taste.

Nothing in creation is like him. Everything around us is flawed in some way. Even before the Fall, no glory in creation compared to the glory of the Creator. But…sin has the power to make blind us to the glory of God. Sadly, awe of God is quickly replaced by awe of you.

-Paul Tripp-

Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

-C.S. Lewis-

He wants so much more for us.  I have a hard time understanding it.  That in the midst of my adoration of myself, I have missed something truly grand.  Something truly beautiful. Something true.

My boys have no idea what is out there.  They climb the trees in our yard to get a better look of our street.  They have no idea what it feels like to stand 14,000 feet in the air on a mountain in Colorado in July, with snow around your ankles and blue sky and white peaks that seem to go on forever.  They eat burgers and green beans and chew gum.  But they’ve never tasted food made by John Fleer that comes in courses and is full of laughter as each taste seems to dance on your tongue.  My boys love me and they love their dad and they follow Chloe all over the playground.  But they have no idea what it feels like to kiss in the rain, to dance in the dark, to have a stomach full of butterflies and a heart that could bust at any moment because one person walked into a room. 

My boys only have a taste of what is to come in their lives.

And it is the same for us.  We have only a taste.  Wine and laughter and sex and hope and mountains and sunsets and oceans and holding hands while you fall asleep and dancing and music and friendship and peace…we have barely scratched the surface of what is.  He wants so much more for us.  He has made things that are good in order for us to see him.  For, all good things point to him.  All good things are the evidence that he is living and moving among us.  All good things are the invitation to a collision of the Holy in our lives and our hearts.  All good things are a taste of Him.

But we get in the way.  We taste, we experience and as soon as it is on our tongue, we turn.  And we see our own pleasure, our own satisfaction, our own contributions, our own desires.  We pat ourselves on the back or we push ourselves farther or we walk past the lines that keep us safe in order to feel that deeper sense of self-worship that we pretend not to have. 

And our taste begins to fade.  It becomes dull.  And suddenly, it is not quite what it used to be. And we are hungry again.

He wants so much more for us.

Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
Oh, fear the LORD, you his saints,
for those who fear him have no lack!
The young lions suffer want and hunger;
but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.

-Psalm 34:8-10-

abnormal.

“Map” by Jasper Johns, 1963

I know if I love you the way she (Mary) loved you, my heart will never be safe.  Someday you will unsettle my life.
-Ken Gire-
I used to be cool.  Then I met Jesus and he wrecked my life.
-Shane Claiborne-

A few months ago I sat at a bar with a new friend of a friend named Adam.  We talked about life in America.  The greed.  The excess. The lack of creativity in the American Dream (go to college. get a job. then a better one. make lots of money. buy lots of stuff).  It was the spring and there were parts of me that were starting to rumble.  I was looking at the way we do things in America, the way we, from such an early age, make plans to fulfill the American Dream.  It just seemed so empty and blank.  I couldn't stop thinking about it and talking about it and trying to find out if there is (please God) more to this life.  Adam is not from America so his perspective is a really great one to have.  Because he sees with a clarity that I cannot.  He has a world-view that I do not have.  He isn't judgmental.  He is observant.

As we spoke, he put into words all of the restlessness that was going on inside me.  He exposed the American Dream for what it was and wondered why Daniel and I would ever want something so boring.

Adam is a rockstar.  He is living a dream.  It is kind of magical to hear about.  But he has another.  I asked him what he would do if he could be anything in the world other than what he was.  A few months earlier he had visited a lake house with his wife's family in the mid-west.  He stood on the shore and watched a water-skiing team and began to dream of  moving to Wisconsin and becoming a water-skiing coach for a high school water-skiing team.  He wasn't drunk enough for it to have been a total joke.  No glitz.  No stage lights or adoring fans.  No chance to become wealthy.  Only a chance to be happy.  Just a lake and a boat and the ability to impact the lives of a few people.

Since our conversation I have thought a lot about who I am and what I want to be.  I have though a lot about how boring the American Dream is. How it seems so often to run so perpendicular the cause of Christ.  I have spent time in the gospels trying to figure out if Jesus meant what he said about the first being last and being a servant of all and all of that stuff.  I have wondered how that is possible when we are constantly trying to win/have/get/acquire/earn the best stuff/job/house/retirement/etc.  I have spent time looking at the characters in the bible who dared to think outside the box.  Who dared to follow a man that offered them nothing in the eyes of the world, but everything that mattered.

And as I search for my dream, there is only one thing that I am sure of.  With Jesus. nothing can ever be boring.  It just isn't possible.  In fact, I’m not sure it is even possible to have a “normal” life in the current of the Holy.  He is not safe.  And he has completely wrecked my life.

imagine.

Children live in a world of dreams and imagination, a world of aliveness… There is a voice of wonder and amazement inside all of us; but we grow to realize we can no longer hear it, and we live in silence. It isn’t that God stopped speaking; it is that our lives became louder.

-Mike Yaconelli-

I watch them.  My boys.  Bouncing from pillow to pillow pretending like the floor is a deep and blue and rapid ocean that will suck you in.  They are safe on the boats.  They are safe in my arms.  They are not safe on the floor.

I watch their world where everything is new and exciting and hilarious.  I answer their thousands and thousands of questions.  I listen to their stories and their songs, written about every move of their day. 

Some days their wonder and hope and magic and imagination takes my breath away. Sometimes I feel something in me moving and changing and relating to all of their magic.  

Some days the “voice of wonder and amazement” is foreign and frustrating.  Days where the voice that used to live in me when I was young and optimistic is silent.  And my children’s imagination is a tired routine of questions and loudness and messes.  And I wonder why it is so hard to relate to energy and laughter and hope.  It makes me feel like a fake.  Like I am faking it through a world full of wonder and mystery and magic.  A world that in the same breath is nasty and hateful and terrible.  Because deep down the voice seems so silent.

I go to a coffee shop a couple mornings a week to write and read.  There is a man that works there.  He is my favorite barista.  He is brilliant and hilarious and flamboyantly gay.  And I live in the South.  Today a cowboy came in and refused to respond to my barista spoke to him.  He stood, looked him in his beautiful and brilliant eyes and did not respond to anything that Beaux said.   Then, the cowboy went to a corner table to play kissy-face with his wife.  While my heart broke at the next table over.

Because this world is nasty and hateful and terrible.  It is an ocean, deep and blue and rapid that will suck you in.  You are not safe on the floor.

But there in the yuck, is the quiet whisper of a God:  holy and full of wonder and magic.  A God who calmed the oceans with a word.  A God who created and restores and redeems.   The God who offers safety in the pillows of his mercy.

Sometimes the world is far too loud to hear the voice of wonder.

Sometimes it is the only thing on earth that I know to be real.

wait.

For the hand of the Lord rests on this mountain…

-Isaiah 25:10-

Has it been a year?  I think it has been two.  In a whisper that we knew only to be the Holy, we heard the drawing.  Away. Into the current of the Lord.

And, for hundreds and hundreds of days we have been on the search for the current.  Some days we search with open eyes and open hearts, in every nook and every cranny—hopeful that we will know where and what he is calling us to.  Some days we don’t think about it at all.  Some days we are convinced we misheard or misinterpreted or are mentally insane.  Some days the wait feels long and our hearts grow tired.  Some days it feels like we are only inches or seconds away.  We have an action plan. It might be a good one. Or it might be a filler of space and time.  Being still has never been our strength.

But, for now, we just keep waiting.  Because it is all that we know to do.

What are you waiting on?

i will wade out

till my thighs are steeped in

burning flowers

i will take the sun in my mouth

and leap into the ripe air

alive

with closed eyes

-e.e. cummings-

attention.

“We should be astonished at the goodness of God, stunned that He should bother to call us by name, our mouths wide open at His love, bewildered that at this very moment we are standing on holy ground.”

