Work It Out

Have you ever forgotten what it's like to be new? Not the "I've never been here before, but I've got five friends over there waiting for me" but the wide-eyed, sweat forming, panic inducing, awkward conversation new. I never cease to amaze myself at how quickly I come full circle back to thinking I've got it all figured out.

Good thing God likes to give me a good push when I'm off balance.

Reality of the situation is my ego runs so far ahead of me I get lost. I stop at the gas station and they tell me it passed three days ago. I think I have it all figured out far too often. Then I'm brought to a rude awakening when brick wall meets face. There isn't much give there, I learn very quickly how ignorant I really am.

How do I get to that place? How do I forget what it's like to be a child? To ask questions, to listen, to absorb. To cry when it hurts, laugh when it's funny, and wear my heart on my sleeve. Pouting and all. I spend so much time trying to grow up I forget learning is the point of the journey.

It takes practice. It takes sweat, blood and tears to really get a handle on things. It takes the willingness to listen to those who are much further along than you and constantly be reevaluating. I'm so inadequate, so far short of the mark. I get in the way too often. When I need to listen, I nod my head and pretend I knew it all along.

Help remove me from this equation. Though it pains me to say it, humble me.

What Do I Know of Holy?

Addison Road - What Do I Know of Holy?

I made You promises a thousand times

I tried to hear from Heaven

But I talked the whole time

I think I made You too small

I never feared You at all No

If You touched my face would I know You?

Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out

I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about

How You were mighty to save

Those were only empty words on a page

Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be

The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?

And a God who gave life "its" name?

What do I know of Holy?

Of the One who the angels praise?

All creation knows Your name

On earth and heaven above

What do I know of this love?

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

Every once in awhile, something catches me in just the right way. Knocks the wind right out of my lungs, and pulls my feet out from under me, leaving me laying on the ground staring straight up at the endless sky. As clouds meander overhead, my head is busy attempting to reconcile the events of the previous seconds.

What do we know of God? Who can accurately portray infinite? Who dare to say they have tamed a wild lion?

We put him into a little box, wrap a string around it, and declare it right, perfect, and pretty. And then we leave it to gather dust. Occassionally, that box taps us on the shoulder and pulls us out of our own prison back into the wide world. We talk about mighty, while we picture a quaint old man who cares for us.

From time to time, when we are least expecting it, the thunder rolls in, the lightning strikes, and we are jolted into a realization that we knew nothing. All that talk of power, might, wonder rushes through our bodies, and our only possible reaction is to fall to our knees, begging mercy.

My heart opens up, and my eyes flutter open. I'm staring at that same blue sky, with those same meandering clouds. Only now, I'm seeing them in colour for the first time, bursting forth with life. My only fear is that it will fade, and it will be far too long before I remember who it is that I worship.

Bring me to my knees.

Priorities

"If you want to give it all you've got," Jesus replied, "go sell your possessions; give everything to the poor. All your wealth will then be in heaven. Then come follow me."

Fiction is such a powerful tool. It's exceptionally easy to tell someone exactly what they need to hear, straight on. It's a whole other to teach the principles behind what you are saying. Something about stories captures the imagination, and roots itself deeply in our memories. Be it that we should look deeper than a title (Aladdin), or that we should never get caught up in worshipping an object, rather than God (The Last Battle), they teach us lessons in ways that engrain themselves on our psyche.

It never ceases to amaze me, then, the unrecognized allegories that surround us everyday. I'm in the process of reading through The Lord of the Rings, and the company has just entered Moria. The fear that besets each of them before they enter through that gate is so... familiar. They've tried another path and were blocked by an unseen force, and so they have to pick a much more dangerous path, or give up.

As they travel through, there is an overarching sense of dread. Like holding your breathe after entering the water and not knowing when you're going to come up for air again. Each step is another towards their impending doom. Each step is a necessary one if they are to complete their mission, and thus makes the risks worthwhile.

Occasionally I pause in moments like these and wondering to myself, what sort of missions are guiding my footsteps. Is it the pursuit of money? Fame? Friends? More and more... stuff? I am so easily distracted from my original intent, so easily pulled back onto the path for the Wraiths to find me.

Lost.

I'm sure that's exactly how the rich young man felt after coming to Jesus showing a deep sign of devotion and being left wanting. Imagine what that must have been like. You step out in a crowd of people, positively shimmering with religious zeal to follow this God-man, and in an instant he unravels your entire being and leaves you naked and exposed before this crowed. Most embarrassingly, he just asked the pointed questions, the decision was in your hands the entire time.

This story stands out to me as a tree amidst the Serengeti because of how relevant it is. There is nothing disingenuous about either side here. The man truly wants to follow Jesus, and in turn Jesus tells him what it will cost. Everything. Nothing on earth, everything in heaven. "Put your trust entirely in me," Jesus says.

Miniscule. That's how big I feel when I ponder how much I'm asked to give up related to how much He did give up. Everything. Nothing in heaven, everything on earth. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

I wonder if I'd be willing to pass through the darkness of Moria. My desire is that I'd be willing to go to the ends of the earth, but when the rubber hits the road, would I? If He asked me to give up everything to follow Him, would I?

