Bloggled

Voices in the Night

2019-05-20T13:23:00.001-07:00

"I lay down and slept; I woke again for the LORD sustained me."- Psalm 3:5

David sets this line down in the middle of his Psalm like an anchor, a turning point in his thinking. Early in the Psalm, he's crying out to God saying that his enemies taunt him with "there is no salvation for him in God."

I don't have literal enemies taunting and threatening me, yet at night all-to familiar voices come marauding. And one of the loud ones, one that I've been trying to stifle for decades, is that God can't save. I know he can intellectually and that he's done so historically in Christ, but what about finances, what about my poor parenting today, what about all these flaws in character that cling so leech-like as I turn out the light. Where is God on nights like these? Will he save?

As a child, I remember running to my parents a lot in the night. I don't think it was usually nightmares, though they may have played into it, but just plain old fear. I vaguely remember just being unhappy, not wanting to go to school the next day, worrying about some homework I might have missed. A sheen of fear lay over whatever it was I faced distorting it.

While the problems have changed the feelings that comes out at night are the same. The unsolvable riddles of being frail and fallen are like a tether on a boat I forgot to unknot, holding me to the dock of all that is wrong in my life. And like a hissed whisper, I seem to hear, "You'll never find the right job, you'll never be a good father, you'll never get yourself together, you are too lazy, too selfish, too vain, too greedy, there is no salvation for you in God." The night sucks sometimes.

David felt this. He records his night wrestlings all through the Psalms. But he finds an aid for sound sleep. Not alcohol, though I wouldn't rule out a bit of wine. And it's not the fact that he's brave warrior, a genius word-smith, or any other quality he finds for rest, he calls to God. Scratch what I said earlier, the turning point, what enables him to lie down and sleep are these words, "But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the LORD, and he answered me from his holy hill."

David finds comfort in God's protection because he looks back at God's history in his life. Heck, he's still laying there when in reality he should probably be dead at the hands of Saul. He sees that he'll wake, because he's being sustained, watched over and guarded.

Then David goes on to write about how God's going to break the teeth of his enemies. Maybe David had the same dream I have where my teeth are cracking and falling out of my mouth.

What's with that dream anyway? A hold-over from loosing teeth as kids? Or just the fact that a lot of us snuck to bed with candy. Either way, I'm glad its not me getting my teeth kicked in.

Jacob the Wrestler

2014-05-23T08:13:00.001-07:00

“I was alone, I’d just sent everyone on ahead of me. It was still dark, and I saw a figure approaching. Not knowing whether this was an enemy or foe, my heart started to race.

Then he raced at me. Catching me off-guard, he tackled me around the middle and hurled me on my back. Instantly I could tell he was wiry guy and might be tough, but he wasn’t a natural fighter. I’d fought before.

I kneed him in the leg. His body shifted and I bit down hard. I’d felt the iron taste of blood.

Ripping off my robe we fought for the next half-hour, no weapons to grab, just me and this stranger. I knew I was stronger but he fought with resolve. So did I.

Then it happened, he touched my hip, and my whole body exploded in pain.”

- Jacob

[A fictional recounting of Jacob wrestling God in Genesis 32]

I saw the sun-light through the shades. They were flipped so I could see the ferns, maples and evergreens stretching into the marsh. I wake many mornings to this stunning sight, living in west Orlando.

The light pulled at me, reminding me of God’s touch, his love and creativity in and over the world outside.

I rolled over. I wanted inside. My heart felt like lead in my chest. My fears were too much today. Too much for me to get out of bed and face.

Now 37 and a writer with Cru, I’ve wrestled with anxiety and depression most of my life. It’s made me extremely aware of my limitations and given me an intense desire to run from fears in my past and to control fears in my future.

Much like Jacob in the early morning dusk, I lay awake and wrestle with God.

My go-to crutches for life are competency, praise and respect. Fears subside if I know that people like me, like my writing, if my wife calls me a good husband and father, if I’m pleased with an accomplishment – you get the picture. So most of the time, without even knowing it consciously, I want my life ordered by me.

This morning, it’s not working. Why God?

Why am I alone and shaking under the covers? Why can’t I get up and face my day? Why is my heart so filled with dread. I’m so afraid. I am a coward.

Just before wrestling the stranger Jacob sent his children, wives and cattle and on infront of him to meet his brother Esau. On the coward front, Jacob wins.

Jacob’s life was one of wrestling with God. Always grasping his way. Seeking his own good. But God was going to bless him.