-Brennan Manning-

Sometimes it is just that they want me.  Sometimes they crawl under my covers in the middle of the night because it is the safest place in their world.  There is a spot under my arm and snuggled into my ribcage that fits only them.  Sometimes there are tears or raised voices or demands, not because they are hateful. But because they just want me. My attention. My affection.

And I am reminded of my deepest desire:  to be fully known and still loved.  And sometimes I just want Him.  His attention. His affection.  And I forget that I have it.  And I forget the price that was paid for it.  And I get swept up and wrapped in my own junk and my own importance.

But, at great price, His attention is mine.  And His affection is mine.  And my name and my heart and my life and my junk and my good and my ridiculous is known. 

And that makes the ground and the covers and the spot under my arm near my ribcage more holy than I ever imagined.

fairytale.

Growing up is a battle. A life-or-death mission into hostile territory. You tiptoe through minefields. Dodge bullets. Try to do the right thing... in a crazy time. But war has another side. The noble side. Forging friendships between improbable comrades. Uniting men. Bringing together the good... the bad... the ugly….After all if growing up is war, then those friends who grew up with you deserve a special respect. The ones who stuck by you shoulder to shoulder in a time when nothing is certain when all life lay ahead and every road led home.

-The Wonder Years-

I spent every summer that I remember of my childhood running around Young Life camps all over the country.  My summers seemed to be made out of the same kinds of things that inspired books like the Bridge to Teribithia and the Chronicles of Narnia.  Some kids read books and watched movies and dreamed of adventure.  I had the joy of living that adventure.  Early morning horse rides to a waterfall where cowboys cooked breakfast in a cast-iron pan over an open fire.  Harnessed to cables a hundred feet in the air, jumping off of a platform, hoping that the ropes will catch you.  Swimming in pools and lakes until the wrinkles threatened to never go away.  We rolled down hills full of dandelions and grass so lush it felt like cotton.  Epic games of hide and seek that always ended with tired bones and lungs full of fire and heavy eyes.  Square dances and cotton candy and freckles on our face, drawn from our mother’s eyeliner.  Hot, sweaty summer days running trough the woods, made sweeter by the ice cold Tang Tea that I swear I could hear calling my name from our cabin.  We waded in the creek and spit crickets out of our mouth and danced like our lives depended on it.

The characters of my fairy-tale summers were greater than anything I had ever read.   There was Megs the Valiant- a spitfire girl who could warm your soul and break your heart in the same breath.  She was daring and loving and fun and opinionated and full of adventure.  I think our souls were made out of the same kind of stuff.  My brother Drew the Just, logical and loyal, he worked hard and played hard and you couldn’t look away from his eyes while he soaked in all that our summers had to offer.  There was Bo the Magnificent-quiet until you knew him, adventurous, and loving—with a bravery that made you feel safe because you knew he would go to great lengths to protect you, but also because he could make you feel loved and known, which don’t always go together.(I remember a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that was glued to his hand one summer. To me, Bo still remains the brave and brilliant face of Edmond Dantes.)  Will the Wild- fun and funny, full of life so thick that it was easier to breathe when he was around.  He could make you dance when you didn’t feel like it and laugh until your insides hurt.  It’s almost as if you could taste his freedom.  There was Sarah, who still reminds me in some ways of Jill Pole, always searching for knowledge and faith and beauty and hope and adventure.  Benny, who loved deeper than anyone and has a way of making everyone he ever meets feel delighted in, who had fun no matter where he was.  Austin Patrick Hall, the Huck Finn of the group- always questioning and daring and laughing and searching.  There was Prince Curtis- handsome and hilarious.  With the ability to dare you to do the unthinkable and accomplish the unreachable.  Princesses Katie and Marion, who we would have given our life and limbs to protect. The court jesters Austin and Graham who were wonderful, crazy and constantly covered in spaghetti. Who I loved in a way that felt like we shared the blood that runs through our veins.  These characters were mine. They are my family and are the faces of my childhood.  They are some of the dearest friends I have ever had.  They remain in me through the stickiness of cotton candy on my face, the way it feels when leaves crunch beneath my bare feet, the smell of a fireplace, the sound of a banjo, the way dirt feels and smells when it is mixed with sweat or tears.  We have an understanding of each other that no one else on earth has- a bond that forever ties us together. Just like any good fairy tale.

My summers at Young Life camp are one of the reasons that I believe in the magic and the wonder of the Creator.  They are the reason that I know that Jesus came to bring life, full and free.  They are my picture of a God who created adventure and dared us to experience it.  A God who loves a celebration and who is near when things are hard or scary.  A God who fights for us not against us.  A God who takes great delight in us. 

twentyeleven

There are so many moments of 2011 that were glimpses of eternity.  The kind of moments where the world seems to go a little slower and you have the chance to soak in every detail.  Like I said on Monday, it was a really good, really hard year. 

MY FAVORITE EXPERIENCES OF 2011

My boys’ first time in an airplane.

Uncle Reno took my boys flying in an airplane.  They wore headsets and touched every button on the plane.  I listened as he explained flying with the wonder only a 4-year-old could understand.  And, thousands of feet in the air, it felt like time stood still.  There were 6 of us in a tiny airplane tasting what I only know to be called grace.  I remember this conversation later: “What was that feeling in my belly, mom?” “Well,” I said, “I think it is called adventure”. Campbell replied, “Yeah, it felt like adventure. I think God made adventure because he loves us.”  I think he did.

The Boxer Rebellion at the Bowery Ballroom

It was surreal. And incredible. Daniel and I, some of our dear friends, and a couple hundred people we didn’t know watched what is and might always be the best concert I’ve ever seen.  From start to finish, it was magical.  Before it started, we heard an acoustic practice session in the booth next to us from the opening band,  Zach Williams and Bellow opened.  They were too good.  Crazy good.  Then came We Are Augustines, who I explained a few days ago absolutely stole my heart.  Then The Boxer Rebellion.  And they were pure magic.  If you look close enough, you can see Eddie Rogert and his giant beard and homemade headband in the corner.  We got to watch him be the master of the instruments…it was such an incredible thing to see.

New York City

We went to my favorite city for our 5th wedding anniversary.  We stayed with Megan and Claire.  We went to a concert (see above) at the Bowery with Megan and Claire and Caroline. We walked until our feet hurt and we ate cupcakes while we rested. We learned the subway.  We drank beer at the South Street Seaport with Claire and gin in the Village with old friends and new friends.  We drew progressions of Rob’s beard with Adam.  We celebrated 30th birthdays in Little Italy over housemade pasta and Prosecco.  We went to the Met and I showed Daniel the exact spot where I want to die (on the benches near Renoir and Matisse and Degas).  We got lost in Central Park in the rain.  Claire and I spent an afternoon Brooklyn walking, talking and going to thrift stores. We shared pizza ith Rob and Claire at the first pizza place in Brooklyn.  We went to another concert.  Daniel and I spent the most wonderful morning in the Village together with ham biscuits and cheese straws.  We ordered-in Chinese food with Claire and Megan that was nasty and wonderful at the same time.  We walked Washington Heights in the morning to bring coffee to Claire. We had the time of our lives.

Holden Beach, North Carolina

We spent a week with some of our closest friends in the quiet town called Holden Beach.  It was reading in hammocks and on porch swings.  It was tiny giggles echoing off the waves every morning and afternoon.  It was sunset walks every night.  It was laughter that probably woke the neighbors.  It was a giant sand castle that ended up being worth the work.  It was a lot of mishaps to our car and a lot of mercy on our bank account.  It was radio conversations to fill the long hours on the road. It was cooking dinner at night and oatmeal in the morning.  It was trips to town and days never getting in a car.  In short, it was the most fun rest I had all year.

Watching my little brother give his first talk on stage at Windy Gap.

