Deep within me lay two things
Rocks
And Springs
Strength
And passion
I hear you calling to me to place my feet squarely on the stones
And to funnel these springs into powerful sources of refreshment.
I hear you calling me to fight to finish to follow through.
Give me your Spirit to do so.

​One of the themes of Jesus’ last day is his silence.  The high priest goads him. Pilate is astonished. The previous pages replete with red letters have gone all black. 

Each moment is more vivid than the last.
Futher up and further in.
Life unfolds around me.

Not as a movie reel, one thing after the next, but as a diorama, everything so 3D and contemporaneous.         

My aches and pains play like characters in this context, not as characteristics.

Games I play with my sons are not entities done by realities, but mini-realities in themselves.

My God in all this plays in a thousand places.
In some places he appears as a minor character.
In some places he, Himself, is a soliloquy

My best friend is like the leading actress Stalworth, she will doubtless collect her many awards with grace.

And the bombshell is why everyone really stays interest in this dramedy.
Her ribbon through this tapestry is both the highlight of the work and that which brings it all together.

And like (and unlike) a mosaic, this work is woven together by the hands of the great Weaver-Composer.
Like a mosaic because many parts are broken bits.
Unlike a mosaic because other parts are indeed quite whole.
Whole like a rock, or some piece of metal that could not be broken or even damaged.

​These whole parts, although significant in this window, are not dominant in the way you may think.
And even though the colors are rich and some pieces nothing like opaque, the sun which shines through illumines my world like a spinning color-washed stage. 

​I simply cannot imagine meeting you on the Day.
The Day when everything comes into the light and you judge me.
Even the good I’ve done is nothing.
How can I stand?
I cannot pretend to be blameless or strong or even to have adequately loved you.
Will there be enough grace for me, a sinner?
Please reserve some for me.
Do not drive me from your presence.
 

We have sorely underestimated the shock of resurrection.
To begin to understand the shock of it we must enter into the ultimate grief of death.
We must be with our beloved as they take their last breath.
We must watch the struggle
We must feel the cold hands
We must embrace the corpse as it drains of color, life and lividity. 
As the cold stiffness moves inward and eventually the warmth life brought is utterly lost.
And then we must break apart as the widow does from the eyes first, then the heart, then the mind, and finally even the hands and feet break.
We must cower in the dark corner of loss.
Lost love, lost hopes, lost present, past and future.
Lost friendship.
Once we have fully mourned, only then can we truly behold the light about to dawn.
As suddenly, there he stands not only alive, but actually more vivid than you have ever seen him.
And as much as your mind rejects what is happening before your eyes, your heart equally leaps with joy as it has in all your dreams, waking and sleeping since the loss.
Fear, joy and confusion swirl into an interesting recipe that produces a sense of victory.
“Peace be with you.” He says
But he doesn’t just say it, He brings it. His word “Peace” brings peace like the wave of a conductor’s wand begins the symphony.
Shock. 

​O Happiness, there’s Grace
Enough for us, and the whole human race.
Everything can be redeemed.
What cause have I for Happiness? Only grace
But grace is enough
All who come can begin again
Such a thing to give away.
 
Redeemed—made valuable, worthy
Restored—regaining your original beauty
Sound the church bells let them ring, for everything can be redeemed.
Grace doesn’t only promote joy and appreciation it genuinely inspires happiness.
Can happiness be a goal?
Can being happy with grace be a goal?
 
Resistance is killing me
Resistance to poverty
Resistance to weakness
Resistance to lack of influence
Resistance to lack of opportunities
Teach me to embrace my own embarrassment.

Part of the problem with modern spirituality is all of its maxims.
Jingles, principles, mission statement, life values, mottos, metaphors.
They all break down sooner or later
The song that resonates so deeply
The scripture that provided so much clarity Goes limp and begins to seem cliché.
God wants it this way. If it weren’t , why would we trust him? If “WWJD” or “Know him and make him known” or “Love, Grow, Serve” always and perfectly encapsulated God’s heart and goals, why would we need God? In that case, he becomes the antiquated writer whose new stuff sounds like revisions of his old stuff. Although one could argue well against what I am about to say, and many have done so both overtly and covertly, it must be true:

God is Complicated.

The more brilliant the mind the more nuances it includes.
Like a master with his student there is so much more he has to reveal, but it sometimes feels like a betrayal of the principles of Lesson 8 to go on to Lesson 15.
His mind is like an immense cavern, going on infinitely so that the sojourner is lost in the darkness before covering 1% of the depths.
Even the path I have already trodden in him I fail to take in any more than a Grand Prix driver takes in the scenery as he races through the road course.