On days I get really depressed and stay in bed because I’m too tired, to anxious and too fearful to face what the day may bring, I too wrestle. It’s painful. I feel like a total loser. I hate God. Why has he made me this way? Why am I so enslaved by my fears?

As I twist in the sheets, cursing God and wanting to die, God sees me. He sees his very own child, his little wrestler.

But time passes and I’m better. I go to work and I feel competent, happy and even whole. But thoughts linger: thoughts of why do I plummet so quick and fast into depression? How come I am still trying so hard, working so hard, playing so hard? I don’t want to rest, to stop. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll slide again.

Jacob realized he’d been wrestling with God as soon as the stranger touched his hip. Who lays their hand and seperates a hip? It’s a medical fact today that the hip is the most difficult joint in the body to separate. Almost impossible to dislocate in the Ancient Near Eastern world Jacob would have been writing in sheer misery, but he heald on. Perhaps white-knuckling this man who he now knew was God.

God hasn’t allowed me to struggle with anxiety and depression, he has made me struggle with anxiety and depression. While he’s a suffering God, and hurts with me, he is a big God who knows that to drive me towards his blessing, his comfort, His life of real life, the pain and wrestling is exactly what I need.

I don’t know. There are inexplicable things about evil and pain and the world around me everyday. We choose to battle God. Fists clinched and raised we scream at this so-called King who allows a world break down around us.

But in our screaming, or at least in mine, and my own even small (compared to many) pain, God meets, God blesses.

“Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.”

Did God just bless Jacob? Why? He hated God. His name meant deceiver. His whole life up to this with God was riddled with lies, inconsistencies and the absolute self-reliance. God knew that Jacob needed to win.

Jacob and I need to win, in order to lose and win again. I know that sounds super-confusing.

But this God Jacob wrestled with is the same God that Jacob’s descendants would help put on the cross, thereby winning. This God is the same God who I helped crucify, my sins holding him to that cross. God lost profoundly for Jacob and God loses profoundly for me.

Sometimes when I recognize in my day to day that God’s grace is fuller, more powerful and kinder than anything I’ve every known, and that that grace is no-where more clear than the God who lost at the cross, my desires to control may fade. Usually not.

Usually it takes deep emotional, physical or psychological pain, like Jacob’s ripped socket, for me to cling to my God. Yet does this make God capricious? A cruel God who inflicts pain?

No, he knows just how much pain I need, not only for me to receive God-life and intimacy but for me to live courageously. He knows like a father wrestling with his child, that he can show his love best by losing. And that in laying down and tickling and playing and laughing and grunting, and perhaps growning when the child kicks his gut, he’s laying a foundation. So when the father tells his child “No!” His desire is not to inflict suffering, his desire is to protect, foster intimacy and grow his child. He wants his child to flourish, to taste the fullest life. He stops his child so he can live. So the child can hear his “Yes!” and rejoice.

This does not minimize our suffering. In fact it gives it a deeper meaning. And it’s only half the truth. The other half is we have a God who suffers with us as we suffer.

Like with Jacob the deceiver, God wanted to give him a new name. With Philip the controller, the people pleaser and the fearful one, God wants to give me a new name. What will it be? I know it will be good, and I’m finding out.

Real Dreams

2014-01-08T08:14:00.003-08:00

I'm reading Ann Voskamp's 1,000 Gifts this morning, just so desparately trying to see God in my mess. This line hit home: "I believe in the power of the pit."

Anger, stress, bitterness, rage, pride, offense, accusation, murder, hate, lies, and then the pit is ever so deepening within me some days. I used to be a prisoner to it. I knew the prince well. I guess I still do.

Jesus my friend wants me to lay aside old powers and cling to him. Will he not be enough? Is he not enough? He feels distant on cold Tuesdays with deadlines missed and old names like "failure, wretch, slacker, messy, disorganized, hopeless, weak" whispered into this frail human mind.

I need to taste God. I need his peace to overwhelm me. That he is generous towards me is so very hard to believe. I'm his delight, that's crazy right? But that he sees not just potential in me but his very own son. I am perfect to him, his perfect delight. That his heart that bled for me still bleeds with deep emotion towards me seems audacious, sacrilege. To good to really be true.

Who is this God of the half-hearted, the lazy, the tired, the weary, the worried, the anxious, the prideful, the boasting, the mean, the bitter, the cold, the resentful and the unforgiving? Is he not? Or dare I say he is, the great I AM. The presence, who by very solid as rock truth, defies all odds and lies, giving truth for lies, Christ for sin, love for loss, acceptance for rejection, peace for rebellion, and loves me, Philip. Truths so good they seem like lies.