Priorities shining like a noonday sun.

Help me to put all of them on You. Help me to put all my treasures in heaven, nothing on earth.

Stories

I can't speak for everyone... but my theology is a narrative one. The story of creation, of a fall, of a people chosen to rise out of the ashes of that fallen world like a phoenix. From that Phoenix a glimmer of hope, looking forward to the future King and Messiah. The ultimate striking down of that messiah and a party as the forces of evil thought they had struck their final blow. Imagine their surprise when Aslan appeared at their gates not as a conquered slave, but as a victorious king, shining all the brighter to claim the key to death. Imagine their surprise as he bid them goodbye to return, risen on the third day. And imagine their malice as he ascended to his rightful place beside his Father, only strengthened by their s0-called victory.

It's a story upon which so many other are fashioned. Be it Frodo, Rand, Aslan and the Pevensie children, Neo or any other numerous protagonists. The story of redemption runs through our blood. It's engrained upon our hearts, as we long to emulate what our souls cry out for. As they weep within us to be set free to chase after their ultimate goal, we suppress them; calling them foolish.

These stories intertwine. Goodness knows I've skittered across a plethora of stories within the past two years, all across the globe. Those stories continue long after I my chapter has ended, and I can only hope that the words left on those pages are ones that will influence the ongoing crescendo of their lives. I've met people in pain. People in joy. People eraptured by love. Those desperate to meet their saviour, and those scorn his very existance.

Whatever fibres they choose to weave with, it fascinates me that we are constantly telling a story. Be it a short story, or a long epic, we tell our journies with words, with actions. My story will soon take me in a new direction, to a new place. One tension in my story begins to resolve as my life and my heart align. A new beginning as I start to pastor a new group. It's a scary story, and the outcome is uncertain. But I approach that tension with the knowledge that I'll spend plenty of time on my knees and let the Author do the writing for me. It is time for me to be a character in my own story.

What sort of story are you telling?

Have Faith

As I reread through the gospels... it continues to amaze me how much weight Jesus puts in individual's faith through his day to day actions. In nearly (if not all) every miracle, the individual's faith is the hinge upon whether Jesus performs the miracle or not. Whether they be Jew or gentile, their faith was paramount to the outcome. Take this as an example:

The Faith of a Syrophoenician Woman

24Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. 25In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an evil spirit came and fell at his feet. 26The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

27"First let the children eat all they want," he told her, "for it is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs."

28"Yes, Lord," she replied, "but even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs."

29Then he told her, "For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter."

30She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

Even though in many ways it appears that Jesus is putting her away, she has heard of this Jewish Rabbi who could heal the lame, blind, diseased and possessed. It is entirely likely that this was her last hope, having tried everything else, and that faith, knowing of the relationship between Jews and their neighbours that causes Jesus to heal her daughter.

The implications are staggering, when put in context. Numerous times Jesus turns people away because the measure of their faith comes up short. Other times he challenges them, only for their faith to stand. In one case, the man asking even begs Jesus to provide him with the faith to believe.

I often wonder if I have that desperation in my life. Do I really need it? Is it really my air? My water? Or am I coming back out of habit? It's a danger I have to be aware of constantly, and one that reminds me of what a great God I serve! I merely need to have faith.

Light

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

There is something I must confess. I have not always been a believer in this passage. I have wrestled with it in some very deep ways. How can someone who promises so much strife and turmoil also promise to give me rest? How can I trust such clear dissonance coming from the same mouth. It is like two separate pieces of music, in different keys, being played simultaneously. Oh, my foolish thoughts.

I have another confession to make. These very thoughts arise out of my own wrecklessness, my own selfish pride. In my spiritual superiority, I forgot the most important thing: I am weak. I have attempted to carry on a relationship without communication. I have fought bitterly for rights that are not my own. I have lost my first love, and with it the security that it brings. It is time I reclaim it.

Jesus is saying here that if I would only trust him, I would lose sight of all the other things. I may be worried about money, but in reality I make more than 90% of the world! I may be concerned about where I live, but I have a roof over my head, a warm bed, and food. So what do I have to worry about? My Father in heaven is watching over me.

That relationship I have been neglecting is coming back. It takes time. It takes intentionality. It takes work. Of all the things I dedicate my time to, I can't think of a better one to pour myself over, to dig in deep and beg for more. I want to be in head first, with no way out. I want to be bound so I could not escape. I want to be starstruck so the world fades away. I want to trust.

I have been weary. In my own selfish pride, I have thought I was above being weak, all while thinking I was acting weak. I am a helpless babe, and I need the rest to grow. Thanks be to God that I have that place, time, and love to do just that.

Up Against the Wall

The grey clouds cascade quickly over your head, unleashing a flurry of rain pestering you from every angle; the towering slick rock-face behind you offering little shelter from the onslaught. Hands patting each inch of the wall, hoping to find some relief, some haven to offer sanctuary. Your eyes darting in every direction, searching for your assailants.

