Clean Sheets Dirty Feet

A Beautiful Wild Mess Of A Dog

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 18:18:00 +0000

My roommate Nate and I recently became owners of a curious and mysterious and malnourished white Siberian Husky. We don't know much about her, where she came from, or about her previous owner(s). But she has an interesting past. We're sure of it. Her frail body and her sweet (and almost clingy) personality tells us volumes. They point to a missing story of her, a story maybe saved only for the eyes of God Himself. The pages to her book are God's pages, surely full of pain and suffering, but maybe some intrigue, perhaps a few chapters of fun.

Nate named her Aurora after the Northern Lights. She has one blue eye. The other one is dark brown. She's a gorgeous animal, especially if you have an imagination. She looks like a dog that could, in 6 months or so, look as if she had jumped straight out of the pages of the novel, Call of the Wild. When she fills out and her coat grows back, she'll look legitimately exotic, especially beautiful.

But tomorrow is Tuesday. And borrowing an act of God, she will still look and act like a stray, she will still be throwing up, wetting the floor, and want to run every chance she gets. She already figured out how to dig under the fence, escape two sets of collars, attract various suiters of differing breeds, and unlatch herself from the chain in the backyard that keeps her from running to Alaska.

She is an escape artist. And I have a funny feeling, deep in my tummy, that Nate and I have a few precious days to make a few precious decisions on her future here, whether or not to make the adjustments to house and home required to keep a curious and wild dog alive and happy and safe from the wild wild world. I have this feeling because I've seen into her beautiful crazy wild eyes. She will make that decision for us if we wait much longer. She simply isn't the kind of animal to sit idly by as I wait for Nate to return home from Christmas in Missouri. She is a Husky. She's a beautiful mess. To be continued...

Christ + The American Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 01:46:00 +0000

As I drove home tonight, a sign in front of a small church in my neighborhood caught my attention. It read exactly this, "Christ paid a great price so that you can have a great life."

There you have it. Christ humbled himself by being born of a poor, virgin woman, lived a life without a place to call his own, hung himself on a tree, willingly allowing himself to be murdered (maybe even screaming so loud on the cross that his voice was raw), and brought himself back to life, all in order that you and I might have the comforts of post-modern civilization. Man, what a cool dude. Thanks, Jesus!

If only the rest of the world could hear about this guy. Santa Claus got nothing on Him!

But He didn't die in order that we have a great life. That's not the Gospel. He died because God is Holy and will not be mocked by our stiff-necked pride and willingness to sell our souls for a slice of bread. He died because we deserve, in even our best days, to burn in Hell. Yes, Hell. He died in the place of sinners. He died and was raised again in order to buy back human souls. He's in the business of bringing dead men to life (to Himself). To have Jesus is to be saved from death and to be fellow heirs with Christ, to be eternally-satisfied, not in the life that we've been given, but in God Himself.

Scripture says all who wish to save their lives, will lose it. But those who wish to lose it for His sake and for the sake of the Gospel will find it. That's the Gospel! The truth is we want to twist His words to say what we want them to say. When He says, "I've come to give you life," we so desperately want Him to mean that we've won the lottery, literally. And we want to cash his death and resurrection in right now in the form of a new car, a sexy wife, 2.5 kids, relatively easy living, and a comfortable retirement traveling the country-side in a 5th wheel.

The truth is that many men in the Bible who knew Christ and trusted in Him with their lives, actually didn't find things going so well for them. They lost their lives for the sake of Christ and for the Gospel. And from all accounts, they were satisfied losing everything to prove that He, alone, is more satisfying than life itself.

To Finish Well

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 21:00:00 +0000

We are a nation in need of strong, durable, and lasting men who have a passion for Christ, especially in their golden years. O how easy it must be after working decades of hard labor to want to take a retirement check and waste away on the couch for the remainder of life.

But we were meant for so much more. I beg of you, fathers, don't waste your life channel surfing your retirement years away. We need your knowledge. We desperately need your life's example to know what it's like to be men of authentic faith (to stand firm, to endure, and to finish well).

May God's son be revealed as the all-satisfying Savior who is able to save our men from the fatal consequences of a life in pursuit of the American Dream and easy retirement living.

Fatal Success Or An All-Satisfying Savior

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 18:23:00 +0000

This short letter was written this past week (to be mailed along with other bits of encouragement from others) to those who attend Fellowship Bible Church in Tulsa, but who are away to college or serve in the armed forces. My prayer is that it encourages you as well:

I’m not that old. And I’m guessing you probably aren’t, either. But you don’t have to be of a certain age or skill level—you don’t have to achieve a great deal of success or master a lot of things—in order to make your life count. However, practically our entire educations have been devoted to get us to think otherwise, as if human achievement and success actually satisfy the longings of our souls.

