAD kids can sometimes be withdrawn, destructive, detached, but often, especially as they get older, they pretend they're normal to fit in. They can be particularly charming, but it's not true. Inside, this is just a way they function - but inside, they're just expressing particular disdain for the world around them. And aren't we the same, experiencing this same spiritual RAD?
Every one of us was born desperately hungry for love. And as we grow up, we realize that we aren't ever going to find it. Even the most loving family, the mostly godly home, the most receptive friends can't replace the ache that every human feels - that dull throb that cries out for someone who will care about them, no matter what. We try to fill that hole by forcing love, but it only gets worse. Finally, we react to the situation in the way that we think is most logical - we withdraw. No one can love us, no one deserves us to love them. We detach and see the world as an empty, hollow shell. Why bother with anything else? People no longer hold charm. Their gentle murmurs as they whisper together are as quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass. Their peacock displays are gaudy, and ugly. And you are no better.
But by ignoring what is true, the water under the surface, the rumbling under the shell, we haven't made it go away. Our confidence doesn't affect the fact that we want to know others, and we want to be known by others. Something in our circles of understanding cries out, "I was made for more than this! I want to live! I want to be beyond myself!" But who shall deliver us from this body of death? How can we hide! How can we fight! And yet we do.
I realize something else now. This longing for perfect love explains one thing clearly to me: we were created for perfect love, and there is a Creator who is willing. We long for what is beyond us because we were created for something beyond.
My dear friend often quotes this verse to me, and today I realize its potency:
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know, just as I also am known.
I want to be known as I am known in perfection. I will live my life as a whole person - more than a shell, or waters swiftly moving, but as a statue that is not broken.
May I encourage you to be full? Be, and I will love you. But nonetheless, Christ is love, and God is truth. Is this not the confidence we have in him?
Today is one of those days. You know the kind - where you have to get five million things done but just want to go on watching and rambling about spider webs.
I don't particularly like spider webs, actually, but I do enjoy the snow that is trickling from the white sky today. I somehow have a split vision in my mind of Christmas - half of me thinks of the traditional white Christmas (which is what I'm having here in my homestate). The other half sees instead of snow, sand, instead of pines, palms, and instead of a warm home a cold rock wall. And then I shudder and thank God.
Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. Starting in November, I eagerly anticipate its arrival. But it's been a unique Christmas.
I think I've grown up a lot in the last year. I think I'm beginning to perceive more like an adult and less like a child. What does this all have to do with Christmas? I don't really know. Maybe just my perception. I remember my thoughts last year on Christmas. This year, they have clarified, and at the same time, grown more ambiguous.
I've been thinking a lot about joy. I love joy. I think it is one of the most important qualities to be possessed. I've also been thinking a lot about pain. This is going to sound cliche, but I really think pain and joy go hand in hand - true joy, that is. I think joy is being able to see past the darkness and embrace the light, celebrate it.
A lot of people right now are in the midst of some very black darkness. They are surrounded by death, disease, despair, depression, brokenness, strife, malice. The dawn seems far away, doesn't it?
But it's not. In fact, light has already come. Many years ago, a light entered the world, and it's been trying to get him out of it ever since. But much as they try, the light can not be quenched. It hungers, it thirsts, for the inevitable - that one day, the dawn will come, all darkness will flee, and we will be standing in the sun.
I think when that happens, we'll look all around us and see the garish colors of past attractions, the decay and decadence all around us. But it will pale in comparison, it will fade away in the greatness of the light, that bright light.
So I have hope this Christmas, because I know that the darkest part of night is right before the sun rises. I have great peace because I know that, very, very soon, I will dance in the dawn. And I have much joy because this is a celebration of love! pure love, and great love, and love at first sight. Did you ever think about that? I hadn't. I know God loved me at first sight... before that! He loved me before there was sight.
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When the new heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace, their King,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
Merry Christmas, everyone. May Christ's glad tidings of great joy, his love which embraces the world, his hope which waits just behind the curtain, and his peace which passes all understanding bring you closer to him this Christmas.
Sorry I didn't update in such an outrageously long time (and it truly is outrageous). School. Kills. My. Blog.
Here's a devotional I wrote for RTF:
I got back from a Christian speech and leadership camp in Tennessee just a few short weeks ago. I was exhilarated – and at the same time, discouraged. Looking ahead to the humdrum ways of real, regular high school living sounded remarkably unappealing. After a time of really focusing on God, it didn’t seem fitting that I should shove myself back into the routine of my regular year.