It was moments... or maybe it was years ago that they peppered your fragile body with attacks. Your beaten, battered, bruised. One more attack, and your knees will buckle, succumbing to the overwhelming weight, leaving you to drown in the deluge.

There they are. Stepping as ghouls into your vision, their outlines framed by the drizzle by the dull light. Their frames lurch threatening as they edge closer to you, each moment spelling your doom. The situation is entirely hopeless. Their very presence is suffocating.

Following Christ is unlike any other. A juxtaposition on it's very basic level. To know oneself, you must deny yourself. His load is light, but it will cost you dearly. Your a visitor in the only land you've ever known. You're called to deny your family, but take care of the orphans and widows. You work at your faith, but you're saved by grace.

You are constantly under siege. A battle rages on around you with every passing moment of cosmic proportions. Forces battle for your soul, your loyalty, your mind. Your choices can have far-reaching consequences either way.

You are constantly under protection. A moment never passes where you are alone. No matter the trials or tribulations that you face, you can always find peace in knowing that you will soon be home. Anything in life only has meaning if you let it. What you decide has meaning has far reaching-consequences.

I was once told that I can do whatever I set my mind to. No matter the scope, difficulty or absurdity of my dreams, it can be accomplished with God's help. Somewhere along the way I let that light go out. I got lost in fighting my own fights, and running from my foes. It is far past time that I relight the torch. That I through conventions to the wind, and remember what it's like to have my back up against the wall. Fight and live for what is true, and right.

Perhaps the biggest juxtaposition is that to be strong, we must first be weak. To fight, we must surrender. To claim victory, we must do it in defeat. When the demons close in, and there is no escape, we merely have to remember that it is not our fight to win. In those moment we discover that slick precipice at our back is our fortress. Within that fortress is our most powerful advocate, who holds dominion over everything. That battle has been won.

So what's your back up against?

Uncertain

Hebrews 6:13-15

When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was
no one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself,
saying, "I will surely bless you and give you many
descendants." And so after waiting patiently, Abraham
received what was promised.

It's a sure thing. There's not a doubt in your mind. You've thought out every possible angle, and then... it slips through. Like dry sand through your fingers, it sifts through and you're left with nothing but a dry residue to remind you anything ever happened. It's frustrating, infuriating.

I feel I've spent the past 2 years of my life in a constant state of flux. The undulating rhythm of my life pushing me up, dragging me down. Sprawling vista's; deep chasms. The sun beaming down on my face, warming my cold skin; the damp walls leeching every warmth from my heart. Frustrating.

Perhaps you've felt like this? Each step a labour. Every breath a chore. But you keep moving forward, each day.

With my hope faltering, and my outlook becoming ever shallow, I realize that it's moments like these that test one's resolve. A hurricane is not weathered when you're boarding the place up. Each board placed makes a difference, each sandbag laid prepares for the ensuing floods. But regardless of the preparations you makes, it's when the winds test your work. When the water seeps through, and trees are uprooted that you find what lays deep in your heart. Some cower, some freeze in fear, or form an icy resolve, and others rise to the challenge, digging into energy deep within them to press through the worst of the storm and pick up the pieces.

I've had a bit of all of them inside of me. I've cowered, frozen, fallen within myself, and I hope that I can yet rise to this challenge. But like any other moment, I'm not enough. I'm always back to square one, my energy spent, my heart broken, and my vision dulled. I'm so short sighted. I long to be home, to be away from these struggles, this constant warfare that I am so terrible at. I want to be free, free to fly, free to discover what it means to live this life.

Weight... dragging me down. Threatening to pull me under. And with every passing day I am drawn to my own iniquities. My own failings. No matter how 'good' I may be, I'll never be good enough.

I'll never be good enough.

There's a lesson I need to learn. It's not about me. It was never about me. But I long so much for it to be about me. Each day, attempting to pull my skin off like Eustace. Tearing at my scales, longing for the boy I used to be. But it's not I that should pull those scales off. I need God. I need those promises, those moments when He rips me deeper than I ever thought possible, when my heart, mind and body cry out for relief. I hate even saying it, but I need it. Make me bleed, take my life, as long as I can be free. Whatever the cost, wherever the journey, I want to be free.

But I'm so ... uncertain.

Screw-Up

There is nothing quite like a good kick in the pants to get your butt in gear. When everything is going smoothly, or so I think, a big kick to the kiester, pushing you to the curb really puts things into perspective. Makes you wonder if it's ever even possible to walk the 'straight and narrow' and not meander off into the local shops, just for a peek.

What the heck? What on earth are you talking about?

As some of you know, I've been on a journey of self-discovery over the past 8 months. Discovering who I am. Discovering who the world is. Discovering who you are. Discovering. Some thing I've uncovered have been exactly as I suspected. Others, however, have been a surprise to my calculating side. Not because they failed to live up to my predefinition, but in how I failed to live up to my own standards.

If there is any one thing I could say coming out of the past two years, it's that I'm a certified failure. I will never be good enough, smart enough, or wise enough to carry my own weight. No amount of planning will account for the variables. Something will always go wrong, and that something will usually be me.