But success doesn’t satisfy. It can be fatal! The American Dream (of fatal success) takes many forms and claims countless lives, daily. And I pray that as your read these words, that you deeply consider the meaning of your own life. How fulfilled are you? As far as I’m concerned, in order to make your life count, you only need to know a few simple, life-changing, and eternally-satisfying truths about the depth and riches of His love toward those who believe (Eph 3:18)—and be willing to trade in your life for them—to have a truly purposeful and meaningful existence.
O brother and sister, I pray that we come to know the everlasting riches and mercy of the Cross, and that it transforms every area of our lives, so that when our time comes to meet our Father in heaven, we might not have empty hands and broken dreams to offer Him.

But rather, that our lives would be so consumed by the power and riches of the Holy Spirit, that His love flows freely through us like living water, gushing from a fountain (John 7:38). My prayer is that you be filled with the love of Christ, to know the power of Him who has called you, and to be willing to lay down that which was never yours to take in the first place, in exchange for the everlasting fulfillment found serving an all satisfying Savior.

In Him,

Sean Roberts

We Are Far Too Easily Pleased

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 01:12:00 +0000

CS Lewis' "The Weight of Glory" is a sobering reminder that God desires--and has prepared a way through His son--that we might find infinite pleasure in Him, and in Him alone. The folks at http://dontwasteyourlife.com have made a pretty cool video from an excerpt of that work.

C.S. Lewis' "The Weight of Glory" full text pdf.

Middle-Aged Friends: A Plea To Not Waste Your Life

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 27 Dec 2010 04:54:00 +0000

Don't Waste Your Life from Andrew Laparra on Vimeo.

His Power To Heal & Sustain Through His Sovereign Grace

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 17:36:00 +0000

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world ~ CS Lewis

The God of the Bible is unquestionably and completely sovereign over the universe and everything in it, including pain. For in this hope, we are saved! Romans 5:3-5, 8:24-25 and John 16: 32-34 say we can hope in God this way. He is a supreme God, sovereign over natural disasters (book of Jonah), and over Satan's hand over our sickness, disease, and oppression (Matt 8).

So why does God let pain and problems happen to good people? If I grow up doing all the right things, reading my Bible, sharing Christ with others, refusing to watch bad movies, and then experience something bad like a breakup, death, or even cancer, I might just think God is a great big lie. But here's the thing, we can't put God into our debt (see Matt Chandler video below); we have no right to force God's hand in anything. God does what he does, because He is God. But He is good (regardless of how our circumstances play out). He is good because he holds the power over death and by His power alone, holds all things together by the council of His will (Eph 1:11)

Christ answers this question plainly, for all to see. He has not come to give gifts as much as to be THE GIFT! He tells us we will certainly have problems, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart, I have overcome the world." But He is enough, even if we are not healed. Job says, "the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord" Job 1:21,22.

Pain is inevitable. Life is brutal and frustrating at times. John Piper once said, "the biblical categories of God's sovereignty over pain lay like land minds throughout Scripture, just waiting for someone to take it seriously. They don't kill. But they do explode trivial notions about God's will over massive suffering." The God of the Bible is wholly capable to sustain us. And He will do it! Will you take him at his word? Will you treasure him as ultimately valuable once the pain comes?

For those who love God, He promises to sustain us in two ways: either through healing or by His sustaining grace, that produces for us endurance (Rom 5, James 1). Whatever we do, we do because we've been given the grace of God to do it. For if the Lord wills, we will do this or that (James 4). Whether He heals us from sickness or keeps us in sustaining grace, both ways are equally glorious ways of showing His sovereign will over those He loves. But He is solely and independently free to choose how He displays his sovereignty to us. He sends rain on the just and the unjust (Matt 5:45). The same God heals the leper (Mark 1:4-45) who allows Satan to torment Job with boils. (Job 2:7).

God is not Santa Claus. He will not always answer our prayers to remove the pain. But He is good because He promises even in the deepest pain, He is enough. The god of fun church teaches us to be comfortable, serve him diligently, and bad things won't happen to good people. Many well intentioned, Bible believing people grow up in church and have a view God this way. But as soon as tragedy strikes, their confidence in God breaks and they turn from the very truth that was intended to not only sustain them through suffering, but to be their joy within the pain. But instead of praising God for being God, instead of worshiping Him, treasuring Him as supremely valuable and sovereign over all the universe like king David did who said "Whom in heaven have I but you? On earth there is nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail. But you are the strength of my heart and my portion forever!" (Psalm 73:25,26) some who are unprepared for suffering, lose hope and deny Him altogether because they didn't have roots that went down deep (Parable of the Soils in Luke 8).

Pain is an essential part of life. Don't waste it! The God of the universe should be ultimately more valuable to the believer than all the treasure on earth, the best health one could ask for, even better than life itself!