I’ve probably already made it very clear that I’m not all that into change. I’ve had the same haircut for five years, keep a calendar to help me manage my routine, and don’t like to mix up my daily schedule much. So I came up with a brilliant solution to my dilemma: I’d simply replicate my summer and try to stay in the same mental state as during my break.
A great idea, until I realized that it was an impossible goal. Ecclesiastes 3:1 states that there is a season for everything. By pushing my past season into my present season, I was only setting myself up for disappointment.
Here are some tips and tricks to transitioning into the real world that I found helpful:
Accept that change is going to happen. That was my biggest problem – denying that God had something else in mind for this season in my life. When I became excited about the new steps I would be taking, whether those be school-related, family-related, or church-related, I realized that I didn’t have to hold on to the things that were now past me.
Be excited - God’s doing something new! If you like to hold onto the familiar because it worked or you enjoyed it, be encouraged that God pushes you into new and fantastic things. If you’re determined to go along with whatever God has in mind for this new season in your life, you’re sure to be better prepared to do what he calls you to do.
Combine both new and old. If you’re not the kind of person who stays in a rut for long, be sure that you don’t toss out the great experiences you had this summer. Balance looking forward to the new, and remembering and learning from the old.
I hope you all have a great start to your school year!
Drip. Drip.
I do not understand the water
That falls like a birdsong on my face
You say it cleanses
Then why is the dirt pouring on
Me?
You chose me. You chose this
Dark creaking beast to be my Shelter
In a long storm. I didn’t
Choose it for myself.
Why me? I am not
Good or Beautiful and I did not
Know you then. I hardly know you now.
Unworthy is a good word.
It’s who I am right now in the face of
This Great Flood that threatens me
But somehow, you protect.
How is it you could love a fool like me?
Is this who I am? More than just the
Earth on my face or the water in my hands,
I am made in your image
These eyes are to see destruction and live
These hands to cradle in love like you do
This heart to beat like yours
Is this who I am?
Unworthy is a good word.
But that is not who I am.
(This poem was up on Real Teen Faith earlier this week, but I decided I'd post it here too. I have too much to do to come up with something new with my poor decrepit old brain right now.
Note to self: Do not make the mistake of telling a Type A person that you are Type A and are the only person in the state the week before you're hosting a conference. It doesn't work out well. Sparks of illumination, C.
P.S. The conference mentioned there is the Institute for Cultural Communicators Flood the Five conference. I get to help teach, which is both scary and exciting. It's fantastic - and, if you live in my state (CO) then this is an excellent opportunity (Don't let the fact that I'm teaching scare you away - to counterbalance my inexperience, we'll have some wonderful speakers, including the debate National Champion from a few years ago). Check it out at: http://www.instituteforculturalcommunicators.org/.
Sparks of illumination, C.)
I'm not bored. But if you are, I have the ideal solution for you (or even if you're not, I have a great thing for you to do)! Kylie, Joss, and I are putting on the first ever annual Ignition Challenge, starting today and continuing through the month of June!
The Ignition Challenge, which can be found online at www.ignitionchallenge.wordpress.com , is loosely affiliated with Kids of Faith Online Magazine and is put on and written by the contributors. Our goal for Ignition is to challenge and encourage believers to take their relationships with God deeper this summer.
It's really exciting - with devotionals, stories, humor, and in-depth looks at four aspects of our walk with God posted every day from now till July 1st! We're hoping to reach as many people as possible in the month of June, so consider checking us out! We'd love for you to come visit.
For more information on the challenge, check out our vision statement here. See you there!
"How strange that the Lord should wait until the day before Sabbath for his curtain to tear!" Zechariah made a buzzing sound in his throat. Since the cough had taken hold, his humming had grown steadily weaker.
Judah reached up to take the curtain from the old priest. The temple had stood, solid, since the days of Zerubbabel, and the curtain, as a general rule, had been no exception. It had certainly been strange for the curtain to tear from top to bottom on the stormiest day Galilee had seen since Judah could remember, indeed, the day before the Sabbath.
"Why do you think the Lord chose last Friday for the curtain to tear?" Judah asked, a grin quirking the corners of his mouth. He handed the torn curtain to a Levite who stood nearby to attend to it.
Zechariah smiled more broadly, a laugh gurgling in his throat, his full brown beard twitching. "Who knows? The Lord works in mysterious ways, my boy."
Judah laughed too. Though he was supposed to be too old for playing, this was still his favorite game. Growing up in the temple had not been easy, but Judah had found hope and happiness in his favorite priest, a man who was like his father. They had played the game they played now every day for years, asking questions of each other about the God they both served. Why do you think God chose to use a boy to slay the giant, Zechariah?