He says my name. Oh do I dare believe he says it. I come running. My name means "lover of horses." I proclaim my hatred for horses and God laughs. He loves my jokes. He loves me. He rubs his hand through my rough unwashed hair. He stoops low, sniffing my head - relishing the smell of me. He whispers in my ears words of his joy over me, of his crazed attitude of righteousness covering all, his tears rolling down my cheeks as he kisses, tears that speak deeper to my pain than any I have ever wept.

That he can be this close seems far off. A pipe dream. But if he's not, I'll take these dreams over life.

Day 2, In God's Image

2014-01-04T18:36:00.000-08:00

Flecks of sawdust spun up and around my face, gently pricking my cheeks and occasionally catching the corner of my eye (protective glasses absently on my head). I eased the spinning saw again into the wood, watching as the blade made grain give way to air. Watching the wood disapear to blade gives me great joy, just the simplicity of a straight line and obedient wood (or at least semi-straight and semi-obedient).

My friends came over today with their families to help me build my tree-house. Actually it’s for the kids, but since they hardly ever go up there and I’ve been slaving away at it for over a year, it’s sort of mine. And I guess it’s “slaving away” if I consider all the time I spend just thinking about doing it and procrastinating. And then if I factor in all the should and ought-to feelings that generally rule my life as a chronic procrastinator then yes, I’ve been slaving.

But as I worked today, with friends beside me, watching wood obey the drill. my hammer (every other swing) and my hands I felt satisfaction. I also felt anxiety. Leading friends in a work project is hardly my field of expertise. I doubt my leadership qualities all the time. But I am dubious, indubitably dubious and prone to second guess everything – it’s the writer in me.

Yet these friends were kind enough to listen when I told them I felt anxiety leading them, and they didn’t run away. I need friends like that, friends that won’t run away when they see my neediness. Friends that don't run from you are good. One even waved to the tree-house, trying to open my eyes to help me celebrate, “Phil, you made all that. It is amazing!”

And well, I’m not being prideful when I agree it is amazing. The tree-house stands eight feet off the ground, is attached to big evergreens and is like a wood castle in our firn covered swamp/yard. I’ve lined the actual house with wood from a friend’s old deck. Rotting and black with mold, he was going to chuck it. But I took it, ran my saw along it and saw bright reddish pine (I think) underneath. Propping the boards on their edge and running my saw along the wood’s surface I’ve pretty much ruined my saw, but the woods rough look on the house makes me happy, it looks so rugged. And I feel that the wood is worth more anyway. Salvaging is good for my soul. So yeah, it is amazing. My tree-house is amazing. And with a little help, I’ve made it. Almost.

In Genesis I’m told that I’m made, perhaps carved, in the actual image of God. It’s a little crazy to actually believe it. That I bear the actual stamp of God. But that’s not enough, I don’t just have God’s creative stamp I’m made in his actual image. Making a tree-house is fine work, work that fulfills and that I enjoy. Imagine making a human being. Imagine pouring yourself into that creature. Imagine the joy you would have at seeing it come to be. To exist. And to have it reflect you. Made in your image. There’s something profound going on there. And I can’t figure it out. And I’m not even sure I want to I like it so much.

God Spoke

2014-01-03T09:09:00.002-08:00

God spoke: “Light!”

For the month of January I've taken on a free-write challenge from Jeff Goins http://goinswriter.com/my500words/ to get my blog going again and to begin walking through my questions on scripture as well as other random thoughts. So if stuff is rough, sorry, I'm going to try and keep the editing to a minimum.

God spoke: “Light!”And light appeared.
God saw that light was good
and separated light from dark.
God named the light Day,
he named the dark Night.
It was evening, it was morning—
Day One.

God spoke. Is that really all it took? I wonder.

My 5-hr-old David, prayed over breakfast this morning and I asked him if he'd like to thank God for anything else. He said, "Thank you God for nature." That's my boy.

He loves lizards, catapillars, is scared by snakes yet fascinated. He cares for goldfish in distress. He's seen many a burial and cried over his loses. David, God's beloved, reflects his creator.

In nature I see so much detail. It's so carefully orchestrated. It works so well. I need green. My cubicle at work is covered in it. It's why I love the Pacific Northwest so much. It was there that I first began to really taste and see that God is good in his creation.