In Him,

Sean

The Good News That Rich Mullins Knew

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 03:36:00 +0000

"Christianity is not about building an absolutely secure little niche in the world where you can live with your perfect little wife and your perfect little children in your beautiful little house where you have no gays or minority groups anywhere near you. Christianity is about learning to love like Jesus loved and Jesus loved the poor and Jesus loved the broken."

I love listening to Rich Mullins' music and reading anything by him for many reasons. The main reason is that he seemed to be captivated by a single purpose: to know the love of Christ as ultimately more valuable than the American Dream, more than health, wealth, or prosperity. The more I listen to his lyrics, the more I read about his life, the more I want the faith he had. If it's possible to sum up the life and legacy of one man through his lyrics, there's really nothing more you could say about the man other than that he really seemed to know Christ as someone more than just a good teacher. The good news of the Bible really seemed like good news to him.

Kind David of the Bible prayed to God like this, "Whom in heaven have I but you. There is none on earth I desire but you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but you are the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73: 25,26 Do you think and feel about God that way? Do you value him above all things, above the life itself? Oh you can, my friend. He is faithful. He is just. But his lovingkindness endures forever and ever. And if you seek him, he will be found, that you might not waste your life on fatal success but on an everlasting pleasure of knowing Him as savior.

I pray that we as Christians would give more of our time, our money, and our lives for the all surpassing joy of knowing Christ as ultimately valuable.

America's Ugly Exported Gospel

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 03:34:00 +0000

For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.
Matthew 5:45

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things...
Philippians 3:7

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer’s;
he makes me tread on my high places.
Habakkuk 3:17-19

O LORD, we wait for you;
your name and remembrance
are the desire of our soul.
My soul yearns for you in the night;
my spirit within me earnestly seeks you.
Isaiah 26:8

Leaks and Ladders

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 21:45:00 +0000

My father wants to climb ladders. But he knows he shouldn't. And so he doesn't. He has me climb them, instead.

I mean that literally. Today he needed me to patch a leak on the roof of Graphic Resources. First, he watched me pour the sealant from a big bucket into a smaller, more manageable one. Then he handed me a brush that he'd resourcefully retrieved from the corner of the warehouse. After I extended the ladder to reach the roof, he stood patiently, with eager eyes, watching my every step upward.

He then backed up and watched my every step across the top of our building, asking questions about what I've found and what needs repair. With concerned eyes, he waited until every last drop from my bucket had been applied to the problem spots on the roof. And he supported the ladder on my way down.

My father wants to climb ladders, even though those closest to him think he shouldn't. I admire him for that.

You cannot push anyone up the ladder unless he is willing to climb. ~Andrew Carnegie

A Father's Birthday-His Legacy

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 04:06:00 +0000

Today is my dad's 64th Bday. And I spent most of it with him doing various dad-son things like: grilling on his back porch, raising his television on the wall of his bedroom 6 inches so he could watch tv on his bed without getting his neck in a bind, and playing card games until late in the evening.

He is quiet man, without much occasion to gloat. But in his quiet nature, he gives our family strength. For my dad has never been a vocal leader. He models what I need to know about being a man without many words. In the way that he has stood beside my mother for more than thirty years as her best friend and partner, and in the way he has dedicated his life to working hard and being helpful to all those in need, tell me more about the character he has passed down to me than words could possibly describe.

He is fragile in his older age. With every year, he has less use of bodily coordination and memory. I have decided, then, to cherish the moments I have with him now as if they were the last I have with him. In that way, moments like I've had today, turning a wrench, flipping a rib over the grill, and reminiscing about the good old days, seem to mean so much more than just moments with a father.

He is mentoring me to be a dad someday, whether he knows it or not. And I'm eternally grateful.

Dad, you are my father. And I am so humbled to be your son.

Love,

Sean

The Battle of Who I Am and Who Am I

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 23 May 2010 23:08:00 +0000

I recently took a business trip to the west coast. And I planned it just right to arrive two days before I needed to, so that I could unwind and have some peace and quiet (man time).

Thankfully, I was actually able to relax for those two days. What I did with them was this: I drove around by myself, in the quietness of a foreign town and my rented four cylinder, four-door mobile, and spent a handful of hours alone on the beach, watching the tide ebb and flow.

I saw birds of all sizes, women and men of all shapes and fitness, wide-eyed children, and countless dogs.

I waited by the edge of the water through an overcast night. I waded in it during clear blue skies. And stayed long enough around it to settle the scent of the sea deep within the recesses of my mind.

I came to really really like the beach. I don't slow down much. But for those two days I did.

And through the rushing of the waves, the diving of the sea gulls into the deep, and the way the water crashes into the beach and then quickly runs back into the sea--through those natural states of things, I came to realize just how much the father loves me. If he takes the greatest care in arranging the flight of a bird and the dropping of a spec of sand onto the sea sore, how much more does he delight in caring for those who's hearts are truly his?