On our way home from the beach with our friends we stopped at Windy Gap because Drew and Molly were there for the weekend.  Megs, EJ and Sullivan met us and we had so much fun being a family—eating dinner and playing and oh so much laughing.  Then, sometime around midnight, I saw my little brother give his first young life talk on stage at Windy Gap.  It was amazing.  I wish I had words to describe it.  I closed my eyes at one point and I could see us as little kids rolling down the steps in the County Seat.  When I opened them, there he was.  My little brother, the man.  Telling hundreds of High School kids about a God who loves them just as they are, not as they should be.  A God who is as compassionate as he is powerful.  It is my favorite memory I have ever made at Windy Gap.

twentyeleven

 

I love reading.  It is pretty rare that I don’t enjoy a book that I finish, so I am not sure that I should be held as a book critic in any kind of capacity.  I just really enjoy reading.  I still have a stack of books I can’t wait to get to in 2012 (All Is Grace by Brennan Manning, Tomatoland by Barry Estabrook, Bonhoeffer by Eric Metexas, etc.).  I try to keep my reading list on this blog updated regularly, so just because it didn’t make the top 5 doesn’t mean I didn’t really enjoy it. (once again, click the pictures to go to the book on Amazon)

THE 5 BEST BOOKS I READ IN 2011

Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne

This was the best book I read this year. It is one of the best I’ve ever read.  I think I quote from it every other blog I write.  I love it because it felt like it was written to me.  Shane grew up in Maryville, TN with a life that looked a lot like mine.  And then, he became obedient  in ways that stretched me to even think about.  And in this book he obediently reflects the call to adventure, sacrifice, compassion and community that the gospels are all about.  If you read anything in 2012, please read this.  But, I have to warn you. It will absolutely wreck you life.  But, don’t you kind of need that?

Just Kids by Patti Smith

I love New York City and I love rock and roll. This book has so many beautiful things to say about both. Part love story, party eulogy, Smith tells the story of she and her dear friend photographer Robert Mapplethorpe with such beautiful detail and hope. You get to follow the pair from the streets of Brooklyn to the Chelsea Hotel and to the deathbed of an AIDS victim. The tagline of the book says it all: “It was the summer Coltrane died, the summer of love and riots, and the summer when a chance encounter in Brooklyn led two young people on a path of art, devotion, and initiation.”

 

One Thousand Gifts by Ann VosKamp

I did not want to like this book.  It is a book that lots of christian women read in their christian book clubs or Sunday school classes.  I don’t really care for books like that.  And it is written with such flowery language that was difficult for me to relate to at first.  But, then, out of nowhere it became such a great book.  And as I read, I felt something in me changing.  A stirring and a drawing that only happens when we collide with the Holy. I don’t think I have ever learned more about gratefulness, solitude, and the art of being where you are. I loved this book. I learned so much from it. I can’t recommend it enough.  I wish the language wasn’t so flowery, because then maybe Mrs. VosKamp’s audience would be broader in gender.  I loved it so much that in September my friend Kyla and I started making our list of 1,000 things we are grateful for.  It’s January and I’m on number 47 because I am a selfish bastard.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

I barely finished these in 2011.  Molly got them for me for Christmas and I read the entire series in 5 days.  It is just so, so good.  I did not expect to love it like I did.  I think I loved every word of all three books. But, this one (the first one) is my favorite.  And now, with no attempt to hide my nerd-ery…I am counting down the days until March 23 (79 to be exact) where I will watch Katniss Everdeen kick ass on a giant screen.

 

The Pastor by Eugene Peterson

So if I am completely honest I am not finished with this book. The Hunger Games got in the way.  However….it is way, way too good not to make the list because I have a couple of chapters left.  Memoirs are so often my favorite kind of book to read.  It feels like such an honor to walk through pieces of someone’s life with them.  I love the people from Mr. Peterson’s childhood, the members of his church that he speaks of with such love and devotion.  I loved reading about his time in New York City as he searched for answers of life and vocation.  This book is quite simply a joy to read.

twentyeleven

 

2011.  As all good things do, it has come to an end.  But it was a good year. A really good, really hard year.  I’m going to spend this week doing five “Best of 2011” lists.  Of, course it will start (and probably end) with music…because all good things do. (You can click the link to buy them)

FIVE(ok 6) BEST ALBUMS OF 2011

Rise Ye Sunken Ships by We Are Augustines

Their sound, their story, their stage presence…We Are Augustines absolutely stole my heart this year.  Daniel and I saw them live twice in the spring, once at the Bowery Ballroom and then a few nights later at Williamsburg Music Hall in Brooklyn.  In a word: incredible.  Our dear friend Eddie Rogert was guitar-teching with them and The Boxer Rebellion so we got a sneak peak at their sound check in Brooklyn.  There were guitar problems and sound problems and it seemed like the expectations of their hometown show might explode.  But WAA are men. As real as their frustration was their kindness and humility.  They stole my heart.  A few hours later, the lights came on and Billy McCarthy put on his Indiana Jones hat, and I think he left every ounce of himself on that stage.  Because he is a master of the stage.  Because he has the best “hey” in rock and roll.  Because his band is really, really good.  Do yourself a favor and let them steal your hearts too.

   

Live in Tennessee by The Boxer Rebellion

This concert happened in my hometown. It wasn’t well attended. I sat in a box seat in the Clayton Center on a folding chair next to Eddie Rogert’s grandmother who brought a blanket for her lap and cotton balls for her ears. I wasn’t very familiar with their music, but Daniel was and loved it.  The opening band was a total train wreck.  I was getting nervous.  But the lights came on, and the drums kicked in, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, spending the next two hours trying to find my breath.

This year, the album of that show came out.  Maybe because I was there.  Maybe because it blew my mind.  Maybe because I never liked a live album until this one.  Maybe because I think that The Boxer Rebellion is the greatest band of all time.  Maybe because it is a tiny glimpse of what it is like to see them live. (If you have any regard for your ears at all, you should see them live.)  Whatever the reason, this album is just so good.  But the whole thing and buy it now.

Nothing is Wrong by Dawes

Dawes is unreal. The kind of band that sings with an angst you have to have experienced to begin to understand.  They might be some of the best songwriters in the game right now.  And people are paying attention.  You should too.

The Cold Still from The Boxer Rebellion

I’m not sure I can say more about this band.  I feel like my favorite band of all time should be plenty.  “Organ Song” should be part of your day.  So should “The Runner”. Really, the entire thing should be a daily part of your life.

Last Night on Earth by Noah and the Whale

I wasn’t so sure about this one at my first listen.  I was used to the somber and melodic Noah and the Whale that I found in The First Days of Spring.  And, like the rest of the world I worried about a post-Laura Marling Charlie Fink.  But Charlie Fink won me over with his happiness in the same way he did in his misery.  It is an album full of permission to chase your dreams. I hope that “Give it All Back” is my boys anthem in high school, when they are in a band that practices in our garage.  For me, “Tonight’s the Kind of Night’ has been a way to give life and words to mine and Daniel’s quest for something more and something different. I find a new favorite song with every listen. I hope you will too.

Build a Rocket Boys by Elbow

Elbow is just fantastic. Always.  I never thought it possible to top Seldom Seen Kid. And many don’t believe they did it in this album.  But, for me, the whistling on “Lippy Kids” was all I needed to seal the deal.  Buy the album. Google the videos.  You are welcome.

Honorable Mentions to: Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes), The Whole Love (Wilco), The Mirror (Jill Andrews), Barton Hollow (The Civil Wars) and the absolutely amazing Eponymous—EP (Eddie Rogert)

irrational.

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There’d have been no room for the child.
-Madeline L'Engle

It is the season of the irrational. The season where we celebrate so many things that don't make sense. A baby born to a virgin. A baby born to rescue the world. A God that loves us so much that he would rescue us even as we live deep in our own depravity and junk.

It is within the irrational that the magic and wonder lie. The magic that the Night of the Child is a celebration of irrational rescue, irrational grace.
That he saved even me. That he loved even me. That he is warm even to me. That he would come to our earth filled with skinned knees and buildings that fall over and dads that sometimes don't ever come home. A perfect baby. A perfect night. A rotten stable.