So when I hear "God spoke" and boom there was "plants of all kinds" say, I think I have heard it wrong for a long time. I see God hovering above the waters in sort of a spirit cloud thing and pronouncing on high his words. He has a huge white beard, flowing robes and just says stuff and it happens.

But if I look at what happens, the result, I'm in awe. This God who I know the Bible says hovered over the waters, created such intimate detail. His nature speaks of such care and design. I can't think that Moses had anything like the trumped up Platonic, gnostic version of God who doesn't get fingers dirty when he wrote "God spoke."

Maybe there's something in words that conveys intimacy and power. I think that's a better take. John says Jesus was there in the beginning, creating as the word. The mysterious here would give me migraines. But if Jesus was present, and the Spirit, hey-ho, we've got the Trinity doing there thing, making a world.

And if I know the theme of scripture, I know that what they make is good. And what they make, they make carefully. With power yes, but with great care as well.

BMX

2013-05-20T08:11:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, BMX or bicycle motocross was on the rise. It was the eighties, and these stunt bikers, their helmets, and the crazy colors of their uniforms were calling to me. I wanted a bike. And I got it. I still remember its sleek chrome lines, its rubber smell, its black and white checkered grips. I remember imagining jumping it and all the tricks I was going to learn. I learned how to stand on my seat.

Sure I spent a ton of time thinking and lusting over my buddies super-awesome blue bike, but mine was pretty sweet too. Oh and I learned to do a stoppie, which is where you slam the front brake and go into a sort of front-wheel wheelie. Man I was so cool on that bike. Or at least I was going to be cool when I grew up.

But we moved from that land of BMX to a new land, the land of suburbs and team sports, a land of conformity and video games. Sure I still rode my bike and stuff, but it wasn’t the same and I felt a little saddened by the fact that I never learned to actually jump a bike, regardless hop off a curb. As a boy turning into a man, I felt like something in me had chickened out. I just had never jumped my bike.

Years go by. I’m 25, and we’ve moved to a new land. I’m walking with my wife, holding hands and I see a kid setting a board against a fence about 4 feet off the ground. “Oh boy I think, he’s going to jump his bike off that. Awesome!” The little boy in me was about to jump out of my old boy skin. “Me want to do!” I thought.

To make a long story short, “Me did” even getting to know that kid and hang with his bike gang. And at 36 I still do. I can really ride a bike now. There’s super-sweet-awesome candy colors, wheelies, and jumping, lots of it. Even as I write I’m about to go ride. There will be colors, there will be tricks, there will be speed. And even maybe a front wheel wheelie at the end.

I don’t think we ever grow up. Our bodies just slowly retire. So here’s to that boy in me. He likes the color of my sweet gloves, he likes my bike, he marvels at what a suspension fork is and most of all he thinks, I can see him walking around my bike and saying, “This is so totally rad.” You got to love impressing kids, even if that kid is yourself.

Cathedrals

2013-05-20T07:53:00.002-07:00

Echoes, footsteps, hushed voices. Candles, choirs, eerie melody. Dark and blackened wood and shadows. Heavy stone carved and stacked past my minds comprehension. So many shapes, curves and forms. Too many to grasp. So I gape.

And light as I’ve never seen it. A playful dance between sun and glass - red, blue, green and all the in-betweens, mixing, colliding and rolling in rays and patterns, lighting the dust. Here is the real magic.

This place, this sacred place, is made to hold the weight of time. Filled with awe I stand, surrounded by history. Noble bones lie beneath my feet. I walk, gaze and wonder. Who were these people? How did they create all this? Were they flesh and bone like me? Surely not.

Look at the bigness and the robustness of it all! And then the minuteness and the attention to detail. Have we grown as people, with our cars, cameras, tv sets and computers, or have we shrunk? I stare at statue after statue, saints with fingers poised in blessing and knights entombed in honor, hands crossed on swords with loyal and lean dogs at their feet.

I walk past legends, both the traitorous and the courageous, past all the laughter and tears. Life of threshold, throng, market and all the busy life of the in-between were swallowed up in here. They must have needed this place. The sacred stillness and astonishing grandeur helped them make sense. But even for them time moved forward, putting them in their place. But they left this and it is spectacular.

What will they think? Those who walk the halls of our times. It’s depressing to wonder. Our sophistication seems paltry in comparison to this. How can an iphone compare to thousand-ton chiseled rock and carved oak that has withstood wars, famines, disease and all the mess of humanity?