Surely, his order is mighty and sustained. For if he would remove his thumb from creation for one moment, we would die. Jeremiah 31. But if he can keep the tides and number the sand on the shore, then he can set his children on a rock that cannot be moved or pulled or drug under. Isaiah 42. And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Psalm 23. Because my days are numbered in his divine, perfect delight. Psalm 1

For his ways are highways. Isaiah 55. They fool the wise. And speak as wisdom to the foolish. 1 Corinthians 1. But he will fight death itself to keep those who's hearts are his. John 3:16.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (his children) all the days of (their lives). And (they) shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalm 23.

Daniel, Old Ladies, And The Sovereignty of God

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Thu, 13 May 2010 02:40:00 +0000

And older lady (almost 80) spoke up tonight, during Bible class at church. She sad something to the effect of, "What I've learned the most from the book of Daniel is that God is faithful. He is sovereign. And that Daniel was humble. He did the hard things. He was humbled before God. And God supplied him with everything he needed for a Godly life. He was a great man of God. And where are these men, today? There are not many great men willing to live humble lives, solid lives, holy lives, as Godly leaders of our society. Where are these men?!!"

And. So. Yeah. She called us out. And in the process, she quieted the crowd. But even though her words burned a little, I welcome them. Because sometimes maybe God uses old ladies to shake things up and to call out young men, reminding them of their purpose in the will of God.

Then I turned my face to the Lord God, seeking him by prayer and pleas for mercy with fasting and sackcloth and ashes. I prayed to the Lord my god and made confession, saying, O Lord, the great and made awesome God, who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those whom love him and keep his commandments, we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled..." Daniel 9:13

For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart." Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?..For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men." 1 Cor 1:18-20, 25.

Glory to God forever and ever. And blessed be the name of the Lord. "Blessed are all who take refuge in Him." Psalm 2:12. May God equip many Daniels to help lead this generation to repentance and salvation in the saving Grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

05-09-10

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 10 May 2010 03:19:00 +0000

Be quiet, O my post-modern tongue.
Be still and know He is God.
Tremble. Shutter at the sound of his name.
And take shelter in the shadow of his mighty wings.
For He is angry. And He is jealous of your love and devotion. But His wrath is quickly kindled, to those who turn their hearts over to him. So turn to the Lord. The mercy of Christ is life to a valley of dead bones.
For this is His furious love. And it is unbridled.

Aba. Father. Uncreated one. My soul's desire.

Why Young People Are Returning To Old Hymn Texts

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 02 May 2010 02:57:00 +0000

Sandra McCracken's website www.newoldhymns.com is a rich place, inviting us back to the old wisdom and the Cross, expressed in old hymns.

"Not too long ago I saw a sign in an antique store: “My grandmother saved it, my mother threw it away, and now I’m buying it back!” That little sign captures the story of church music in the last fifty years. In my work as a pastor with college students, I have been taking note of what feels like the beginning of a movement." Read more.

Happy Beyond Description

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 02:01:00 +0000

What does the authentically happy life look like? The accumulation of stuff? Lots of sex? Tons of free time to do whatever you want?...

I want to know more of the God who sustained missionary Tierra del Fuego, even in the moments leading up to (and especially in) his death.

I Will Waste My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 01:07:00 +0000

If you ever feel like you're a loser or someone who just can't quite match up (not smart enough, not clever, boring, or unattractive in any way) just remember that God loves you. More than that, His love is like no other; it is enough to have no other want. In Him you can find ultimate purpose; to live, to be intimately near, to be the prized possession of, and to belong to the Uncreated.

"I will waste my life and I'll be tested and tried
With no regrets inside of me just to find I'm at Your feet

I'll leave my father's house and I'll leave my mother
I'll leave all I have known and I'll have no other

I am in love with You There is no cost
I am in love with You There is no loss
I am in love with You I want to take Your name
I am in love with You I want to cling to You Jesus
Just let me cling to You Jesus

I'll say goodbye to my father my mother
I'll turn my back on every other love and
I'll press on yes I'll press on"

~Misty Edwards

Listen to: I Will Waste My Life by Misty Edwards

About Misty Edwards: Excerpt from RELEVANT Magazine
For almost a decade, Misty Edwards has been a worship leader at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City, Mo. IHOP is a 24-hour prayer center that has not closed its doors since it initially opened in 1999—a place of refuge regardless of the time, weather or season. This is her single passion: "I have a great desire to see the knowledge of God flood this generation. I mean the real knowledge of God, not the distant Sunday-school version, but the true encounter with the Uncreated.” Read More

What A Blind Man Sees

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 23:30:00 +0000

Philemon sits quietly in the green lazy boy in the darkest corner of my living room. He has come to hear the word of God and to gather with other believers at my house. In one of his hands he holds a partially empty bottle of water that rests politely between his legs. The other hand still grasps his walking stick, now propped against the edge of the chair. His eyes gaze without judgement to the ceiling while his lips form a natural, peaceful smile. He is blind. How he became blind and why he sits in my living room is changing my life.

