It wasn’t Vietnam. It was a suburb of Seattle. And it wasn’t a standard issue army helmet. It was a faded white football helmet, far too large for a child’s head, with a facemask that rattled as I walked.

I wasn’t a guerilla and it wasn’t the jungle, though vines were found in plenty and a thick evergreen canopy cast all in shadow.

Our foe: geriatric commandos of doom, hell bent on keeping whippersnappers like us off their property.

Our company:
Karen, the girl I loved to hate and hated that I loved. Marcus, the pastor’s son. Me, the tag along.

Our goal:
A statue of the virgin mother. Pristine. Pretty. Perfect. And protected.

There’s nothing like the sound of pellet fire raining down on an oversized football helmet. Nor the hissing gritted teeth of the old codger firing from the hip like he’s el bandito out for revenge. Every wrinkle, hard etched and quivering with fury.

If you added the ages of my company together, you might reach 25 if you were lucky. Not even a dent in the crusty husk of life currently trying to fill us full of lead. But where he had firepower, we had the shadows, and feet swift like ninjas.

With our ears filled with the swish swish swish of rushing leaves and our enemy’s bellows, we rushed our target.

“Git off that hill you bitches!” growled the old prune. I could hear the tick tick tick of pellets hitting leaves and occassionally the hollow “tock” of a pellet careening off my helmet.

The three of us rushed on. I took up the rear. Not because I was the youngest or slowest, mind you. My job was to draw fire with my helmet to protect me. That, and it kept flopping down over my eyes and I needed to see my compatriots’ feet to keep my bearings.

And before we knew it, 3 sets of hands touched the holy prize and three hearts filled with elation. And with that, we faded back into the bushes, the warbled howls of our frusterated enemy sending us off.

Mission accomplished.

Image courtesy of stace.d

Seeing Kyle Steed’s post this morning, I realized I never transferred this post over from my old blog. I wrote this quite awhile ago, but it never amazes me how much God can teach me through that blockheaded dog.

…

Upon waking this morning, my sore throat and congested nose revealed an opportunity to me—the opportunity to stay home and recover from this cold, as well as the opportunity to take seriously my recent conviction to remove the “noise” in my life so that I might hear God’s voice … if even for just one day.

As I showered, I thanked God for my job and the sick days the company provides. And then I laid out my simple plan: today was to be a day of prayer and Bible study. Today I would commune with God, most holy and powerful, in the quiet retreat of my home. Everything I was to do today, would be done with thanks and reverence to the One who makes all things possible.

I quickly gave thanks for my breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios and enjoyed them thoroughly as the warmth of the sun filtered into the kitchen through the sliding glass doors. I then gathered my Bible and a notepad and a Bible commentary and placed them on the kitchen table before heading into the living room to pray.

I bowed my head in prayer, thanking God once again for this day. I asked Him to draw near to me as I would draw near to Him through the study of His Word. I’m pretty sure I prayed for some other things, but I can’t remember because I found myself suddenly distracted by the slobbery jowls of a particular black Labrador named Sadie.

I lovingly rebuked the dog, telling her that I would play with her later but that right now I needed to put God first. And with that, I went back to the kitchen and began to seek God in the pages of Revelation.

It couldn’t have been more than about 20 minutes when I finally just gave up. It was pretty obvious to me that while I had done my duty to crack open the Bible, God just wasn’t holding up His end of the bargain—no insight, no conviction, nothing. It was like reading a history book. Nothing is more boring to me than a history book.

It was then that I heard a strange noise coming from the living room; one that I could only describe as a “squishy squeak.” See, I had left the door open for Sadie to go in and out of the house as she pleased. And she saw that as an invitation to bring her “outside” ball, inside.

If you have a dog, you know the ball I mean. What once was a bright yellow tennis ball is now completely full of mud and covered with potato bugs. As she chews on it, the combination of mud and air that dribbles out past her lips is making the squishy squeak noise.

That very instant God chose to speak. Put down the book. If you love me, throw the ball.

He then began to show me a revelation of Himself through the slobbery, intense attention of my dog upon that ball, the dog’s “work” if you will.