An errant word... a flippant action... words unspoken. These things haunt me.

The hover over me, calling out my faults, casting the spotlight upon my imperfections, daring me to prove them wrong.

Cringe as I might, contorted into various precarious positions, I can't hide in the shadows. I'm a big screw-up.

Heavy. Like an anchor around your neck, dragging you down. Rancor builds up in your accusers as they tug at your ankles. You tread water faster, harder; but it's not enough. You can't keep your mouth above the surface, and your lungs begin to fill. Hope abandons ship, praying that they take you, not it before the shore is in reach.

A lifeline. A hand around your wrist. You forgot something... the spotlight was never meant to be on you. You weren't designed to stand up to scrutiny. You are imperfect, that was the whole point all along.

I screw up. I screw up a lot. I say strange, awkward, horrific things. Sometimes, they hurt other people, and not just myself. They often bare a striking resemblance to everything I wish I wasn't. If I was a construction site, I'd be a giant hole, and they'd be building it upside down, putting the roof in the ground. It's just backwards.

But thankfully I'm not in it alone. I'm hopefully dependant on something greater than myself. If I want to be like Jesus, then I need Jesus. I need Him in every aspect. I need to get up in the morning asking Him to be my guide. I need to eat my breakfast keeping in mind that He provided it. I need to drive to work, conscious that the person who cut me off is in a rush to get to work, because if they don't, they will likely be fired. I need to be aware that the pushy person in the office is probably fighting with their spouse at home.

Every person I meet is just as much a wreck as I am. The difference is that I have Christ. The question is, does that show? Am I joyful? Am I patient? Am I kind? Am I willing to give grace?

I'm a total screw-up. And I'm totally thankful for that.

The Roar Behind

It's no secret I quite enjoy the writing of CS Lewis. I enjoy their rhythm, I'm awed by their depth, and I'm intrigued by their implications. As I reread through the Narnia series I am continually in a state of admiration for how he takes some very complex theological ideas and distills them into finger-food anyone can comprehend.

I often laugh with my friends about how I pray for things and I'm begrudged when God happily answers my cry. Usually this is because I foolishly, but not really at all, ask Him to tear me apart and rebuild me in His image. To strip me of my pride, to teach me a lesson I know I need to learn, or to put me over the coals and hammer me into a tempered sword for His use. Foolish prayers, because I know that without a doubt these are prayers that will be answered.

Deep down they truly reflect my hearts wish. I want to be useful, I want to be pure; I only struggle with the process from which he culls those impurities. They are hard, they hurt, and they leave scars marring every inch of my body, mind and soul. In hindsight, however, I can't think of a single one that I would trade in, because each of them have been entirely worth it.

Shasta, Bree, Hwin and Aravis are moving through the desert North towards Archenland and eventually Narnia. They have been travelling for days, and are hot, tired, and thirsty. But they know they have to press on nonetheless, in order to beat out an attacking group and warn the Archenlanders. And in that final stretch, when the danger is most immanent, a lion chases them down.

I'm sure you can imagine what comes next. More importantly, I be you can empathize with that feeling, I know I can. You are tired ans sore from the journey. You feel as though you have nothing left inside, and God asks you for just a little more. In this case, it's the threat of danger and death that is used as a motivation. But the Jesus we have constructed in our heads holds children, hugs lambs and always smiles. Imagine the fear it would inspire in you if he growled at you and threatened your life.

God is not tame. He doesn't fit nicely into our pretty boxes, our leather Bibles, or our consecrated churches. He is not a tame line. His leaping for Aravis at ripping her back open, drawing blood is entirely in His character. But His intention is never to kill, merely to inspire and teach. Had He wanted to kill, the mere thought of it would turn it into reality.

I have claw marks. They sting from time to time, but I have learned to welcome them as a comforting reminder that the Lion watches over me, and deems my journey important enough to spur me forward in the times of my greatest danger. I'm fearful to think what would have been had I not received that nudge.

Closer

"But when he had said "Yes," he thought of his Mother, and he thought of the great hopes he had had, and how they were all dying away, and a lump came in his throat and tears in his eyes, and he blurted out:

"But please, please -- won't you -- can't ou give me something that will cure Mother?" Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonders of wonders) great shining tears stood in the lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared to Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.

"My son, my son," said Aslan. "I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another. But I have to think of hundreds of years in the life of Narnia."

-From The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis

How our perceptions change. What once was so bright and clear becomes foggy. The monster that once plagued our closets is now our best friend. The lion that threatened to devour us in it's majestic power is now the only source of empathy we find in this lonely place.

I just finishes reading through this book (thanks Felicia) again, and I come at it with new eyes. Eyes that are less innocent than the last read through, and a heart that bares more weight than it once did. Where I was a child, I am now a boy. Where I once saw plot, I now see life. It speaks no longer to my fictional mindset, and my imagination, but directly to my life experiences. This is no longer just a story about beginnings, it's a story about me.