The rescue for the whole world.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

kabod.

"Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare has ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord's hand double for all her sins..."
-Isaiah 40:2

But the reality of kabod shatters every delusion. As previous certainties desert us, we become vulnerable and open. The glory of God makes possible the primordial act of religion: the realization that we are not sufficient unto ourselves, that we have received our life and being from another. In a decision that reaches the roots of our most intimate self and demands the renunciation of belonging to that self, we freely ratify our condition as creatures.
-Brennan Manning-

Kabod.It is what C.S. Lewis called the "weight of glory". The very substance of the Lord. And Brennan Manning is quick to remind us that it's "reality...shatters every delusion". Every delusion that we had anything to do with it. Every delusion that we have control.
In my preparation for what Robert Benson calls the "Night of the Child", I have come face to face with all that I bring into this season. This morning, the shame that I thought was years gone continues to rob me of the joy that a full and free life has to offer. Shame that brings with it a grand illusion of control.
I continue to believe that I belong to myself.
But, me-- I belong only to One. One that came to earth on a crazy night as a tired babe in order to rescue the world. In order to rescue me.
His rescue means that in me the warfare is over. That shame no longer has anywhere to plant roots because my iniquity has been pardoned. Finished. Rescued.
In the Kabod of the Lord the tenderness is great and severe. It is gentle and it is direct. Not only is it really finished, but the mercy is real. It is mercy upon mercy. Double for all of my sins.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

forget.

"It will be up to us to prepare for the Night of the Child, to prepare the way of the Lord, to make straight the paths. It will be up to us to make a journey of sorts toward Bethlehem, to spend some time listening to the story as it weaves its way through Advent. We are the ones who must make room in our hearts for the story to speak, who must listen carefully to its twists and its turns, listening for the places where it begins to tell us our own story."

-Ruth Haley Barton-

According to the church calendar, yesterday began the waiting period. Advent. The coming. It is our glimpse of the 400 years of silence that the Israelites experienced. Waiting. Watching.

I forgot.
It was the first Sabbath of Advent, my favorite time of the year. And I forgot.

My sweet husband let me sleep in and we went to church an hour later than normal. I was in a hurry to get ready and get everyone else ready. And I loved church yesterday. But no one reminded me that it was the first Sunday of Advent. We ate lunch and I napped and we did our Sunday things. And Daniel didn't remind me. My dad didn't call and tell me.

No one reminded me to begin the waiting.
Silence.

And, this morning was the strong reminder that I have spent so much of my life waiting to be reminded by others. Waiting to be led into the seasons and the waves and the journey of life. Waiting to be reminded what to think and feel and hear.

Year after year I wait for Advent. And when it finally comes, so often I miss it. Some years I start strong. Some years I don't remember until December. Some years I forget until I go to a Christmas Eve service and realize my heart is nowhere ready for all that candles and Silent Night have to offer.

Sometimes for me waiting is replaced by complaining. Complaining that my church doesn't prepare me for advent. Complaining about lines and busy and bustle. Complaining about consumerism. And before I realize it, I am celebrating a season of complaining instead of a season of waiting.

Ruth Haley Barton was a strong reminder this morning: It is up to me. It is not the responsibility of my church or my family or the government or anyone to prepare me for the Night of the Child. It is my job to find the quiet moments of waiting. It is my job to search the path for Bethlehem. It is my job to find how the story of the Holy and my own story weave together in so many ways.

In the quiet of the morning, I hear the invitation to the waiting. I hear the encouragement of my friend Rebecca who preached at our church yesterday, to boldly approach the throne of a baby wrapped in rescue and glory. I hear the giggles of two precious boys as they wait for a starlight on a house in my parents neighborhood. I hear the lady at the table next to me talking about making her meatballs early this year so that they will be softer--and she will have more time with those dear to her when the celebrations come. I hear the whisper of the Holy, that my waiting is not in vain. I hear the gentle voice that brings comfort and hope that it is not finished. That He will come.

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chopped.

Aim for the chopping block. If you aim for the wood, you will have nothing. Aim past the wood, aim through the wood; aim for the chopping block.
-Annie Dillard-

Last night was rough. The kind of night where you are so aware of the deep and destructive self-obsession that rules your life. The kind of night where you can't look away from the pain you cause. The kind of night where the whisper of the Father "I make all things new" only makes you more aware of how many parts of you need to be made new.

The kind of night that reminds you it never works to aim for the wood.

Isn't that the way it always is? We see something in us that needs to be killed and we aim right for it...forgetting all along that it is the chopping block that we're after. The heart of the problem. We try to be less selfish or more kind or more patient. We see the destruction of our sin and work so hard to find a bandaid...when the infection grows below the surface, untreated and forgotten.

I've heard it said: the heart of the matter is a matter of the heart.

So here I sit with an infected heart.  One that longs to do what is right but rarely seems to.  And even still...he is fond of me.  Even still Jesus died.  He took on the infection voluntarily, that I might become his righteousness.  He went for the chopping block, not the wood.  It wasn't an even trade.  But, He made it very clear.  He loves me.  Oh, how he loves me.

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greed.

For the last few weeks a friend and I have been discussing a lot about greed, economics, and social justice.  It has been such a struggle for me to write out what I believe about all of this to him.  Struggling to find a way to criticize without being judgmental.  Struggling with whether or not I can disagree with the current economic options without offering up a new one.  Struggling out of a set of political beliefs into a big dark empty hole of confusion.  Struggling to find what Jesus had to say about all of it.  Struggling to understand what Jesus had to say about all of it when I finally find it. 

Today, I ended up in Romans 12.  It is Paul’s call to action.  To be a people set apart.  I read verse 2 and I think it might have changed my entire life. 

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. –Romans 12:2-

Do not look like the rest of the world.  Be transformed to a new way, a better way.  Discern what is good and acceptable and perfect. 

When I look at the world, I see what people have seen since Eve chose knowledge over community.  I see hunger and pain and injustice.  I see greed and pride and selfishness.  And it seems so big and so huge and I have a hard time finding my role.

Tim Keller talks a lot about “generous justice”.  That in a cause and effect relationship, we who have been shown immeasurable grace have become the ones who bring justice.  Keller defines justice as:  giving humans their due as people in the image of God.  The oppressed are most certainly our responsibility.

And not just responsibility.  It seems to me that Jesus saw and talked about the oppressed of the world with a love I cannot comprehend.  He met them face to face with mercy and goodness and justice.  He made things right again.  When no one else would dare to stretch out a hand, He touched the sores of a man with leprosy.  Grace. Mercy. Compassion.  And the sores disappeared.  Justice.  He, the One who restores all things to himself, made things right again.  Over and over and over again.

And He asked us to do the same thing.

When we live in the patterns of this world, social and generous justice are impossible. The patterns of our world are not the best way.  In fact, the numbers that are a result of the patterns are nauseating.  The average worker in America makes $7/hour while the average CEO makes $1500/hour.  36% of the world’s wealth is owned by 1% of its population (in America, the numbers say that 20% of our people own 84% of the wealth).  In pro-capitalism arguments, I hear all the time about how America is the most generous country of all time.  And it seems as though we are because we give more money than has ever been given—roughly $28 billion/year.  However, if you continue the same statistic we don’t even give 1% of our nation’s gross national income.  In fact,  you can’t even round up to 1% (it’s 0.2%).  Less than 1% is not generous.  It is not humanitarian.  It is not justice.  And it just isn’t working.

Our problem isn’t that America has a lot of rich people.  There is nothing wrong with rich people.  It isn’t being rich that is wrong. The statistics of the world will show you that, in America, we are almost all rich. In fact, Daniel and I aren’t far from qualifying for WIC, yet we rank in the top 1.4% of the world’s richest people.  In the eyes of the world and the scriptures, almost all of us fit into the category of wealth.  “Rich” isn’t the problem.  It is our greed. 