I might not have had the opportunity to meet him if not for a series of precise events that had taken place over the previous three years, in both his life and mine. For Philemon, who doesn't speak much English, hasn't always lived in Tulsa. The best I can recall, he grew up in California. Or maybe he wasn't born there. But came from there to Tulsa to be with his family, after the incident that resulted in his blindness. It is there, in a back room of his family's house in Tulsa, where he now spends most of his time, in virtual solitude.

He's had a hard life. And especially now doesn't want his blindness to be a burden on his loved ones. So to pass his time, he listens to audio tapes of the Bible. He meditates on them all day long. This is his life. And in one stroke of his body and one syllable escaping his lips, he is happy to be alive.

But like I said earlier, Philemon hasn't always been blind. And he hasn't always been confined to a small space. This is what happened. Three years ago, he was living in California with full use of his eyes. One day he was strapped for cash and approached his boss for help, for an advance in payment. And I don't know if the way he asked his boss was insulting or if the boss just was having a bad day. But something happened inside the boss's heart enough to not much want Philemon around from that moment forward. And so, the boss quickly and in a rage escaped to the back room to return shortly thereafter with a gun. Without hesitation, he shot Philemon square in the neck.

The wound left the nurses in the hospital scrambling to reduce the amount of blood gushing out of his body. He was still alive and breathing. But the location of the wound also caused him brain damage and stole his sight. In that moment, Philemon went "loco," tossing and turning in the medical bed. He kicked and screamed and was in total despair.

When the doctors and nurses had finished patching him up, they left him in restraints, so that he couldn't be a harm to anyone. Then they left the room. And there he was, completely alone.

But soon a man came to his bedside speaking of the wondrous works of Jesus and how if Philemon would accept Him as his savior, Jesus would never leave him, never for one single minute. Philemon would never be alone again. Right then and there, in the chaos of the ER, Philemon accepted the power of Christ. And in that moment, according to Philemon, he became calm, no longer tossing about. A peace fell over him like nothing he could describe.

And so bandaged and beaten up, he thanked the nurses and doctors who worked on him, and returned to his house, anxious to tell his neighbors what had happened to him, and why he is so happy. But they didn't necessarily want to hear what he had to say. And they mocked him. Slapped his face. And called him a blind fool. It didn't take Philemon long to realize the that he better watch out who he tells his happy story to, or else he might lose more than his sight. So he hid inside his house, not getting out for much.

And somehow, I'm not sure the exact details of how this happened, but he makes it to Oklahoma to live with his family. Once here, he knows the burden of what being blind places on people. He knows how people react to being put out by a blind fool. And not wanting to place any extra strain on his family, Philemon hides himself, once again in their back room. But instead of feeling sorry for himself, he hides in the word of God, spoken through his stereo. And he rejoices in the power of Christ's love to redeem his lost soul, to give him real sight.

In the months to follow, he meets a guy who goes to my church, whom I will meet once I start attending the singles class on Sundays. And once in awhile, my friend starts taking Philemon out to lunch, just to get fresh air, to meet, to live, to be exposed to life outside his four walls. Sooner or later, I decide my life is bland and without passion. I want more than the 9 to 5. I want what the great men of the Bible had, a reason to live. A reason to die. I want to follow Christ closer than at a safe distance. So I start going to the single's group at church. And through that single's group, begin to attend a Bible study once a week. It is at that Bible study, which just so happens to be held at my house, that Philemon sits in peace and quiet, admiring the Word of God and the chance at real life.

And some may say his story is a bit tragic, having lost his vision, being in a land where he is a nobody who speaks a different language than everyone else. But I say this man's life is anything but a tragedy. To be ripped of sight and be able humbled enough to kneel before the throne of Christ and proclaim His endless wonder, His glorious riches, His eternal value...to praise Him for receiving the ability to really see these things with Heavenly eyes....ahhhhh I envy Philemon.

Oh, blessed are the pour in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven!!!

What It Means To Miss A Sunrise

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:03:00 +0000

Deep calls to deep as the leviathan moves with the first escape of darkness from above. At the sea's edge is a cliff. And a goat navigates its steep, narrow passages. Above him circles a hawk. While gliding, the bird surveys the mysteries of the water, the expanding orange horizon, and the endless display of green spreading inland. On land, all creation breathes the first warmth from the sun. The trees shelter the smaller creatures and bend to the prevailing wind from the sea. She has arrived precisely on time; she comes carrying molecules from the sea. And as the sky bleeds from orange to blue, the earth stands in awe of yet another divinely orchestrated sunrise.