The questions of 'what if?' Temptations. Lust for power. The wrecklessness of hope, lashing out in it's ignorance. Very deep topics for a children's book. Yet as I reflect upon my few short years, I identify all to well with these things. 'Was it my fault? Where were You? How come it couldn't be me? Why won't you help?' I struggled, I wrestled, and I fought these questions to the bitter end. And now... as I read about the tears of the Lion, I understand.

Where I once saw God as an aloof observer, who I could bend to my will, I now I see a gentle (yet ever so powerful) ruler, who empathizes with me. In my innocense, and my ignorance, I thought that no one could understand. But who better to understand than the one who created me? Am I so selfish as to think that He has never lost anything? That He would not understand my pain? No... that would be foolish of me, for every ache that I feel in my heart, He feels tenfold. For every loss that stings humanity, a stake is drive through. In our pain, we are drawn closer to our creator, because we understand the empathy that is involved.

Some are driven further, seduced by the promises of power through anger. They seek to harness their pain to whip their souls and hearts into greater heights. But in their bloodlust, they lose something so precious that the consequences are not small. They lose empathy.

"Yes, Aslan. She wanted me to take an apple home to Mother."

"Understand, then, that it would have healed her; but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would have been better to die in that illness."

And Digory could say nothing, for tears choked him and he gave up all hopes of saving his Mother's life; but at the same time he knew that the Lion knew what would have happened, and that there might be things more terrible even than losing someone you love by death. But now Aslan was speaking again, almost in a whisper:

"That is what would have happened, child, with a stolen apple. It is not what will happen now. What I give you now will bring joy."

We are not always given a choice as to our path. But in our humility, we are brought to the absolute knowledge that our path is what is best. And I am brought closer yet again.

Fragile

What a precarious position we find ourselves in. A slick precipice on either side, the thick rain pouring in waves upon you, with only the flashes of the distant lightning to guide your feet. It seemed like only yesterday that I was skipping freely among the daisies and gliding my hands over the tall grass with a smile in my heart, and a laugh in my throat.

I am jealous of my memories. I covet their innocence and their free spirit. Not a care in the world, not even of where I would sleep that night. Surely the birds that listlessly careened around me would lead me to a sanctuary where I could lay my head.

Now my head lays in my calloused hands. Tears streak down my grimy face. A shudder crawls it's way maliciously up my body as the cold seeps in. My legs mock me in their cramped state, as if they know what the future will hold.

There was a time when I would call that carefree person foolish. How could you act so free with the midnight clouds billowing over the horizon, snaking their way towards you. Surely you could not be dumb enough to not anticipate the battles that lie in wait for you, the traps that nip at your ankles wanting to drag you into their subterranean lair. This is a fight for your life, and hardly a time to enjoy the gentle breeze before it grows into a gale.

Then it pierced me like an arrow. Who is the fool? The one who spends the day occupied with where his food is going to be found or whether he will be safe when he lays his head down? Or the one who lets those things worry about themselves and keeps his eyes up. How often do you find those with their heads in the clouds suffocating beneath your feet?

I am the fool. The deep chasms on either side are nothing but landscapes created out of the schisms in my own mind. I'm in the meadow. The scent of the flowers seems so distant in my nostrils, yet their proximity seems to comfort me. The rain soaks me to the bone, but I hear the sonnet of the birds dancing about me and the warmth begins to kindle inside, roaring to life. My legs are atrophied not from the journey, but from sitting. I have forgotten how to use them. The days when I would dance and leap to be one step closer faded away when I allowed my foot to be still, and my ankle entangled.

A glimpse. A ray of light through my clouds. Irradiating me with the truth that has been so absent. "Your sins are forgiven. Get up, take your mat and go home."

I am in the meadow once more.

It is a fragile state of mind we exist in. Draw not your strength from your own wells, for they run dry. Drink of the Living Water, and you will never thirst again. Put your heads firmly in the clouds and pray that it is never yanked to earth.

In my innocence, I wish to be enlightened. In my 'enlightenment' I wish to be innocent. What a foolish man I am.

The Journey

http://www.noob.us/entertainment/matt-harding-dances-around-the-world-2008-version/

It's a very small world. Just 75 years ago, crossing an ocean took two weeks. Travelling the country took equally as long, due to the necessity for trains. Wanted to get somewhere off the beaten track? There was still a chance you would be going horseback.

We've come a long way in the past 75 years, learning to travel at breakneck speeds. You can talk to someone on the other side of the world instantly, and share some form of a relationship with them without ever knowing their real name.

It's a world of instant gratification, where you want something, and you want it now. Taking a few hours out of your day to travel somewhere seems like a waste. Phoning someone can seem cumbersome when you can post on their wall, or send them an IM.

Somewhere in there, I lost the sense of a journey. Where I was forced to sit back, smell the flowers, read good books, and get outside. I got caught up in making money, in paying the bills, and in the petty politics of everyday life. Concerned more about those around me than myself, my feet began to stumble over the uneven ground, and my eyes fell to my cumbersome steps.