The wood is carved, stained, varnished, and aged with years of use, aged by oils from hands as frail as mine. I suspect the wood is even more solid now, even more weighty. Then there is the fine smell of dust and incense, the robes and colors and stuff of the divine, and all my senses are coming undone.

The answer to the mystery lies in these halls. These halls that were crafted to take the breath and house those who no longer breathe. These mortals may no longer speak but they echo louder than our generation ever will, regardless of all our noise and perhaps because of it. Through history they speak to something larger, a time when God was bigger. A life that was closer to real, and to a right sense that more in life was sacred.

These halls were made to shrink us, to make us feel the weight of our insignificance but also to woo and woe us, to pull us out of ourselves and our trivialities. They were made precisely to reflect the God who inspired them. And as I realize they are a shadowy reflection, I run my hand along the smoothed stone and whisper “Woe am I, for I live among a people of unclean lips and damned iphones.”

JESUS IS ALIVE - still

2013-03-19T09:40:00.002-07:00

"I just can't convince myself to believe in God."

I hear this all the time from young people. Why are they so stuck? Why do they feel the need to convince themselves? How do they propose to do it? And if God is real, what's the point?

When Jesus asked his disciples to come and follow, they had little knowledge of what they were stepping into. They didn't know that they were following God. They didn't feel they needed to convince themselves of anything much more than, "Hmm, this should be interesting, let's go check it out."

Why don't kids feel that freedom today. Where is the "gospel confidence"? By this I mean, have they heard that the gospel is attractive, that it's good, that it makes sense of the world and us, and that it is apparent to those who are tired, weary and down-trodden. They wear themselves out trying to believe in something and they don't even know what it is!

Have they heard that the gospel is about hope? Have they heard that it's not about joining a club or a clique? Have they heard that it's not just another self-help program? Have they heard that it's actually real?

A friend of mine used to say that the gospel is headline news everyday, the headline news that "JESUS IS ALIVE!" I hope that I can step away from my own posturing and mind-games long enough to consider this news.

We all need to consider this reality. This reality that Jesus is alive changes the game. If it's true, everything changes. Explore it. Search it out. Live it. And hope in it. I believe this is the Christian mandate - whatever mandate means.

Monday Monster

2013-03-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

I just read an email/article on "Telling Better Stories with Our Lives." I shouldn't do stuff like this to myself on Mondays. It's masochistic.

When and if I get out of bed on Monday mornings, I don't typically see the bright side of anything. It's got to be hard on my family, but I try to grunt myself to the pantry, grab some cereal and hide behind my bowl and allow the sound of my crunching echo out all the eager or not so eager noises of my 4 and 6 year olds.

Sometimes Melissa, who I'm suspecting really is from a really distant planet, will venture into my inner life with financial questions, plans for the week, reminders, etc. She's pretty daring, but she's learning that these sorts of quests she takes are doomed. Totally doomed.

That's why I'm a little befuddled by the article I had handed to me by a friend as I entered the office. Can't a Monday under-achiever have a little peace without being reminded by (OK I'll name him) Donald Miller telling him that he needs to be living a better life?! That living a better life could effect the lives of thousands who are waiting for him to step up to the plate, swing and become the super-star that the needy world needs to today. On Mondays I'd rather bunt and pray I get to first.

It doesn't help that we have 5 day work weeks here in America. I know there are places where the most that's expected of a male is to squat in place and tell hunting stories and doodle in the sand until the women ask him to move. That may be where I belong, at least on Mondays.

Walking into work I was greeted by the security guard with a cheery salute and the innocent question, "How's it going?" I put on my best manic smile and gave my standard bare faced lie, "GREAT!" I wonder if said greeter ever suspects that an individual could be experiencing that much greatness that many days in a row.

And then I get here and read this article and depression begins to set in. "Welcome back" the article seems to say. "Welcome back to a week of guilt, with generous slabs of "you should be doing something meaningful with your life" and a side of pressure from great author who used to not take himself so seriously.

But all of this kind of leads me nowhere. Especially on a Monday. God does good and even great things through people just like me - monday monsters who see the gray in everything. People who just can't seem to find the right pants. I did find the right pants today, so I guess my week is off to a better than normal start.

I need a savior today as with every-day, it's the only way through.

Re-imagining Jesus

2013-03-13T08:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I last posted anything. I've sort of been overwhelmed with thoughts. So much so that I haven't have the clarity to put any down in a post. Forgive me whoever you might be, as I feel I have much to share, and we are after-all in this life thing together.