The gaps between the top and the bottom are just too large.  And I don’t know how to make them smaller.  I know that it is the role of the church.  I know that it is a heart change not a mind change.  I know that it is the actions of the saints and the drawing of the Lord.  And I know that our rescue means we have to stand up and look forward and think in new and different ways.  Like praying.  Like giving even when it hurts us.  Like (peacefully) occupying Wall Street, to offer greed a face.  Not with hate, but with the mercy shown to us (Romans 12:14-21).  Like scientists and engineers offering solutions to the water crisis all over the world.  Like braniacs and economists offering us solutions for another world—one where, as Shane Claiborne says, “Marxism  won’t be necessary and Capitalism, as we know it, won’t be possible”. 

Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them; disagree with them; glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.

-Apple Ad Campaign-

Hurry

"I was becoming a pastor who wasn't in a hurry."

-Eugene Peterson-

"O lord, you will ordain peace for us, for you have indeed done for us all our works

-Isaiah 26:12-

I am reading The Pastor by Eugene Peterson. It's as enjoyable of a reading experience for me as I can remember. Over and over again, it's message is clear: slow down. Slow. Down.

I tend to get swept away by my own importance. I tend to succumb to the lure of control and busy. I tend to dismiss with my actions that everything good comes from the only one who is good. I tend to forget why we call him good.

I want to become a person who isn't in a hurry.

One who understands with real clarity the urgency and importance of the gospel. But, one who trusts so deeply in the Timing and move of the holy spirit that I can rest.

A wife, a mom, a friend, a young life leader, a person....who isn't in a hurry.

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whisper

To follow Jesus implies that we enter into a way of life that is given character and shape and direction by the one who calls us. To follow Jesus means picking up rhythms and ways of doing things that are often unsaid but always derivative from Jesus, formed by the influence of Jesus. To follow Jesus means that we can't separate what Jesus is saying from what Jesus is doing and the way that he is doing it. To follow Jesus is as much, or maybe even more, about feet as it is about ears and eyes.
-Eugene H. Peterson-

There are rhythms and currents to this journey. The deeper you climb and wrestle and dance your way into them, the easier it is to start to spot them. They are whispers often silent to much of the world. Rarely do they make sense in our view of the big picture. (because, really, we have such a tiny glimpse at the big picture) They are whispering invitations into collisions with the Holy. Whispering invitations into something bigger and better than we have ever known before.

These whispers are so often hard to hear. Sometimes they are far more painful than a whisper should be. Often for me, it has taken watching the whisper in the lives of others to learn the rhythms of the whisper of the Lord.

Augustine, in his pursuit to have the Lord overtake all of him... "Oh God...the Life of the soul that loves you." Martin Luther has he wars against what is within, terrified that it will impact the magic of the Glory of a God. "...for without you, I would easily wreck it all". Brennan Manning in his heartbreaking quest to believe in the depth and height and width of the love of the Lord... "He has a single relentless stance toward us: he loves us."

In the past few months as from afar I watched the gentle steps of my friend JB, who is living (probably later in life than he expected) in the severe and merciful tension "between the dreaming and the coming true". (quote from Robert Benson) I have watched the whispers of the Holy in the lives of my friends Hitchy and Emmy as they discover what it means to live in simplicity and humility. I see the whispers in Jake and CoCo as they plant roots in a place that has offered them sickness and heartbreak and laughter and cold and mission and hope. I can audibly hear the whispers thousands of feet in the air with Reno. In my brother, who is more important to me than he knows, as he bravely accepts the anointing of the Holy to stand in front of hundreds of judging eyes to tell the greatest story that has ever been told.

And, more than anywhere else, I see and hear and experience the whispers into the heart of my husband, who always leads me to the gentle feet of the rabbi, as his heart becomes captive to the rhythm of the Father. He is changing. And, because he is a really, really good husband, he is faithful to bring me along with him. And, hand in hand, I feel like we are standing in the middle of the river, ready to lift our feet and let the current take us away.





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king.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.
-Isaiah 9:6-7-

He was always meant to be the king. He will always be the king. But we are a tangible people. And, so Israel begged for a king that they could touch and smell and see. And God obliged, but not without warning and disappointment. But, a king came. And over and over again, kings would take over the throne of Israel. And it was harder to touch them, smell them, see them. Because they stayed in their palaces. They grew in wealth and in power. They sentenced sons and husbands to die for their greed. They subjected the chosen of the Lord to oppressive taxes and boundaries. But they were kings.

Then, after centuries, another King came. He didn't really look or smell or feel like the kings of the past. Because he had a gentleness they'd never seen before. He didn't demand anything to fill his palace. He didn't even have a palace. He just traveled around. And loved. He really, really loved. In a way a king had never done. He loved so deeply and fully that it terrified them. And so they had him removed. And removing him became the Great Rescue.

We were never meant for any king but him. We were meant to live and breathe under the love and mercy of the Great Rescue King.

And now we are thousands of years on the other side. And we serve all kinds of kings. We serve governments and presidents and corporations We serve greedy bosses. We serve dollars. We serve things that will not last forever. Things that will end. The dollar will disappear. So will America. And Walmart. They are not forever things.

We were never meant for any king but him. Because a son was given as a great rescue plan for our hearts and our souls and our lonely and our darkness. And the increase of His government and his peace will not end. Ever. And, ...he's good. He's the king I tell you. (C.S. Lewis, Chronicle of Narnia)


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grace.

…when he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good.

-Isaiah 7:16-

What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings...
Because Grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things

-U2, “Grace”-

Being a mom is one of the greatest things I’ve ever done.  From the first blinking heartbeat, I was hooked.  Line. and Sinker.  The way they snuggled together all swaddled in between pillows.  The secret language that only they understand.  The way they smell.  The way they look all wrapped up in a hooded towel.  The way Campbell says “powell” for pile.  The deep voice Grahambo has when he’s excited about something. The way they crawl in my lap after a nap like it is the only place on earth for them.  When we dance together.  When they sing the Beatles in the car.  The way they dance.  The special laugh they have that is reserved for each other.  Their tiny hands that hold my face and tell me I’m beautiful.  Their drawings, full of color and detail and adventure.  The way they love—with hope and laughter and reckless abandon.  They are mine for a little while.  I never want to let them go.

I love them just how they are.  Messy, loud, wild.  I love them in their good choices and their bad.  I love them when they trust my love and when they choose to live outside of it.  That is the easy part. 

The difficult is teaching them.  Teaching them how deep and wide and long my love for them is.  Teaching them, that they might learn how much deeper and wider and longer is the love of Jesus.  Teaching them that they have dark and rebellious hearts.  Just like me.  Teaching them that my heart has been rescued, but is still being refined.  Teaching them that the chasm that might seem to exist between the yucky of my heart and the good of the Creator isn’t empty.  And neither is the grave. Teaching them to see and choose what is good.  Warning them against evil.

The grace that it takes to be a parent is more than I ever bargained for.  Grace for your children.  Grace for your spouse.  Grace for yourself.  Grace that you claimed at your rescue, but that you forget on an hourly basis.

Grace that will draw them to the good.  Grace that will help them choose it.  Grace that will be the only way to avoid evil.  And grace that will make all of their ugly beautiful.  Just like it does in their momma. 

tannin.

 

“He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it; and he looked for it to yield grapes…”

Isaiah 5:2

“Our identity rests in God's relentless tenderness for us revealed in Jesus Christ.”

-Brennan Manning-

Stone by stone, he removes each one.  With a gentleness that is only in the hands that fluffed the clouds in the sky, he plants each vine.  He builds a tower and sets up shop.  He is so near, always watching.  Waiting.  Not for the grapes to fail.  But for the vines to yield.  He carves a wine vat in preparation for the harvest.  He carves a wine vat full of hope in the vines he planted and the soil he tended.