He still remembered the answer to that one. Zechariah had replied that boys are weak, boys are clumsy and small, and God wanted his people to know that He had won the victory, not little David.
Judah looked up to Zechariah, still standing on the ladder, staring up at the blanket which was to temporarily replace the curtain. Judah thought if Zechariah tried, he could pierce the woolen blanket with his fierce glance and see the Lord's place.
But Zechariah would never blaspheme like that.
Reminded of their old game, Judah said, "Zechariah? Why do we have a curtain before the Holy of Holies?"
The priest heaved his bulk off the ladder and sat down on the floor next to Judah. "You know the answer, don't you?"
True, Judah knew the answer. God was too holy for the ordinary people. Only the High Priest was allowed behind the curtain.
"But why the High Priest only? Why couldn't the ordinary people go through some sort of ritual to pass behind the curtain and make their own offerings to the Lord?" Judah said. A thread brushed past him. He caught it in his hand and stared into its forgiving fibers.
"God ordained for it to be the High Priest. He has been necessarily purified."
Here came the second phase of the game - trying to see how much they could get the other to prove before he said, 'It's the Lord's mystery," which was always the end to their game.
"The Weeping Prophet says the heart is desperately wicked. All hearts. Not just the ordinary people and the sinners."
"The Lord also says he will create in us a pure heart."
Judah frowned at the thread. "Why would God make it so that the ordinary people can't know him?"
"He is holy, my son."
Judah looked up. "Does he not love us, Zechariah?"
Zechariah looked away for a long time, and for a moment, Judah thought their game had ended sadly. It was quiet, the only sound the wailing of a crowd of mourners outside the temple.
"Oh yes." Zechariah said, startling Judah out of the silence. "He loves us very much. Where does it say that, my son?"
"In the Torah."
"Yes."
"How could he love us if he is never with us?" Judah said, quietly.
Zechariah looked away again. "It's the Lord's mystery."
---
Judah sat outside, on the street. It was stiflingly warm, sticky, and his shirt was sticking to him, not at all pleasantly.
In the distance, the call of a peacock, mimicking the mourners who still stood outside.
Women. So many women in this crowd. They were moving past him now. Good. He couldn't stand the sound of their hopeless, ululating cries. They made his skin crawl.
It was so warm, so lulling and warm. He felt himself begin to relax into waxy half-slumber.
But someone was shouting, breaking him from his very comfortable dream.
"He is alive!"
A female voice, happy. He opened one eye, recognized her as a woman he had seen in the temple on occasion. An older lady, respectable, quiet.
It seemed to him that something was unfortunate about her, but he couldn't quite place it.
"He's alive!"
Who's alive, woman? and would you be quiet? I'm trying to rest.
He felt like saying it, but he didn't.
"Jesus is alive!" Something about that name stuck with him.
Oh. That was the unfortunate thing, wasn't it? Her name was Mary. She was the one with the maniac blasphemer prophet as her son.
Alive? He couldn't be alive. Wasn't he the one who had died, the day of the storm?
The day the curtain tore?
He had listened the man speak once. He had called himself the good shepherd. He was a carpenter, this Jesus, but he called himself a shepherd. What did that make Judah? A sheep?
The thought had struck him as funny when he first heard it. Now, it seemed vaguely familiar, and faintly disturbing. What was it the prophet Isaiah said?
We all...
we all like sheep...
We all like sheep have gone astray; each of us has turned to his own way, and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
Who is the He in this verse, Zechariah?
It's the Lord's mystery.
"The Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."
Judah could hear that voice, that perfect voice, in his mind still.
But I don't understand. You are a carpenter, not a shepherd. And you're dead.
"Jesus is alive!" The woman's shouts mingled with the mourners.
We all like sheep.
Judah heard something, but couldn't seem to place it. We all like sheep have gone astray.
Maybe he was the good shepherd. He had laid his life down. And his mother seemed to think he had returned.
The Lord has laid on him the iniquities of us all.
More unidentifiable sound.
The iniquities of us all.
Judah remembered the lightning, the thunder around him, cowering, as the curtain tore. Unreasonably loud, that thunder. And the words, over and over, soundless and screaming, in his mind and above him like the thunder itself, It is finished.
And it was. The good shepherd had laid down his life for his sheep, he inexplicably understood. Because the Lord had laid on Him, that shepherd, the iniquities of us all.
The sound he could not hear shrieked in his ears.
He had killed the Lord of hosts. He had been the one the weeping prophet, Isaiah the prophet, and all the others had spoken of. It was his iniquities, it was his pain.
That was his criminal death that the Lord had paid.
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. I am afraid.
Why so afraid?