In my current state I'm reminded of something my Aunt caught my Uncle saying to himself, in his deep country/southern accent, as he was walking through the house, "So many thoughts running through my head."

I really dig that. But I am grateful that a lot of the thoughts I have running through my head these days are positive ones. I am a cynic with a propensity towards melancholy, so it's a weird joy to be having thoughts of gratitude, encouragement and hope running through my head.

And I believe that my current state has much to do with my parents, wife and friends praying for me. Prayer does change things.

In fact I've been pondering how the author of Hebrews describes Jesus continually praying for us before the father. I'm often suspicious of Jesus. I often see him with blond hair, effeminate gestures and the pompous philosopher style of someone that was too good for this world. It's been bred into me by all the artistic renderings we have of him here in the west.

But I believe those artists must have been demon-possessed. Jesus is all-together earthy. He is all-together for the empty and down-trodden. And I believe he is someone, that if I met face to face today, I would not want to let go. I'd be inviting him over to have dinner, see the kids, meet Melissa, and he'd probably be treating us all to our new favorite frozen yoghurt place for desert.

I believe his thoughts on life would be challenging but not judgmental. I believe that they'd be fueled by a real playfulness and joy that would make chasing his thoughts attractive. I believe that his thoughts would create in me more thankfulness, more joy, more hope and I believe I would be undone by his kindness and earthiness. I also believe he would do a lot of listening, the kind of active listening that shows when someone really cares.

After all, in Jesus God became small and insignificant. He became one of us. He ate with us, played with us, challenged us, healed us and ultimately invited us to live a full life.

I take myself way too seriously with "So many thoughts running through my head." And I think Jesus would encourage me to slow down, fill me with new thoughts and help me relearn how to think about this thing we call life. And I imagine he'd be good with jokes. So good indeed he'd have me snickering snot all over the place.

Perhaps that would be the most profound thing Jesus would bring. His humor. That's why I think he would like the painting above.

Again, Again and Again

2013-02-13T10:51:00.000-08:00

"The bible is not a book of virtues, it’s a book of gospel, It’s not a series of moral exemplars, it’s a record of God’s intervening grace into the lives of people who don’t deserve it, who don’t seek it, who continually resist it and even don’t appreciate it after they’ve been saved by it." - Tim Keller (from his sermon, "Real Freedom and the Listening Lord")

Since I quoted Keller yesterday, I thought it would only be fair to quote him a little more in context of his view of scripture. It's such a refreshing take for me, because I know that I am just like the folks of scripture he goes on to describe:

"The very best human beings in the history of the world are moral and spiritual failures, that can’t rise above their own culture. They can’t rise above the brutality of their own times, and they can’t escape the self-centerdness of their own hearts."

So where is the hope for these folks that are so like me, the selfish and the hell-bent? It is only in the reality of a God who breaks into their world, a God who condescends, a God who becomes flesh, a God who becomes weak, a God who suffers, a God who meets individual meanness, and a God who takes all that selfishness, hate and hellishness on his shoulders and suffers so that I might have life. This is humanitys' only hope.

Keller continues about such folks like me:

"... but God continues to come to them, continues to not give up on them, continues to patiently speak to them, to help them, to aid them, to save them and to rescue them again and again and again…"

How has God changed since the time of the "great" men and women of scripture. He hasn't. He still continues this reckless pursuit of rebels.

Most people think just the opposite about God and scripture. Keller again:

"You may think that the message of the Bible is you give God a righteous life and God will bless… but the message of the Bible is that God always comes to us by sheer grace and then we owe him. In other words 'Is bible mainly about you and what you should be doing or is it about him and what he has done?'"

The bible, this whole Christian life thing, is radically rooted in what God has done and what he is doing. This is the truth that gives me a taste of humility, and at which one day my knee every will bow with everyone on earth and proclaim that his ways are good and just. It is this reality that gives the weary, shaky, broken-down soul like mine hope and blissful rest.

Finally it is the reality of what God has done that gives Christians true grit to face life's challenges. It is precisely and only because Christ faced every challenge there is and now he lives in us, his children, that we have the joyful challenge to extend the grace of God's work to this hurting world today.