Life your eyes young man. Lift them to the mountains, to the heavens, and gaze upon your salvation. The light emanating from your destination should mesmerize you. Don't let the flashing lights along the way pull your attention from the finish line. You don't need to worry about lifting your feet, for it was not you who had the power to step out of the mire to begin this journey. You were waist deep and unable to move, but someone lent you a hand out. And you took your first step. Your path will be steady if you keep your eyes on the end.

I forgot the stumbling. The scraped knees, the open wounds, and the fierce battles for my life. I was lulled into a sense of security, and let my armour grow rusty. Brandish it once more, for the hunter lurks in the shadows, stalking you. Unsheathe your sword, awaken your sore muscles to do battle once more. You need not fret the scrapes you will endure, for you know a Doctor who pays keen attention.

This is a battle for your life. And you are not alone. There are thousands, millions of us on that same path with you. We have fallen wayward, and become distracted from our home. We have settled for far less than we will know. Show us the path. Live a life worth following, not just in your words, but in your actions. Take the precarious precipice, daring to scale the slick cliff face that threatens to throw you to the rocky ocean below. Take it because it is the path we all wish to take, but are too afraid to scale.

I have been distracted, but distracted no more. I will dance the dance, fight the fight, and run this race. I will set my sights not on my feet, but on that city. I will fall, I will fail, I will hurt, I will learn. And each time that I want to stop, that I beg for relief, I will find times of refreshing knowing that this is not my home. This rocky road, this comforting bed, this seductive shortcut is not my home.

My home lies ahead, and I long for it.

Soft

I wonder what it would have been like to be Jesus. Each and everyday, walking around Israel, meeting people that desperately need your help. Teaching them all, touching some, healing less. How much of their pain would have he felt directly? Would it have been frustrating to see all these people and know that you just don't have time to talk to everyone, to help everyone.

What would have his relationship with God have been like? Was it personal? Did it come and go? Did he memorize scripture as a boy? Was it all in his head? From the early tales we have of Jesus in the court in Jerusalem, it's pretty clear he has wise far beyond his years in interpreting the scriptures, but did he ever become apathetic?

While a lot of the answers to these questions are clear in mixing his humanity and divinity, and even more of them become unclear in that mix, it's important to remember that Jesus experienced many of the same feelings we have, if not all of them.

In the past few weeks, I have been learning that I need to be soft again. Soft in all the right places, and let the calluses that have grown fade. I'd be lying if I said Fiji didn't do a number on me; didn't threaten my spirituality. It was a trying experience, a time in the desert, and while I knew that God walked me through each and every moment, including the months afterwards, it left me tired.

I'm still tired. But the time has come for me to wake up and no longer use that as an excuse or a crutch, but instead to use it as my catalyst. Time to dig in deep, to remember my roots, and revive the parts that have dried and withered. Remember that if I am going to be soft to one thing, receptive to one voice, it's God's. That means more time in the Word, more time on my knees (literally), and more time meditating after both of those things.

This is my commitment.

The Survey Says...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23337807/

Read through that article, because it is very telling. While I live in a different country (Yes, Canada is not a state) we are intimately tied to our Southern Cousins.

The general tone of the article is this: religion is not cutting it. There are few converts (across all faith's), and those that are 'wins' are merely cross-pollinated from another denomination. Catholics suffering the worst from this symptom.

Penn State University sociologist Roger Finke, who consulted in the survey planning. "Right now, there is a dropping confidence in organized religion, especially in the traditional religious forms."

Let's unpack that a little bit. Notice how the problem here is not with faith in general, although one could argue that the assault on faith is beginning to take it's toll, but rather the problem is with organized religion.

If you've talked to me at any point in time during the past 8 years, you know I'm no fan of 'organized religion.' I don't think that Jesus mandated it, and I don't think it has any place in Christianity. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not saying the Church should be dissolved, and any source of authority removed. Rather, I'm stating that the four walls of church's should be demolished, and the big front doors torn down.

Instead, we should meet in the streets of our communities, meeting with the people who live there, learning their needs, and then meeting them. We have become an increasing irrelevant faith. We talk about how much good we do, but then what do we actually do?

The majority of the unaffiliated — 12 percent of the overall population — describe their religion as "nothing in particular," and about half of those say faith is at least somewhat important to them. Atheists or agnostics account for 4 percent of the total population.

Notice that. 12 percent say they have no religion, that means a staggering 88% classify themselves as having and actively believing in some faith. Another 6% are saying that faith is at least somewhat important to them. Where are those 6% falling? Who is meeting their needs?

Many Americans have vague denominational ties at best. People who call themselves "just a Protestant," in fact, account for nearly 10 percent of all Protestants.

This is also a very significant trend, and something I have stated time and time again -- denominations are not cool. Yes, we need to identify with something, and we need to have clearly defined beliefs. But why on earth (pun intended) are we dividing ourselves over such trivial things? Would Jesus, Paul, Peter or the countless others really be satisfied with these divisions, or would they condemn us for being legalistic and, dare I say it, pharasitical?

Although evangelical churches strive to win new Christian believers from the "unchurched," the survey found most converts to evangelical churches were raised Protestant.