I grasp Picasso by recreating his works with paint by numbers. Unfortunately, I only have a pencil to work with.

​Forgive me for the blasphemy of over simplification.
 

​Each day I become a bit more unraveled.
My body has begun the wearing out stage.
Growing was over some fifteen years ago.
Weakness and pain begin to slowly take over.
 
I resist a little bit
But I do not reject the reality.
My grip on this life loosens
And my hope buds.
 
One day I will, O glorious day, let go altogether
And my everything will be swallowed up in Light and Joy and Life
Unreality choked out by Reality.
 
My thoughts drift more now than ever
To that other dimension
Where everything is always new
And striving ends.
 
One would think that all this
Would diminish my appreciation
For this dimension’s joys
But, Oh, quite the contrary.
 
I am like a man leading the race
By a mile on the last lap
Striving and worry behind—goal just ahead
I smile the victor’s smile.
 
The enjoy the race more than ever
Sandwiches never tasted so good
Coffee was never so rich
Skies never so blue
My child’s laugh never so pristine
And all the flowers dance
The TV is funnier
And dinner lasts all night
And the kiss of my beloved
As true as an arrow hitting the mark.
 

​What causes roots to grow?
Thirst. Need. Lack.
I seldom hear you speak.
You seldom answer my prayers.
Awe-inspiring interventions are the exception to the rule of a droning existence.
Perhaps I am to embrace your silence.
What other option have I?
Either reject it and be miserable
Or embrace it and allow your silence to be constructive.
 

​Roots
Keep the tree from dying
Providing nourishment and drink
Roots
Make the tree attractive
Luring beautiful birds and the human eye
Roots
Make the tree stable
So it won’t blow away in the storms
Roots
Make the tree blossom
New leaves, flowers and fruit
Roots
Provide flexibility
So now the giant does ballet
Roots
Help the tree grow
Without growth, the tree will be cut down
Roots
Unseen, unattractive, a nuisance, persistent, hardworking, without blossoms or leaves, never swaying in the breeze or soaking in the sun
My roots need a lot of work
My flexibility is barely measurable
My growth negligible
My fruit short-armed
My attractiveness one step above ugly
Tossed by storms
And at risk of dying
Help me, dear Lord,
To put down roots
 

​Utterly unpredictable is God
“He is love”
You say, and say rightly.
And yet the overwhelming essence of the love seldom gives clues to what he will do or want.
After all, in love he made sin possible and left Adam alone with the serpent.
His love drove Jesus to a desperate and lonely death.
And His love filled Solomen’s house with gold in greater abundance than gravel.
What he does (or does not) is indeed governed by love, but by a love I will never comprehend.

​The eye is the lamp of the body
If your eye is good, the whole body is filled with light. If your eye is bad, you are filled with darkness.
How great is that darkness.
 
Renew the eyes of my heart, Father.
Fill me with light.
Help me when the troubles of this life and the weakness of flesh boil up in great overheated red bubbles.
Provide the cool, clear living water from your spirit. Only You can give peace, power, calmness and love.
My need for you is greater than I will ever know. 

Down here while we all scrape to find the faith to ask for daily bread.
We grope in the darkness, doubly blind.
Blind from birth wondering without light.
The more we try to open our eyes
The more we just make our eyes ache
Seeking even just a shadow to prove the sun
We’d embrace any evidence
Why so obscure?
Why does God hide?
What sort of God drapes himself in darkness and confusion?
Let me see one ray, a flicker or a shadow
I want to know you are with me

​What separates us from the massive crush?
What inflates the fragile balloon of our souls?
What calibrates the compass of our hearts?
I lift my eyes
I life my soul
I lift my hands
Like pouring pure water though a filthy pipe, worshipping God purifies me
It rejuvenates me
It orients me
It’s an officer’s call and all the lower-ranking conflicts within the walls of my mind and heart dress their times.
You, O God, are mighty
You, O God, are holy
You, O God, redeem your people and breathe life into the dead places.
You resurrect that which has been killed or killed itself
From your hand come blessing and prosperity.
They are yours to dispense.
You show kindness to me when you so desire.
You show yourself powerful and stern at other times.
Please be patient with me, O Lord, and heal my heart.
I need your grace.
 

​Traction
Provision
Momentum
Karma (the Jesus kind)
You’ve opened some flood gates recently
Flood gates we’ve asked for you to open
You are good and you are faithful
Now that you have finally answered, I do not fail to thank you.
Praise Christ for his kindness to us.
Thank him for the special grace he has bestowed upon us
Jump up and shout for he is good to those he loves (which is all of us)
I sing a stupid song declaring my love for you.
I pour out my heart in a wild dance before you.
 