Meanwhile, I sit perched high above and miles away inside a plane. I will soon wake up to witness the same sun rise. But I won't appreciate it as a gift. Because all I will want is for the cute flight attendant to look my way and make me feel important.

Can We Suffer Well?

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 22:20:00 +0000

The American Dream has undergone a few face lifts since our country was founded. But, it is still the same ol' pitch. Do X and Y properly. And, with a bit of luck and determination, you will have the chance at Z. Arrive at Z and your life is "made complete."

But, what are we to make of those who have achieved the American Dream (regardless of how they have chosen to define it for themselves), only to arrive at pain, suffering, and ultimate heartache? Is surviving for a chance to move up the social ladder and arriving at our productive and eco-social potential all there is to our American existence?

Time and again we can turn on the television to find another Hip Hop icon arrested for spousal abuse, a multi-media mogul charged with tax evasion, and another athlete throwing their life away on drugs, women, and cheap thrills. There is a blackness, I say, just beyond the mirror of ourselves. And, sadly, the dream of a better life does not elevate us as far as it was billed to do.

On the other hand, there are real Americans, everyday, living their own dreams. Fulfilling their sense of purpose. And truly enjoying life, with the hardships and the everyday problems that come with living. These Americans are the role model of what makes this nation a great place to live.

More than that, there are people who survive daily, on the outside of the American Dream. They are rogue. Off the map. And confusing to the mainstream media and most passersby at your local night club. They are real people. And they sip from a cup that is poured from a hand as real as your own.

They are like the woman who waits patiently for her husband to arrive home from working two shifts, in order to support their growing hospital bills and prescription expenses. She kisses his head and offers to make dinner, even though he knows well, she doesn't have the strength to get out of bed.

And they are like the 35 year old, 6' 5" Calvinist preacher, blessed with a muscular physique, a loving family, and a brain tumor. Yes, that's right. Blessed. For, he is grateful God has counted him worthy to endure it.
Suffering Well: faith tested by pastor's cancer.

What are we to do with these people? They simply don't fit the mold. They are suffering. But, for some reason, they are suffering well, capable to pass through the dungeon of pain with a smile. This stuff defies even the most optimistic Hollywood movie. It is the stuff of legend.

When everything popular culture and even popular religion (that sells God as a cross between Santa Claus and your great grandfather) says about happiness is unable to provide answers, what are we to do with those people who have seemingly found happiness, even inside of their own troubles?

C.S. Lewis wrote:

It is a very consoling fact that so many books about real lives—biographies, autobiographies, letters, etc.—give one such an impression of happiness, in spite of the tragedies they all contain. What could be more tragic than the main outlines of Lamb's or Cowper's lives? But as soon as you open the letters of either, and see what they were writing from day to day and what a relish they got out of it, you almost begin to envy them. Perhaps the tragedies of real life contain more consolation and fun and gusto than the comedies of literature? (75; Originally published in The Letters of C. S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves [4 December 1932], p. 445)

And then there's more. Surely, my friend, there is more to this life than the stuff we can attain and amass in our storehouses. Tell me, who has ever needed a support system, who has everything they have ever wanted? Not one man. Not one single man. For, as I age, I am becoming aware that pain has a great purpose. For, from within it, we learn more about life, about God, and about the blessings He bestows on those who truly need Him.

Freud once remarked that man invented God so he could have someone to take care of him. Today, his words ring truer than they ever have. For it is personal space, personal health and the accumulation of money that have proportionately replaced our corporate memory of God. Those gods cannot appropriately take care of anyone. They can't fix cancer, sickness, nor death.

But, the Father of ancient times, as dated as He may seem, is still written in books, professed to exist by many, ordinary people. And, contrary to popular thought, might just use pain to bring us closer to Him, to protect us from ultimately not believing in Him, and feeling as if we don't need Him for anything. Just a thought...

The men and women who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into their own imperfect existence. ~Brennan Manning

If, we ever make it to that place, where we become plainly aware of our fragile state, we may suddenly realize nothing else matters but the presence of our Eternal companion, He whom makes this statement to us, "Come now, my beloved. My lovely one, come." Song of Solomon 2:13

My Father, My Hero

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 22:37:00 +0000

Loss is a fact of life. Some souls seem to find meaning in it. While others harden their hearts because of it. I want to be a man who knows the former. I want to model my life after another who has grown strong as a result of the pain. In fact, I know a man who has done just that. He has dedicated his time on earth to restoring the broken pieces that have happened apart from his control. I admire this man with all I have. He is my earthly father.

Kenneth Wayne Roberts, my dad, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis during 2000, my senior year in college. As I prepared for the beginning of my independent life, he was just beginning to prepare for what would become the downside of his. Or so, it seemed.