Now, my dog doesn’t need my help to have fun. She loves to chase her tail; she loves to chew on a ball. She loves to throw the ball on her own and chase it. She is 100 percent Sadie and 100 percent dog, regardless of anything I do. But if you want to see this dog in her full glory, you’ll have to join in the play with her. You have to value what she values. You have to look at that putrescent lump of a ball and instead of saying “Ewwww,” you have to say “Bring it!” Not because you “should” or because you want to, but because she wants to.

And once you do, you better be in for the long haul. This dog will chase the ball as long as you’ll throw it. She will run until she collapses. Literally. And when you think she can’t even lift a paw? Toss the ball, and she’s off again. She knows what she loves, and even though it brings her to her knees, may even kill her, she never stops loving it. Never stops chasing.

As I shake mud and potato bugs off my hand, I can’t help but realize how much more must God’s love be for me.

God, teach me to value what you value. Teach me to see past the mud and grime of this life and recognize the precious objects of Your love. Meet with me, both in the quiet cleanliness of the prayer closet and the dirty, hands-on world You have created.

photo courtesy of mouton.rebelle

As I get ready to wrap up month 4 of this newly focused blog, one thing becomes clear to me: I simply do not have it in me to maintain this at the level I had hoped I would. At least not right now at this point in my life.

I believe I have some insights that can contribute to others’ lives, but not necessarily once a week or more. Not often enough to devote a whole blog to those insights.

Niche?

I started (re-started?) this blog because I felt my old site was too scattered… blogging, poetry, 3d art… all mostly unrelated to one another. So I thought I would separate them. Plus, I wanted people to read what I had to say! And all the blogging wisdom out there says you have to focus to draw readers.

Well, the truth is, I’m not a “niche” kind of person. While I have the ability to focus on one thing at a time, anyone who knows me would NOT describe me as a focused person.

I have been blogging out of character.

Back to the drawing board

I will re-integrate my poetry and 3d images. I will aim to maintain what I think is higher quality in my posts, but they won’t all be about “the journey”. Some might be about 3d stuff or a gadget I like, or a video game.

I want to thank everyone who has encourage me the past few months. I have had far more readers and subscribers than any previous version of this blog. Thank you for taking the time. Thank you for your comments.

Please, stick around. I have more to say… about my faith and about things that have nothing to do with faith.

I think this must be true for many Protestant Christians, since when I tell people I’m fasting for Advent, I get responses such as:

“What? It’s Advent, not Lent!”
and
“Interesting… a Lenten approach to Advent…”

However, it seemed to me that Advent is a perfect time to consider fasting. It’s a time in the Christian calendar when we are awaiting and looking forward to the arrival of our Lord and Savior.

What better way to celebrate and remember that than to set aside something else that we normally await and look forward to?

So I’m fasting from coffee for Advent.

And, as it turns out, I’m not entirely crazy. Here are some interesting articles on fasting and Advent:

• Christianity Today | Happy(?) Advent
• intermirifica.org | The History of Advent
• orthodoxwiki.org | Nativity

photo courtesy of Thomas Hawk

I want to learn more about the God I worship. I want to know more about Jesus Christ. About the Holy Spirit. I want to KNOW them… personally. Not just someone else’s idea or description of them. Not a pastor’s greek translation of them. I want to know the true God, the living God, the eternal King.

In the bible, God speaks clearly to His followers. I want Him to speak clearly to me.

I think that I am slowly catching on to the fact that He DOES speak clearly. I just need to learn how to listen. And part of listening to God has a lot to do with belonging.

With most things, there is either a choice to belong or their isn’t. My wallet doesn’t choose to belong to me. Nor does my car. However, I might choose to belong to something… like a gym or a club.

Like many confusing things about the trinitarian God, belonging to Him is kind of a “both/and” situation. On the one hand, “Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.” Or as it is stated more bluntly in Deuteronomy: “To the Lord your God belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it.” It all belongs to Him.

But in spite of that, there is a choice.

“But if serving the LORD seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your forefathers served beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”

Joshua 24:15

Every day, ever minute, I have a choice. Do I belong, am I owned by God? Or am I owned by my email client, my blackberry, the latest sports scores, my job, my hobbies.

Is my prayer time distracted by thoughts of these other things, or is everything I do interrupted and infused with prayer?

“He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God.”

John 8:47

Who do you belong to?