​Criticism and judgment live with me like an annoying roommate.
I don’t like how he always wears jeans that aren’t quite long enough.
She talks too much. He displayed his ignorance.
They make questionable parenting decisions.
My mind slowly winds tighter into a ball of simmering anger and callous rejection.
Is it fortunate or not that this compulsion is heavier with strangers? Hmmm. All who are no longer strangers had to be filtered through my criticism.
And where does this leave my opinion of myself? Falsely elevated. And I am painfully aware of the lie I’ve chosen to believe. The lie that if everyone thought and acted more like me that they’d be better off, I’d be better off, the world would be…
The antidote? I’m sure I don’t know. But it probably includes a serving of humble pie.
Reality – The one commodity most precious, constantly available, and yet the one of which we are most poor.
 

​How much energy spent
How many opportunities lost
Because of my obsession with what others
may think of me
I turn this way
Walk upright
Speak in such a way
All to be acceptable to the fickle invisible lowercase other.
Comparatively little am I obsessed with the uppercase Other, who, though also invisible is never fickle.
Forgive me, dear Lord, for whoring after the approval that I don’t even want instead of earnestly seeking the approval of my true Master. 

​Anger
Wrath
Shouting
Stalking off
Swooping in
Jealous love
Smoldering hate
Passionate heart
These words describe occurrences in the heart of the One we often picture as stoic as the Lincoln Memorial. He sounds more like a bad country song. Am I really to imitate such an out of balance God?

Nostalgia is God's greatest gift to mankind.
To have that moment when all at once the pace enters slow motion and you have the sense of placing the last piece in some great puzzle.
Suddenly you have the chance to ever so briefly see the picture as it was intended to be seen--whole.
The moments of disjunction and dysfunction suddenly slip themselves into a mosaic of unbroken beauty.
That unbroken beauty is unbroken in the way that a formerly done thing is un-done.

Un-broken.

And for a moment this haphazard life is revealed for what it is--a compelling story written, no, scribbled furiously by a mad genius of a novelist.
Not only is the story written brilliantly, though, it is written with passion for one character which is only equaled by his passion for the next.

And in these moment, and these moments alone, is this whole life shown for what it truly is.

No one ever told me how terrible communion with God can be.

Likewise no one ever told me it was this necessary.

Billed as a good idea or an important habit, I have never recognized the desperation of my soul for him.

Given the romantic picture of sipping tea while basking both in early morning sunlight and the life of his Word, I failed to accurately asses how parallel the experience would be with having a decayed tooth extracted without he comfort of Novocaine. 

Anger
Wrath
Shouting
Stalking off
Swooping in
Jealous love
Smoldering hate
Passionate heart

These words describe occurrences in the heart of the One we often picture as stoic as the Lincoln Memorial. He sounds more like a bad country song. Am I really to imitate such an out of balance God?

What is love?
Love requires nothing of its object except to exist
Relationship requires more
Reconciliation requires more
But love loves because of its own nature
Not because of anything about its object

If I love a person because of that person's loveliness, or lovable nature, that says nothing about me--only something about the other person. 

And I conclude, therefore, that I cannot love without God's indwelling, heart-changing spirit.

The problem with quiet time with God is not that I have to be with God--I long for that. It's that i have to be with myself. The to do list is ignored. No TV can distract, Even the noise of my children fades away. And as soon as it all disappears-- there I am.

Quiet time for me begins with the sense that I am looking in a mirror. But since my view of myself is distorted, it's a bit like looking in a fun house mirror. The image is ugly. Ugly in part because of truth and uglier still because of lies. One cannot face God withou facing himself. This may be the first harrowing thing about God. Life is easier lived in ignorance of self. Not in selflessness, but in a lack of self-awareness. 

Being aware of myself is one of my greatest disappointments in life. 

God, help me cope with the mirror today and and learn to love my somewhat ugly image as you love it.

(Originally written June 2011)
Summer has come to visit.
Blue skies
Puffy clouds
Early morning warmth
PM burns
Hose water
Swing
Pink Sunsets
Blonde curls dancing across green grass
The smell of basketball rubber
Lemonade stands
Popsicles
Sweaty sports
Bike rides
Good riddance, Winter
So long, soggy Spring
Make way for the victory of Summer

It's so much easier to build what can be seen than to build what cannot.
My heart is the invisible part of me.
And is infinitely difficult to care for.
Yet it is all that matters.

If I gain the whole world and lose my soul, what good is it?

Invisible God, teach me to build, manage and invest in my own heart.

Teach me to allow You in

Build me.

Live in me.