Ten years removed from the initial shock of discovering his body and brain would no longer work the way it did in his youth, he still is with us. Through the thick of a constant struggle to hold onto his memory and coordination, he has learned a dependancy upon Christ I can but envy. The depths of his struggle, I will never know. But, the evidence of his dependancy upon our Eternal Father is undeniable. He is lead by the memory and the coordination of one who has gone before him. Through the darkness, there is a light. And he is living proof that a soul can be refined by fire. Although he is in relatively good health, if he lives one more day, I am honored to have seen him fight this remarkable struggle.

During his life, he has served in the US Air Force, worked side-by-side with his own earthly father laying hard-wood floors, learned carpentry, had a few sales jobs, married a wonderful and supportive woman of his dreams, raised two independent children, and started his own business.

He has survived both of his parents, and mourns them with each loving stroke of his tired arms. When he waxes his car, lays tile, repairs a broken fence post, and eats a certain thing for dinner, he tells a story about his parents. But, in his memory and in his everyday life, he has modeled his parents' work ethic, morality, and passion for Christ to his children, in ways he may never truly know. Their memory lives on through two generations. It is indeed an amazing thing to be called a Roberts.

There are few people I truly respect. As a child of the 80s and a GenX-er, I struggle with cynicism and disrespect for authority. But, my youth is slowly fading in its own right. And there are some things that we learn as we age. Respect is one of those things. This man, if he does no more, has earned every bit of mine.

Heaven belongs to the humble in Christ. The least of these is my father. And, I am honored to be able to spend eternity with him, my personal hero.

His son,

Sean

Dare To Live

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 02:54:00 +0000

How can any man be weak who dares to be at all?
~Henry David Thoreau

A honest confession about life is one that dares to live, despite the circumstances. As human beings, we have the option to choose what to do with pain. We can cower down under the strong winds of misfortune, heartache, and loss. We can wallow in our own misery. Certainly, there have been times when each one of us has felt like the bow of our ship was breaking. Our support system has tottered. And maybe more than once, we've felt so unbelievably close to collapsing with the ship.

Any sensitive man or woman will realize, however, that we can't white out the moments of extreme change and emotional fatigue. When life's pressures seem too much to carry, we still have a choice. We can certainly decide what to do with the evil, the dark nightmares in our lives.

We are not machines or computer programs. We are human beings. And we have no way of fast-forwarding through a moment that is less than desirable. What we do with the pain that is bound to find each one of us is the difference. There is only one life to live. One body to breathe in the air. And one set of eyes to absorb the change.

To dare to live is by no means an easy task. It is arguably one of the hardest challenges presented to us. But to bottle up the pain, to boil in misery is sure to produce cynicism. This, when unchecked, will roadblock any future chance at happiness. Bitterness is no pleasant companion. Unbridled, it will run like a wild horse in an open range. Any suffering will be prolonged. This is what it means to waste a human life.

On the other hand, I would argue it is in hope that the stuff of life is set before us. For an eternal glory that far outweighs the struggle is what sets us free, even in and during the pain. And we run the risk of creating a cliche out of those words, unless we have had the opportunity to set them to work in our lives during a struggle. All the movement on earth, it seems, can become one huge cliche to us, if it weren't for the presence of pain in our lives and the chance to grow as human beings during those hard times.

When pain strikes our lives, our first instinct may be to hold it against someone. As humans, we have the right to be bitter. But, there is a pleasure in hope. There is joy in pain that can only be experienced if we embrace it. Holding on tight to the hope that we are being made into something greater, something glorious. Because, in this hope, we are saved. For hope that is seen, is not hope. It's something. But it's not hope.

Go in peace,

Sean

On Winter Air And You

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 22:41:00 +0000

The door opens and brings a frigid scent of crusty leaves
with the northern wind.
It has traveled far. Across the broken limbs
of robust oak trees. Brushing on top
of ice-capped streams.
And collecting the subtle recollection of another season.

The wind.
Blows here and there.
Its mind is hidden. Like yours. But, I am surrounded with wind.

Winter is brutal. I will not waste it.

You are mine in all seasons.

Sadness Affirms Life

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 03:01:00 +0000

We have a chance to learn so much about ourselves during and through heartache, loss, and crisis. At the point where a wound tears deep into the recesses of our being, we are most likely confronted with a dark place. Doubt and impossible-to-climb-out-of boxes can taunt our intellect and our emotional well being.

I've learned quite a bit about myself recently, as a result of losing someone very dear to my heart. We all grieve. I think that's a fair statement. But what I'm beginning to understand about the human experience is that maybe we all grieve differently. And for the very first time in my life, I'm realizing that I cope with emotional crisis in a unique way: by writing about my childhood. The kicker is I'm not sure why.