I love you. You know that, don't you? I love you. Where do you find that, little Judah?
The Torah.
That's right. And I have a question for your game now, little Judah. Why did I choose Friday for the curtain to tear?
It is the Lord's mystery.
No mystery is hidden with me, little Judah. How can I love you if I am never with you? I do not dwell in the Holy of Holies, behind a forbidding curtain. I am among you. You are my people. I am your God. I love you. I will always be with you. How can it be otherwise, dear little one? I dwelt with you as Christ the Savior. Now I dwell with you as your friend, your lover, your king, your Messiah. I am with you, to the very end of the age.
Who are you, Lord?
I am Jesus.
Judah could still hear the sound in his mind, and now Jesus' words showed him what it was. The curtain was torn in two. The path to God was open.
Often we talk about the will of God without really knowing what we talk about.
Every Christian wants to know and do God's will. We write books about it. We read books about it. We pray earnestly and read the Bible often looking for it.
But what if we become the will of God?
God says in Jeremiah 51:20-23:
"You are my hammer and my weapon of war: with you I break nations in pieces; with you I destroy kingdoms; with you I break into pieces the horse and its rider; with you I break into pieces the chariot and the charioteer; with you I break into pieces the man and the woman; with you I break into pieces the old man and the youth; with you I break into pieces the young man and the young woman; with you I break into pieces the shepherd and his flock; with you I break into pieces the farmer and his team; with you I break in pieces governors and commanders.
In Jeremiah, God rebukes Israel and Judah for their sin. They have turned their back on him and have followed the idols of their neighbors. As God begs them to return, he pronounces doom upon their enemies if they will only listen. When they listened out for God, and turned themselves toward him and his purposes, he would use them to accomplish his plans.
I think that as believers, our goal in "finding the will of God" is to conform to God (Romans 12:2). If we are listening to him, spending time with him and turning our back on sin, we'll start to become more and more like him.
In the passage above, God says that he will use us as his instruments to break down the strongholds of the enemy.
We are a hammer- sent to build up a temple for Christ in the culture.
We are a weapon of war- chosen to fight against the enemy.
We break apart nations and kingdoms- sifting the wheat from the chaff among our own country
We break apart horse and rider, chariot and charioteer- destroying the weapons of the enemy
We break apart men and women, young and old- separating the old sin from the new grace, breaking apart the stone-encased hearts to speak of the love to be bestowed within.
We break apart the shepherd and his sheep- we see false teachers for what they are and we know how to get rid of them.
We break apart the farmer and his team- we sweep away ordinary people from ordinary lives and show them how God can make them weird for the saving of the world.
We break apart governors and commanders- we take hold of our government for the glory of God.
All of us can do at least one of these things. I believe God will reveal more and more of his will as we become more of his will, ready to break apart the world for his honor.
"How good it is, how pleasant, when brothers dwell together in unity!" Psalm 133:1
I'm here in Morgan Hill, CA. This little town is my old hometown. Morgan Hill restricts its growth, so things haven't changed too much in the last two years, but staying here with the Fiorellos (my godparents) the people have really changed. It is a joy to be here, though I'm missing the Schneiders right now.
But the next part of our trip is already underway.
So here are some of the best memories from the Schneider visit:
"Hear, O Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life for I am devoted to you. You are my God. Save your servant who trusts in you." Psalm 86:1-2
"Therefore, preparing your minds for action and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ" 1 Peter 1:13
"Pray without ceasing." 1 Thessalonians 5:17
I am calling out the generation of warriors.
I am calling out the generation of the faithful.
I am calling out the generation of the revolution.
Brothers and sisters, a crisis is raging in Kenya right now. Many of you may know that President Mwai Kibaki of Kenya was elected for a second time this past December. This caused an uproar among followers of another presidential candidate, Raila Odinga.
Mr. Odinga accused President Kibaki of rigging the election before the votes were ever counted. Apparently, many voters came to cast votes and found ballot boxes already full, leading them to believe this.
President Kibaki denies any wrongdoing.
This stems from an age-old conflict among tribes. Two main tribes in Kenya (the Kikuyu, President Kibaki's tribe, and the Luo, Mr. Odinga's tribe) have struggled for years, as do most tribes in Africa. But many Kikuyu people have been killed in the violence following this election.
Riots broke out in cities and in the country. Hundreds of Kenyans are dead and tens of thousands are displaced from their homes. Many fled across the borders of neighboring countries.
In one riot, fifty Kikuyu people fled to a church for protection. They were burned alive.
You may see this as a horrible tragedy taking place halfway across the world. And it is. But it reaches closer to home than that.