And what if it is the only thing that matters.  That he isn’t waiting for me to fail.  That he, with a fierce tenderness, has created the perfect space for me to find me to find joy and depth and hope.  The perfect space to become his righteousness.  To grow, not to fail.

What if he is rooting for me.  What if when no one else shows up, he is there.  He made a watchtower.  He is near.  What if in my searches for a sea of compliments and back-pats, his is the only one that matters.  And the only one that is constant.  He carved a vat, fully prepared for a celebration of who he made me to be.

What if the single greatest event in human history really was enough.  What if the death of an innocent one created a holy collision that could harvest all of my wild grapes and turn them into a perfect wine.  Full bodied, with depth of flavor and rich in tannin to remind me that in my wildness, he has been tender.

What if that tenderness is all that matters.

pour.

Gospel-centered community has a desire to mature in the faith, but also a desire to bring others along for the ride.  Which means we open up our hearts and our lives towards difficult people.

-Matt Chandler-

We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, "The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me." For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope. May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.

-Romans 15:1-7-

It feels very repetitive, but I have some incredible community.  And some hard community.  But, overall, I feel like I have a growing and maturing community around me.  I am so grateful for people who would dare to walk through life with me—when I’m good and when I’m an idiot.  I spend a lot of time being an idiot.  Yet, they walk belong side me when I’m hard to reach and hard to relate to.

I’ve had a lot of conversations about community lately.  In these discussions, I have found myself drawn in new ways to the idea of gospel community.  What did it look like in the scriptures? What are our roles now?  Community, for me, is the most difficult way that Christ asks me to deny myself.  It is hard to leave the comfortable for the uncomfortable, or the “difficult people”.  I find a million reasons to justify finding my niche of people whom I trust…or even people that I have the most in common with.  For me, it is scary.  It is kind of weird.  And I can find a million reasons why it isn’t really the right thing to do.

There is a very repetitive nature seen in groups of people throughout the scriptures.  A very build up/send out cycle of living.  In the old testament the kingdom of Israel is grown by growing up and sending out—new land and new people conquered and enveloped into the fold.  A spread of a nation.  The early church was built the same way.  It is easy for me to read about Paul’s experiences with people like Lydia who pastored the church in Philippi, whom Paul adored.  It is easy to see his love for the Philippians and the community he found there.  But, there were also the Ephesians, and they were a little more difficult.  Uncomfortable.  But he still went.  And welcomed.

I have a friend named Jake.  He didn’t really have a choice to love Daniel and I, he kind of inherited us.  But as our dear friend Courtney felly madly in love with him, we kind of did too.  He is so special and dear to us.  Jake reminds me more of Paul than anyone I know.   He’s ballsy and brave and honest.  He is so generous and so wise.  There is this tender part of him for when you really need it.   No matter where he is, he pours into the lives of others.  He teaches and shepherds and pastors.  He struggles to trust but he fights until he gets there.  He asks the questions that no one dares to ask.  But, Daniel’s favorite part about Jake is that he cares so deeply about the answers.  He wants to know and be known.  He embodies these verses from Romans, taking deep interest in the difficult people. Walking with them, building them up.   He teaches me all the time what it looks like to walk in deep and missional community. 

I want to be more open.  I want to be more obliged to pour in to life with people who are easy to be with as well as the difficult.  To walk with and grow with and live life with.  I want to be more like Jake.  And Paul. And Jesus.  

So, who is it for you?  Who are you pouring your life into?

misunderstood.

As he began to take the road again (after welcoming the children), a man came running up and fell at his feet, and asked him, “Good Master, what must I do to be sure of eternal life?”

“I wonder why you call me good,” returned Jesus. “No one is good—only God. You know the commandments, ‘Do not commit adultery,’ ‘Do not murder’, ‘Do not steal,’ ‘Do not bear false witness,’ ‘Do not defraud,’ ‘Honor your father and your mother’.”

“Master,” he replied, “I have kept carefully all these since I was quite young.”

Jesus looked steadily at him, and his heart warmed towards him. Then he said, “There is one thing you still want. Go and sell everything you have, give the money away to the poor—you will have riches in Heaven. And then come back and follow me.”

At these words his face fell and he went away in deep distress, for he was very rich.

-Mark 10:17-22-

A friend and I have been writing emails today about economics.  I am not very scholarly on the topic.  We landed at one point in the story of the rich young ruler.  As I have waded through this story, I keep thinking of our country.  I keep thinking that America might just be the rich young ruler.  A country that Jesus is so warm to.  And, a country that he is allowing to walk away with great riches and nothing else.  We are greedy and comfortable and obsessed with ourselves and the protection of our comfort. 

We are convinced that God desires prosperity for us in our terms.  We are convinced that the American Dream is not only ok, it is a biblical way of living.  We are willing to give what we believe God to be asking of us (usually it is 10%), and are even willing to give some of our excesses.  We are a little bit uncomfortable, however, with the idea of giving until it hurts.  And we are opposed to the idea of giving until we’re dry.

So often we hear that the story of the rich young ruler is a story of reliance.  A story of a man who depended on and trusted his money for security and maybe his worth.  It is most certainly a story of reliance.  But, I think it goes beyond that.  I think it is a story of ownership and one of gratitude.  It is the story of a man who has a lot of things, a man who probably believes that God gave him the means for attaining those things, and a man who now believes that he owns these things.  A man who doesn’t believe that Jesus would ask him to keep nothing for himself.

It is the story of a man who misunderstood.  He misunderstood his wealth to be a gift from God for him.   

Aren’t we this man?  We have misunderstood God’s purpose and desire for our wealth.  We believe so correctly that it is from Him….yet, incorrectly that it is for us.  We believe that He wants us to have because he wants us to be happy.  We mistake happiness and joy.  We have misunderstood where that joy comes from.

He is a God who gives.  He is a God who shares.  And he is asking the same of us.  We were not ever created for personal prosperity.  It was always meant to be communal.  Look at Israel, celebrating the Jubilee and the prosperity and the harvest as one. Collecting, sharing, redistributing.  Look at the early church, giving everything so that not one had a need.  Receiving, sharing, redistributing. 

It isn’t only a story of reliance and ownership.  I also think it is a story of missing eucharisteo.  Ann VosKamp defines eucharisteo as “grace, thanksgiving, joy”.  The man’s wealth was a gift, given in grace.  It was meant to be celebrated in gratitude.  It was meant to be enjoyed in a way that comes only in sharing. Eucharisteo.

creative.

"Satan's desire is to turn me in on myself to the extent that I become a destructive force in community. the thrust from Jesus Christ is the opposite- to enhance my freedom so that I can become a creative force of love. it is the spirit of self-centeredness and selfishness versus the spirit of openness and self-sacrifice for the good of others."
-Dietrich Bonheoffer-

Yesterday’s blog needed a part 2. Here it is.

Amidst all of me that is destructive to community is the invitation of a God, full of mercy and abounding in love, to a life that is full and free and open.  An invitation to become what Bonheoffer calls a “creative force of love” in the world. 

In his book* Irresistible Revolution, Shane Claiborne speaks so beautifully into what it looks like to become that kind of creative force of love.  He says, “We need converts in the best sense of the world, people who are marked by the renewing of their minds and imaginations, who no longer conform to the pattern that is destroying our world….What the world needs is people who believe so much in another world that they cannot help but begin enacting it now.”

I have a friend who often says that the more you get to know Jesus, the more you will fall in love with him…and the more you fall in love with him, the more you start to become like him.  I can see that happening.  The more I know and love Jesus, the harder it becomes to defend my way of living.  I have more questions about what I do and why I do it.  Some things start to lose their value, while what seemed worthless gains immeasurable value.  Politics and patriotism get really fuzzy when war and healthcare and capitalism and global initiatives are held next to the gospels.  Relationships have deeper value and coincidences become surprises from an Almighty.  Possibilities seem endless, not because of the country I was born in but because of the contagious imagination and adventure of the God who creates and gifts and instills in us great things. 