Note that statement right there. You know what that screams at me? We aren't doing our job. People keep searching for the depth they long for, and they aren't finding it. They go from one nuance to another in hopes that it will revitalize their dying selves, and in reality they are looking in all the wrong places.

We must live our our faith. Not in the talk about it, preaching kind of way. But in the practical saving lives, handing out food, talking with our neighbours kind of ways. These are the things that make the difference. Digging under the skin, asking the hard questions, pushing through the difficulties of a relationship and showing people that they are worth it.

Pushing the Boundaries

Here's a thought. How much time do we actually sit down to think?






Did you just graze over that? Or did you stop to really think how much time you spend just meditating on the day or particular topics. It's alarming how much of our days we fill with white noise, background something or other that will ensure we don't have to think or be concerned with what is really going on.

Take that and apply it to the upcoming generation. The ones who grew up with computers, the internet and every way imaginable to communicate with someone who isn't right in their face. You bored? The internet has your fix. Games, reading, movies, music, anything you could ever want right at your fingertips. But it comes at a cost.

You shut down. You stop really thinking, stop evaluating what is going on in and around you. The question is it worth it? And you stop asking, could it be better?

How many times have you heard that youth have a naeve vigor? That they will dream, without any thought for possible consequences? And how often have you heard it said that people lose that as they get older? I have a single question to ask, why?

Why are we satisfied with letting the hard questions slide, and the big dreams go unrealized? Why do we allow life to weigh us down? When can we push the boundaries a little further than they were before, and dare to dream that our lives could be more than they are today?

Church is a prime example of this, and it is a symptom that I am fighting as I grow older. Never stop dreaming, never stop hoping. I was thinking today, and it occurred to me that Jesus only lived until he was 32. He began his ministry when he was thirty. In the Jewish culture, he was but a young pup, barely ready for the primetime. And you had to know that you would not have wanted to be his rabbi. How could you contain the knowledge and dreams that must have come pouring out of him? More importantly, should you?

Jesus called all the little children unto him, and said that the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these. We have often taken that to mean their innocense, but I would like to propose a different thought to add to the traditional one. Jesus also meant that they would inheret the kingdom of God because they were entirely uninhibited. They saw Jesus, they wanted to run to Jesus, so they did. Nothing stopped them to say it might not be appropriate, or that he might be busy. A + B = C without any modifiers. Simple.

Dare to dream, because our heavily Father dreamed when He created us, and he has big dreams for each and every one of us. He wants us to imagine all that we could be, and then pursue it without abandon. To imagine the world as He sees it, and then do everything in our power to make it so. And that change, those boundaries that need to be pushed, start with us. With me.

Steady The Course

A dank smell lingered in the musty air. It must have been centuries since the last human thing moved through these halls. The walls on either side were slick with a thin sheen of water, and were spotted with moss like a leopard. Rays of sunshine pried their way in through the broken ceiling, and fjorded through the thick dust. The floor was cobbled with weathered stones that had once provided an adequate walkway, but now only intermittently broke through the mud.

Each step was a chore, lifting a foot out of the gripping mud, while the other was sucked in deeper. Breathing was like standing in a wheat field in the thick of harvest. The armour that he carried weighed heavily upon him, and many had called it old fashioned and outdated. It was less than fashionable, but it was the only real way to protect himself. And even here, when it seemed entirely impractical, it was a necessity.

It only took one small crevass in the wall holding a single trap to end the entire journey. Already he had survived three attempts on his life. One was a metal trap falling from a hidden compartment in the roof after he carelessly stepped on a loose stone. Had it not been for the rust, his sword would have never broken through. He was saved from the second trap by his sturdy breastplate, as sharp spears lunged for his heart as he opened a door. While not penetrating the steel, it pushed him back nearly fifteen feet, and left more than a few bruises on his body. The last was a form of quicksand that lay in waiting for an unsuspecting adventurer, and when it clutched at his ankles, arrows shot from the wall. His shield deflected them at the last moment, and his boots allowed him to slowly climb out of the sand. Unfashionable as the armour may be, no one could deny it's practical uses.

As he tread softly down the muddy path, he began to wonder if this was the right way. He'd seen that tree before, was he travelling in circles? The mud began to seep into his boots, and branches at the trees began to scrape at his face, clawing viciously at him. Thorns and vines clutched at his ankles at legs, seeking to slow or stop him. The light that had once guided him was now failing as night began to dawn and the few rays of light began to lose their luster.

It was going to be a long night.

--

I don't know if you've ever felt that way. I know I have. I know that I do. Over the past few weeks, I have been reciting to myself the many promises that God makes to me. That He will watch over me and protect me. That I will not go hungry or be unable to live, because He cares for me. That He knew me in the womb, and has a plan for my life, not to harm me, but help. Yet I struggle to find peace.

I seek to equip myself with the armour, and yet I find it constantly wanting to fall off. I find forces all around me clawing at me, scraping, scratching and meticulously combing me over for any sign of weakness. And I am weak.