Compassion International is a program that serves children around the world in some of its poorest countries. It matches each child with a sponsor, who donates money to pay for food, shelter, education and other necessary commodities. The sponsor and child correspond through letters.
One of our sponsored children is a fourteen-year-old Kenyan girl. I am constantly amazed by her bravery and faith. She is always writing me about how thankful she is for her schooling and for her family, who have all become believers. She is one of seven children and they are a very poor family.
A few months before the election, she wrote me a letter saying how excited she was to witness an election. She told us how she had learned about the political process in school. She was blessed to be in one of the most stable democracies in Africa.
And now her world has fallen apart around her. She wrote us a letter that we recieved today. Here are some excerpts:
"Dear Yuen Family,
Much greetings in the name of Jesus Christ... I hope that you are all fine because there is peace in your country... I celebrated my December holiday very well but there was no peace and we ran and went to our rural home to stay there, where there was peace. I thank God for me and my family being alive because without God we could not be alive now. I also pray to God to keep you safe with your family...Here in Kenya there were some people who were displaced in their houses because of their tribes and some were killed and some were injured because of politics and now I am praying for my country. Please pray for our country too..."
She ended her letter with the verse passage Psalm 86:1-2: Hear, O Lord, ans answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life for I am devoted to you. You are my God. Save your servant who trusts in you.
This isn't a distant issue. This is here and now. Persecution and destruction exist- and they exist for me.
Persecution and destruction exist- and they exist for my Kenyan friend.
But what can we do, half a world away?
We can pray. President Kibaki and Mr. Odinga are trying to work out an agreement to stop violence and possibly share power. Please pray that they would come to a settlement. Please pray that the people of Kenya would be able to establish peace and stability for its citizens. Please pray that people would come to know God through this.
Citizens are fleeing to churches during riots. While they are being taken care of by servants of God, these people will be told the gospel. Pray that in this turmoiled time people's hearts and eyes would be opened to God.
Pray also that people in our own country would see this and be inspired to reach out to the Kenyans.
Persecution and destruction exist. Do they exist for you?
"I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your words." Psalm 119:16
Emma pressed her face into her hands. How come she could watch a movie once and remember every single line for the rest of her life but she had to work for hours to get one Bible verse down? She opened her eyes and read the passage one more time, but it never stuck.
Have you ever felt like Emma? Maybe it's time for a renewing of your delight.
Psalm 119 is probably my favorite passage in the Old Testament. It's title in my New King James Bible is "The Glory of the Word", and what a fitting name!
Psalm 119:16 says, "I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your words." In other words, we remember what we love.
A friend of mine was recently telling me how much he hates memorizing terms for his biology. He says that he just can't remember them well enough. This is the same person who can spit out dates of all the significant battles in World War II without blinking. The same person who still knows dozens of verses about every basic Christian doctrine. He just doesn't delight in Biology.
I have a friend who can't seem to remember when you use the word 'cord' and when you use the word 'chord'. But she memorizes piano pieces without any trouble at all. She just doesn't delight in spelling.
God loves us. He can remember all of our names. He knows our deepest secrets, our darkest fears, our brightest hopes, our most precious souls. That's because He delights in us. Proverbs 3:11-12 says that the LORD loves us in the same way a father does a son in whom he delights.
If you can't remember God's word, maybe it doesn't thrill you. Maybe it doesn't delight you. So, maybe what we really need is a way to renew our delight in the Bible.
Paul says in Romans 7:22, "For I delight in the law of the Lord, in my inner being." So, delight begins in the heart. We have to learn to love God in our hearts before we can even begin to appreciate the Bible.
Psalm 119:12 says, "Blessed are you, O LORD; teach me your statutes!" So, after acknowledging that God is the delight of his heart, the psalmist asks God to teach him His statutes. So, next we should have a delight in the presence of God. You can't be taught if you're not around your teacher. You also can't be taught if you don't listen to your teacher. Matthew 17:5 says, "He [Jesus] was still speaking when, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him."
Then, once God is our delight, we are delighting in His teaching, you'll begin to realize, it begins to settle in your heart. That's when it begins to delight us. The Spirit begins to teach us from his word and we marvel at the word. NOW, we don't forget his word. We can't, because we love it so much.
Emma from the beginning of the story could remember her movie quotes because she loved movies. My anti-Biology friend loves history. My cord vs. chord friend loves music. You always have enough memory space for the things you love.
So, if you want to better memorize God's word, start with something you love. Have a favorite verse? Start with that. Have a favorite book of the Bible? Pick some verses from that book.
Just remember, God loves you. He remembers everything about you. So, let your memory be a spark of the Greatest one in the universe.