Jesus is inviting us to be a part of something that is bigger and greater than we ever dreamed.  They were his hands that, as Isaiah 45 tells us, stretched out the heavens and his voice that commanded the host of stars that surrounds us.  He is the one who made us and put us here. Incredibly though, it is through us, Isaiah reminds us, that he will build his city.  And, it is through our hands He will set people free. 

The almighty has invited us to come and play.

*If you’ve never read the book, go read it now.  Unless you want to stay the same.  Because this book might just point you so clearly to the scriptures that you will never be the same again.

destructive.

"Satan's desire is to turn me in on myself to the extent that I become a destructive force in community.  the thrust from Jesus Christ is the opposite- to enhance my freedom so that I can become a creative force of love.  it is the spirit of self-centeredness and selfishness versus the spirit of openness and self-sacrifice for the good of others."
-Dietrich Bonheoffer-

I remember sitting in church a few years ago bored by my own frustration.  I was frustrated with everything--the music, the kids program (I didn't even have children), the financial board, the fact that some people had painted over an ugly wallpaper border rather than try to take it down.  Honestly, I was running out of things to get frustrated with.  I remember looking around during worship that morning at almost a hundred closed eyes and some raised hands.  As I looked around I was overcome with the realization that every single person in the room was able to worship a God that they believed to be living and breathing and involved.  Except for one.  Me.

If Dietrich Bonheoffer's quote is true, then Satan has been very successful throughout my entire life in turning me from a spirit of openness to one with and embarrassing and destructive amount of self-centeredness.  It has taken many forms and looked hundreds of different ways.  It has always been a "destructive force" in my experiences of community with others and with the Holy Spirit.

So often it is my constant belief that I am right.  Sometimes it looks like my inability to find compassion for those who think they've been hurt but have never hurt like I have.  Sometimes it's my deep and seemingly impenetrable desire to be well-liked and respected.  Sometimes it's not giving a shit if I am.  Sometimes it's my justifying not asking the deep or right questions to someone I love--caring more to respect their privacy than their sanctification.  Sometimes it is my critical, judgmental nature.  Sometimes it's my inability to be disagreed with.  Often, it's my inability to shut up. 

It seems like it is always around. Always there. Always lingering.  This selfishness that seems to push against the open arms of Jesus.

I am reminded of the urging of Isaiah to his people,

"Oh, house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord" (Isaiah 2:5). 

He is there always. Inviting me to a different kind of living.  A kind of living that is no longer about me.  A way of living that is open and free and communal.  A place where instead of destruction, "I can become a creative force of love."  A place where people mess up and I don’t have to make a mental note about it.  A way of living full of second chances, open-handed giving, and a severe yet beautiful mercy for myself and others.  His ways are never mine.  Yet, he invites me to come and play.

hands.

 

Listen to your life.  See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.  In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments and life itself is grace.

-Frederick Buechner-

A lot of time in Christian circles people talk about their “story”.  Basically it is the chance to tell who you’ve been, who you are, and who you are becoming and all of the ways that God has been involved and instrumental in these things.  I love these stories.

Becoming a mom gave me such a deeper interest in the stories of people.  I watch Campbell and Graham every day with a depth of interest that I never knew was possible.  I have been able to watch almost every single minute of their little lives and little stories unfold.  I have seen them when they couldn’t do anything on their own. When even oxygen was hard to come by.  I have seen them learn to breathe, learn to hold their temperature at 98, learn to eat and walk and sleep and jump.  I have seen them learn colors and letters and people.  I was there the first time they argued with each other and the first time they got pushed around by a bigger kid.  I was there the first time they cried and the first time that they laughed.  I heard their first lie and their first song.  I saw the first time their jaw dropped and they jumped up and down with excitement.  I have seen them love others well and bite others on the shoulder or face (really).  I have watched them grow and explore and live life with everything their tiny little bodies can handle in the last four years.

And, through it all I have seen the evidence of the hands of a Creator.  Hands that knit them intricately together when I couldn’t see it.  Hands that held them as he over and over and over again blew oxygen and life into little bodies that were struggling for it.  Hands that hovered unseen over their little bodies as they took those first steps.  Hands that know when to protect them and when to let them fall and when to pick them up.  Hands that clap unnoticed with joy as the new is discovered and imagined and explored. 

Hands that I have prayed will bless and keep my boys.  Hands that will bring light to shine on them and that will be gracious to them.  Hands that will bring them peace and save their tiny souls.  Hands that will never leave.  Hands that when they look back over their lives, they will see the same fingerprints over everything, reminding them that they are not who they once were.  The same fingerprints that Daniel and I see all over our own.

I took you from the ends of the earth,
   from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, ‘You are my servant’;
   I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
So do not fear, for I am with you;
   do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
   I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

-Isaiah 41:9-10-

wool.

 

Accepting the reality of our sinfulness means accepting our authentic self. Judas could not face his shadow; Peter could. The latter befriended the impostor within; the former raged against him.

-Brennan Manning-

Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord:
though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red like crimson,
they shall become like wool.
19 If you are willing and obedient,
you shall eat the good of the land

-Isaiah 1:18-19-

I am Israel.  Dirty. Scarlet.  Burning my incense and hoping that the smoke from its fragrance will distract the Holy from the vision and the stench of my sin.  Somehow equally hopeful and unwilling to make a change.

And yet, he draws me in.

He makes me clean.  I weep as he washes the self-obsession that will always be in this body. 

He draws me in.

And I have a choice.  To cling or to run.  I feel like running.  Because I’m not sure I can handle it.  I’m not sure I know how to let go of myself.  I am afraid that if I don’t protect myself He might forget to.  And I’m not sure if I can trust.  Because trusting has always brought hurt. 

But I cling.  With all that I have.  I repent and beg for mercy that always seems to be there.  And as I cling to Him I am very aware that I have no idea how to live a life that isn’t about me.  In the whisper of a song singing over me is a promise to help.  A promise to sift.  A promise to draw me closer every step of the way.

I was raised up believing

I was somehow unique

Like a snowflake, distinct among snowflakes,

Unique in each way you can see.

But, now, after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be

A functioning cog in some great machinery,

Serving something beyond me

But I don't, I don't know what that will be.

I'll get back to you someday soon, you will see.

-Fleet Foxes, “Helplessness Blues”-

wrecked.

“Here’s what has to happen.  You have got to get over you.  You’re not the point, and the more you think you are the point, the more you will be enslaved to a thousand vices. 

If you’ll get over you, you’ll have a better marriage.  Because when it’s about you, then your spouse is your servant, given to you by God to make everything better for you.  They cannot do that.  You thinking you’re the point is going to breed conflict in the relationship with your spouse.  You’ll be a better parent if it’s not about you…It’s not hard to spot the guy whose world is about him and his kids are about him.  Because when they don’t play well, that’s somehow a reflection on him.  And so the volume gets cranked up, and the jab at the kid gets cranked up.  I’ve seen fathers lay their children to open shame in front of people.  And I’m for sports and being competitive in sports, but when you’re 5-years-old, if nobody peed their pants, that’s a win.  If the game is over and everybody is dry, I’m buying pizza.  So you can watch a guy who thinks he’s the point, then people have to perform. 

When you’re the point, you use others.  When you’re the point, you will easily be angered and bothered by others.  If you’re the point, when somebody cuts you off in traffic, that was on purpose.  When you’re not the point, they just didn’t see you.  When you’re the point, it’s ridiculous that you should have to wait in line like this, that your stuff doesn’t work like this and now this poor consumer telemarketer guy who was given to you by Dell to serve you is now getting all of your venom because the world is about you.  When things don’t line up like you want them to line up, you’re just seething and looking for someone to blame.  Why?  Because it’s about you. 