The Gospel Order

2013-02-11T09:46:00.001-08:00

"Unless you have said, 'Whatever I discern as your (God's) will I will do unconditionally, you're not a Christian." - Tim Keller (in sermon on Abraham)

Maybe it's just me but statements like these make me want to pack up my office bag, go home, get back in bed, curl up under the covers and give up on this whole Christ-following thing. When have I ever experienced unconditional surrender to God? All of my surrender seems so riddled with fear, control, manipulation and self-interest that it's a miracle God calls me his child.

Or does he?

This question is the question that drives me into despair. It is this insecurity that produces the fear of my life.

The gaping gulf between me as I know me, and me as a fully surrendered child of God, leads me to despair. Who am I really? Am I a child of God? Or am I just pretending?

I am just pretending if my security lies in my actions or level of surrender. But, and I realize this may be a stretch, if my security lies in someone, say Jesus, and his obedience and his full surrender, than I am such a child.

Grace precedes faith. Salvation precedes obedience. The gospel order. I guess it's important to remember even if you're listening to Keller.

Reality Check

2013-02-05T08:43:00.001-08:00

As I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop, I'm thinking, in this whole world of wonder, what should I write about? I just got finished reading about God's perspective on time from Ann Voskamp. She was saying that the creator of time wants me to slow down, notice the good around, and give thanks. When I do this, I'm really, really surprised. My world is full of things to be thankful for. Here's a brief list off the top of my head from this morning:

1. Dear friend/brother who's flying across the nation to meet me.
2. Children who greeted me with smiles this morning. One was a less toothy smile as she's losing them - a whole backstory full of tooth-faries, longings, imagination and childhood.
3. A building and place to go to to work. Something to pour my energy into that brings God joy.
4. A warm cup of coffee and a inside joke between friends.
5. 15 minutes with a friend to sit down, pray and encourage him in his intense pre-engagement worries and fears.
6. A book that opens my eyes to the world around me, and enables me to plagiarize what I see into a blog post.
7. My own frailty, tiredness and background fear that lifts my eyes heavenward in a plea for divine rest. Divine rest granted.
8. A spouse at home caring, nurturing, teaching and loving my children.
9. A two day work week (since my brother's coming into town).
10. The ability to write this stuff down, nail it in, and feel the "soul-holes" of my heart being filled and healed (burrowed again from the book).

As I look at this list, just ten in ten-thousand un-thanked for blessings, I am encouraged. Life can be full of so much hurry, worry, loss, pain, dread and death, that I must, I simply have to become a creature of thanks. Thanks for God's gifts open me up to him. And in this intimacy I believe I am really alive. So here's to thankful living, toast it with your favorite beverage.

Super-Love

2013-02-04T12:07:00.000-08:00

Wow it's been a long time since I posted anything on my blog. I've missed writing and watching my thoughts scroll across the screen of my monitor. And I don't particularly enjoy them banging around in my head and making a mess of my headspace that would make the sternest psychologist cringe.

I've given up writing for the past couple of months simply because I've been discouraged. Nothing outwardly has changed all that much, but I've just felt an inner disillusionment with life and God. I'm tired of hearing I need to change and I'm tired of waiting to change.

I struggle with all sorts of things, feeling like I'm coming up short in so many areas of my life. But there's something that this process (of seeing my shortcomings) has enabled me to do. Even while I've felt sad and discouraged I've dared to hope. So I guess I'd say I've been both discouraged and encouraged.

With hope I was reading on Abraham and I noticed just how much of his story is God's story. God is the main actor in Abraham's life. And it's not ego-centric activity, it's beautiful activity of selfless love. God's character traits pop out as if from behind a curtain in these OT accounts.

Just check out his first address to Abraham: "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed."

This blessing makes me think that it's a very, very good thing that God is a "covenantal" God. I've heard that term batted around a lot, and I frankly often don't know what it means. But in God's covenants I see both a God who is willing to condescend in his dealings with man but also a God who privileges man with absolute undeserved devotion.

A lot of people talk about there's or others' devotion to God. But really, God is devoted to himself I know, but his devotion to himself comes through us and is towards us. We are super-loved.

Now that I think about it, that may be the defining characteristic of the Christian - that a person is super-loved.

So as I seek to pick back up this experiment in blogging, or wandering thoughts making there way into cyber print, I'm hoping in this God's super-love.

Powerful Words

2012-12-17T07:57:00.000-08:00

... having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through faith in the powerful working of God, who raised him from the dead. And you who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.

Therefore let no one pass judgement on you... - Colossians 2:12-16

Just as soon as I think I've found a new favorite passage of scripture, I pick up my Bible and find another one. Through my times of discouragement, one of the things that happens to me is sort of defeatist attitude towards scripture. "I've read it all. It doesn't have anything new to say. I probably will just read it and feel more guilty."