God, I need peace. I need hope. I need to feel your presence. I need to know that there is stability in the storm, and I need to know that you are still in control of the waves and the rain. Because I know that I cannot swim through this one, I will surely drown. I need your help.

So please, meet me here. It's been over a year since I've had any stability in my life, and I'll wait the rest of my life if I have to, as long as I know that you are in control. Meet me here, in this dark, damp hallway. Give me rest, give me sustainence. But above all, give me You.

Scum

Have you ever cleaned a dirty bathtub? I'm not talking about the once a week clean... I'm talking about the once every three months clean. Your once shiny bathtub has accumulated a layer of filth. Soap scum builds up, a scaly monster upon the landscape. Pieces of unidentified dirt have caked themselves onto the surface.

You boldly approach that challenge, with a hopeful heart. But as you begin to scrub, it seems to crawl deep within your skin, burrowing. You feel dirty as you peel layer after layer of dirt off of the tub. High powered chemicals aid you, but even after an hour of hard scrubbing that tub still has caked on dirt. Very few things will actually lift that dirt from the surface, and it seems like it will never, ever come off.

I feel that way often. No matter how much time I spend on my knees, scrubbing my soul and heart out, I just can't get clean. There is always that layer of crud clasping onto me, fusing itself to my very being. I feel weary, worn, and incapable.

The reality of the situation is that I am incapable. I can spend all day scrubbing, but I'm scrubbing with the wrong stuff. I will never be able to remove that crud. I don't have the 'elbow grease' to get it off. I am the one that put it there in the first place. But the news is not all bad, I'm right in at least one thing: I'm on my knees.

Despite all the scum that has caked itself onto me over the years, God doesn't see any of it. His grace, however undeserving I am, covers it all. It renews me, refreshes me, and adds that fresh smell all over again. To Him, each time I repent of my sins, I am brand new.

Amazing what cleaning a bathroom will teach you.

To all those...

Isaiah 9

To all those who find themselves outside on a cold night, unsure of which was is home. Scared, wet and all alone. Rejoice. A warm fire is near.

To all who are weary, tired from the journey, afraid of the fight, wounded from the enemy. Rejoice. Rest and safety is at hand.

To all those who are distraught, unclear of how to proceed, and disillusioned with where the path has brought them. Rejoice. The path has been set, and your footing is sure.

To all the broken hearts, which were once filled with hopes and dreams, now lost to the waves of time. Rejoice. Hope has come again.

To all the young, with the world ahead of you, and very little behind you. Rejoice. For you are blessed in not knowing better.

To the adult, who feels the world passing them by, and can't help but wish for more. Rejoice. For you will have everything you need.

To all the old, with the weight of time upon your shoulders, and the bright eyed days of your youth long since faded. Rejoice. The weight is lifted.

To all the downtrodden, whose legs will not carry them any further, and who suffer from cuts innumerable. Rejoice. For you will find a warm bath, and healing for your wounds.

To the sinner, whose actions reveal true character and whose judgement lies over the close horizon. Rejoice. For you are free.

To the Church, whose potential knows no limit, and whose character seems endlessly tainted by our flesh. Rejoice. For we are cleansed.

To the saint, who strives to leave this world behind, and go home. Rejoice. Home is at hand.

To the entire world, which finds itself in the mire of it's crumbling humanity. Rejoice. For you will be rebuilt.

Rejoice in a Saviour who has redeemed us from exile, and brought us back into home. That we may find rest, healing, and purpose. And upon him a kingdom has risen that cannot be conquered.

Dependance

How often do I want all the benefits without any of the pain? I want everything that my relationship with God should bring, without any of the shaping that comes from a loving Father. I want to be wise, mature, balanced and Godly, but I don't want to have to work for any of it. Wouldn't life be easier if I could just choose what characteristics I want? How foolish would I be.

I am not a wise man. I wouldn't even call myself a Godly man. I desire deeply to be both of those things, but I struggle. I struggle with myself; a constant state of turmoil between my desires and reality. I want to be free from all of this, I want to be wholly dependant on God.

So what does the foolish (or wise?) man do? He prays for God to do just that. Make him fully dependant on God. God is always faithful to answer. Whether you want it or not, the words have been spoken, and the intent expressed.

Each day, I am made to be more dependant on God. Less dependant on myself. And I'm completely resolved to that fate. Each day brings less money, and a little more stress. Each day finds me turning over more, and depending less on my own strength. I have little choice, because I'm running out of options.

Yet I know I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Every part of me wants to leave, to fall back on something easier, something familiar. But there is a still small voice telling me to wait. "Not yet," it says. So I wait, I search, and I turn over every prayer and petition, with faith, to my Father in heaven.

This is a staging point. Every major Biblical (and faith) character had to first learn to depend. Not on their own strength or wit, but only on the Provider. Noah had to build an Ark. Abraham had to leave his home. Moses had to go back to Egypt. The Israelites had to wander the desert. David had to run from Saul's men. The prophets were outcasts. Jesus spent 40 days in the desert. Paul was blind. There are lessons to be learned, and God asks for one thing: all of us.

So You have it. Take it, because I can't do it. I never could. I am dependant on You.