But when it’s not about you, you’re free.  When it’s not about you, you get to extend grace.  When it’s not about you, you get to rest.  When it’s not about you, you get to breathe.  When it’s not about you, you’ll sleep better.  When it’s not about you, you will be happier.  I don’t use the word “happy.”  Happy is a cheap substitute for joy, and it’s fleeting.  But when it’s not about you, you’ll be happier.  The more it is about you, the more you’ll be miserable.  And some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

-from the sermon “Village Identity (Part 1)-The Mission” on August 14, 2011 by Matt Chandler

You can listen to it here. It will probably destroy you, but it is worth it.

more.

I realize that I don’t love as much as I could or should.  I miss cues.  Sometimes I hear what a woman says but not what she means and wind up giving sage counsel to a nonproblem.

-Brennan Manning-

Lord Jesus Christ, I admit that I am weaker and more sinful than I ever before believed, but, through you, I am more loved and accepted than I ever dared hope. I thank you for paying my debt, bearing my punishment and offering forgiveness. I turn from my sin and receive you as Savior. Amen.

-Tim Keller’s prayer-

Tuesday night was the last night that our church small group will meet at our house.  It was the last night that small group will be led by Daniel and I.  I struggled with my words, trying to describe my gratitude to these friends who have become so dear, trying to describe the growth and the struggle that leading a life group has been for Daniel and I.  I looked around as I was incoherently rambling and I was unbelievably aware of the millions of ways I have let these people down.

Though I love them deeply, I could have done more.  Prayed more. Listened more.  Relaxed more.  Learned to shut my damn mouth.  Been more gentle and far less defensive in my pursuit, and their pursuit, of truth.  Visited more.  Cared more.  Encouraged more.  Shared more.  Shared less.

In a million ways, I let them down.  As real as the understanding was to me of my failures as a leader, was the grace and the mercy of a God who is not only in control, but intimately involved in our lives.  A God who is the only loveable thing about me.  A God who is the only one that loves my friends and I more than we ever dared to hope.  A God who never misses cues.  A God who is a just as he is gentle. 

He was gentle and gracious in my failures as a leader.

He was gentle and gracious in my attempts to lead well.

In my attempts to lead my friends to the river of hope and life and laughter that they might drink a life to the full…In my attempts to introduce them to the Saints that have taught me about the deep, deep love and power of the Savior and grown me in heart and mind exponentially…In my attempts to encourage missional and compassionate thinking/living, to weigh our lifestyles and desires against the bible.

In all of my good and all of my bad, he was gentle and gracious.  My friends may have gotten stuck with me, but my prayer is that somehow in our time together the Lord drew them to himself in ways he never had. It certainly happened for me. 

I told my friends the other night that I was thankful for the ways that I have grown in our time together.  There were so many conversations that blew my mind and exposed my junk and left me in awe and gratitude and fullness and hope. (The kind of conversations the make my other nights of going to bed with tears and hurt feelings seem so silly)  I feel like I grew up with them and now they are sending me out into the big, bad world of high school kids.  I feel empowered and enabled and encouraged by their love for Daniel and I.  I am so grateful.

“

free.

Gratitude is the most fruitful way of deepening your consciousness that you are not an “accident” but a divine choice.

-Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved-

My life is so full.  My life is almost free.  I have been given so many things. I have light and hope and laughter and tears and so many people that I hold dear.  I have so many things that move me with a gratitude I didn’t know was possible.  However, most things I take for granted. 

I take so much for granted because I am afraid that most days I forget the point. 

Most days I believe that I am the point.

Me. My hopes. My wants. My comfort. My dreams.

I took you from the ends of the earth,
   from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, ‘You are my servant’;
   I have chosen you and have not rejected you.

Isaiah 41:9

Some days I think I did the choosing. 

It turns out that I am not the point.  It turns out that my hopes and wants and comforts and dreams are all part of a life full of the grace to include all of these things.  A divine choice.  It turns out that He is the point.  It turns out that my life is full, not because of all of the things that I have, but because I was chosen by the only thing that matters.  I was chosen by the One who breathes value and worth into anything that is good.  He is the point.  And I am grateful.

The more He draws me to himself, the more he reassigns the valuable and the worthy in my life, the deeper my gratitude becomes. 

My life doesn’t always feel full and free.  Sometimes it is crowded and busy and suffocating.  But, some days gratitude, as Henri Nouwen puts it, deepens my consciousness, and I am aware and overwhelmed by the free and the full that has overtaken my entire life.  Some days I glimpse the freedom.  Some day I will live it.

shipwreck.

“Barque Mystique” Odilon Redon, 1840-1916

Augustine calls Him the “haven of the tossed and shipwrecked”.   I feel tossed and shipwrecked.  Looking for the fog to settle and the hazy beams of light to draw me in.  I feel jumbled and busy and tired. 

Behold my servant, whom I uphold,
   my chosen, in whom my soul delights…(Isaiah 42:1)

I feel ineffective and short-tempered and boring.

I am the LORD; I have called you in righteousness;
   I will take you by the hand and keep you…(Isaiah 42:6)

I feel defensive and irrelevant and silly.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine….(Isaiah 43:1)

I feel alone.

Yet, He draws me in.  In all of the shame that I think is miles away.  In my horrifically judgmental outlook on life. In my terrible choices as a wife and a mom and a friend.  In my constant belief that I am far too important.  In my defensive and frustrated responses in my small group.  He draws me in, a haven. He interrupts the shipwreck with a love and a grace and a hope that I have no way of understanding.  When I am least deserving, I am made full and whole and clean. 

Quia amasti me, fecisti me amabilem. (In loving me, you made me lovable).

-Brennan Manning-

tight.

We went to NYC in April to visit dear friends, see our favorite band ever The Boxer Rebellion, and to celebrate our anniversary. It was perfect. I also only took pictures on my phone, so sorry for the terrible quality!

Living is such a gamble, baby.  Loving’s much the same.

-Paul Simon-

I guess sometimes the ground can shift beneath your feet. Sometimes your footing slips - you stumble. And sometimes, you grab what's closest to you, and hold on...

as tight as you can.

-The Wonder Years-

 

Daniel,

Today we’ve been married for five years.  Five long, sweet, tiring, adventurous, overwhelming, hilarious, ridiculous, and absolutely wonderful years.  In five years our ground has shifted so many times.  Learning to live in the same house, the same room, the same bed.  The surprise of a baby-then two babies.  A long, hot pregnant summer celebrating our first anniversary.  Way too soon, late in September, the ground shifted and two little boys entered our world and our hearts and we had to learn how to stand as parents. While our boys fought for their lives, I began to cling, as never before, to the friendship we had been building for a decade.  You are my dearest friend.  I learned to grab you and hold on to you with all that I have—for laughter, for comfort, for encouragement, for hope, for light.  As I grabbed on to you, I started to feel like myself again.  Because your hope and your light and your laughter and comfort and encouragement brought me to the feet of the One who rescued you and I—and the One who blew breath into our tiny little ones (even though it took a long time sometimes).

We have spent five years learning more about ourselves and each other than I ever thought I could.  I thought I knew you before we got married.  But, it has taken five years for me to know the comfort of your breath when you are sleeping next to me.  Five years to know that every room that has you in it is automatically a better room.  Five years to know that you aren’t going anywhere.  Five years to rest in your laughter as well as your frustration.  Five years to learn your song and your voice and your dreaming.  Five years to learn that I am barely scratching the surface of who you are, who we are. 

Thank you for never giving up on me.  For chasing me when I run.  For loving me when I am closed.  For filling our house with music and laughter and creativity and calm.  For working your ass off so that I can be at home with our boys.  For celebrating me and for celebrating them.  For learning to eat salad.  For dozens of hospital visits.  For being my partner.  For being the steady when the ground shifts because for five years you have clung to the only One who is sure.  For holding on to me as tight as you can and pushing me to the One who holds me as tight as I need.

Five years in, Daniel Mizell…and you are still the best part of my day. And totally worth the risk.

Love, Linds