With a mild to moderate case of OCD, I tend to obsess. When crisis hits my life, I tend to obsess more. And that can become dangerous, depending upon how I choose to handle my thought life. Maybe, just maybe, I have learned to build up a defense mechanism against the pain by turning my memory back to a point in time when life was simple, before the onset of my obsessions and manic thought episodes.

Maybe there's more. I remember being able to play for hours on end with nothing more than a few die-cast cars and trucks in my bedroom. No friends. No motherly or fatherly companion. I chose it that way. Total seclusion was something I didn't so much dislike. It came naturally to me. I would build entire stories in my head and Dukes of Hazzard episodes, scripted down to the smallest detail. Hour upon hour, I would play.

And now, I replay those moments in real-time, across the neurons, from the projector in my mind. It's a safe place. And in that place, I'm reminded just how fragile I am.

Life is fragile. To live is to be in need. In other words, where there is life, there will be pain. They go hand in hand. No matter how hard you try, in order to live, you must be able to deal with pain. But as I'm beginning to learn, maybe there's a greater story to be learned than just being able to pull yourself up by the boot-straps and being able to "deal with it."

Human beings are so funny. I'm such an odd duck. But even in my awkwardness, I'm so thankful for the chance to breathe and suck in life. It truly is a miraculous thing.

I'm thankful that God places a crisis in my life every once in awhile. It's messed up to say, maybe. I don't like the pain. I'm not one of those. And the grief is more than I can seem to bare. But somewhere in all of that, there is a quiet voice that assures my heart that all is not lost. On the contrary, much is gained. Because, in those times. I can begin to appreciate the simple, smallest things like: running water, clean underwear, and oxygen.

When is the last time the simple, yet profound process of breathing moved you to appreciate life? When is the last time you prayed earnestly to be able to appreciate life more through and during your pain? We are sustained, whether we realize it or not. For the next moment, if it doesn't freak you out, visualize what your breath looks like as it exits your mouth. To what part(s) of the room does it travel? When you inhale, where does the oxygen go? What body parts absorb it?

Conversations And Memories That Make Me Want Life

noreply@blogger.com (Sean) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 22:16:00 +0000

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A girl, nearly ten years younger than I am, talks across the room at a boy who's reading an ebook. They joke around about how easy it is to find a pizza place anywhere in the world, using just their cell phones. She urges the notion that we're suffocated in the digital age by suggesting to anyone listening that she's been writing a book by hand, without the use of a computer. "Technology scares me," she says, with a nervous laughter.

The boy holds up his ebook and says with the nonchalance of an educated James Dean, "Well. Yeah. I would pick up a hard cover of Hemingway just to thumb through the pages and all. But for the Guide To Marketing 3rd Edition, who gives a flyin'_____? I'd rather throw it on my Kindle and be done with it."

"I wish I could go back 50 years," one of them says, with the grace and apparent self-awareness of a sage.

I feel old. And I chuckle on the inside while sipping another bit of my coffee. But, while I'm trying to catch back up on my book, my mind soaks up in casual idleness that escapes to a place several years ago, where REM is singing something about the end of the world. In my mind's eye, I'm sitting Indian Style in front of the tv at my parents' house. On the tv, I see a boy without a shirt, roaming through a broken-down house, doing tricks on his beat-up skate board. He's a rebel. I want to be a rebel.

I flip the channel and watch Andre Dawson catch a fly ball in the top of the second. I make a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream and watch Shawon Dunston hit a flat-footed home run in the top of the 3rd. And fall asleep in the 4th on the short shag carpet. My stomach is full. And Shotshie, my toy fox terrier, cleans up whatever I had left in my bowl.

Later that night, I climb the chimney to play cops and robbers on the roof with my imaginary six-shooter. I play both the cop and the robber. I catch a slug in my gut and fall to the 14' trampoline below, perfectly executing the scene. The director yells, "cut!" I smile and do another scene just like it, just for kicks. Fade to black.

All of this memory has lead me no where in the book. I've been rehearsing the same paragraph for minutes upon minutes. And my coffee cup is empty. It's cold outside, like the ghost that comes after christmas time. I'm consumed with memory and grin again on the inside.

That was fun.

There are books. And there are films. All of these are stories that are told rapidly, in time and consuming space. Our lives are not books and are not films. They are real flesh and blood. But the things we say are the things that we remember or want from life. They are told as a story of sorts with each breath. Each word we read with a glance. The lines on the page are the way we react to the stranger behind the counter, the post man, and to the ones we love the most, that put up with our strange behavior.

There are no guidelines to write prose or to write poetry. No rehearsals. It's raw. And it's fresh. Each and every moment we are alive, we are alive in a wild and imaginative scene that bleeds reality like a poke in the ribs or the most romantic kiss. The human experience is rich like dark chocolate and deeper than the most hidden ocean floor.

There is a divine nature about us that translates in every single movement. We cannot escape it, no matter how hard we try.

Life is beautiful.

That's all I have to say about that.