But then I read a passage like this and, I don't know whether it's the coffee I just drank or what, but the gospel just explodes off the page. And as I wipe gospel shrapnel off my face, I'm thinking, "Wow, that is really, really good. I wish I believed it more."

I mean, just to think that I was really buried and put to death with Christ in baptism, raised with him by faith, made alive with God in him, totally forgiven, debt nailed to a cross, in a demonstration of power that put all earthly rulers and authorities to open shame, in order that no one (including myself) should pass judgement on me.

Boy, a covering that thorough, a covering of rightness and goodness that is so infused with God's affection towards me, is good, good news.

Often I don't believe that I am lovable. And when I look at the old me that was buried, I realize that I'm not. But God shows his staggering love in this, that he loves the unlovable, and not only loves, but moves towards, dies in love, washes in love, and fights in love for me.

And this is for you. May you rejoice in the powerful words of the gospel this Christmas. And if they've grown tired and weary to you as they are so often to me, my hope is that you'll hold to them until you hear them afresh, and they grow deeper into you. Merry Christmas!

Cool Video

2012-12-12T09:09:00.001-08:00

I had the privilege of helping work on this video with Cru. Check it out and share if you get a minute.

How Clouds Break

2012-12-12T08:04:00.000-08:00

"All things in heaven, earth, around, within, without condemn me-- the son which sees my misdeeds, the darkness which is light to thee, the cruel accuser who justly charges me, the good angels who have been provoked to leave me, thy countenance which scans my secret sins, thy righteous law, thy holy Word, my sin-soiled conscience, my private and public life, my neighbors, myself-- all write dark things against me.

I deny them not, frame no excuse, but confess, 'Father, I have sinned'; Yet still I live, and fly repenting to thy outstretched arms; thou wilt not cast me off, for Jesus brings me near, thou wilt not condemn me, for he died in my stead, thou wilt not mark my mountains of sin, for he levelled all, and his beauty covers my deformities.

O my God, I bid farewell to sin by clinging to his cross, hiding in his wounds, sheltering in his side."

- Puritan prayer from The Valley of Vision

This morning I woke up tired and depressed. I woke up wanting to ride my bike and escape the tasks of the day that loom over me.

Being a "professional Christian" can be really hard when I'm not feeling my faith. I possess a deep passion for escape, materialism and entertainment (the pleasures that are so easily attainable in my culture) that often and (it seems like) always overrides my passion for God.

Facing my reality, I feel like an empty shell. I feel hollow and without much hope. I feel like I'm attempting to lift a weight of condemnation that I can't bear. I'm even finding it hard to write.

That's why it was so good to read the words above. To know that I'm not alone and that many a weary traveller has been my way before - travellers that have seen glimpses of their sin and are overwhelmed.

It is good to know that they found hope in the reality of God. It is so comforting to know that I have Jesus and his sacrifice to cling to.

A clear vision of Jesus and his mission can break through the heaviest clouds of condemnation. He lifted the weight. He carried the burden. He knows the guilt and shame.

When I am tired and want to give up and give in, I have a savior. When I am sick of my old ways of escape and entertainment, I have a savior. When I've exhausted every other avenue in the pursuit of self and satisfaction and am left like an empty shell, I have a savior.

And this savior, this Jesus Christ, not only has "more medication than I have pain" (as a friend of mine put it), but he is with me.

God with me always. To think that he knows far more about my sin than I do, and that he radically and furiously loves me and covers me, and that he never, ever, EVER leaves me is simply too much to comprehend. But it is an encouraging thought on grey mornings.

My Story

2012-12-03T07:38:00.001-08:00

"Repetitive patterns have become themes in our lives over time, themes that impose structure on us even when a surface evaluation would tell us that these themes are nothing more than personal preference or desire. We are not wholly our own, we are exclusively the result of what has happened to us. No wonder reading the plot of our lives is so difficult." - Dan Allender, To Be Told

Just as soon as I've begun to think that I have a handle on the story of my life, some sort of banner gets jammed in the wheel of my understanding. I think I have forgiven, only to have something send me off into worlds of bitterness and rage. I think I know love, only to find that I need so much more than I can give. I think that I know healing, only to run towards all the wrong sorts of medication.

I have a God who knows all the ins and outs of my story not only because he wrote it, but because he loves it. My story is so very precious to him. Now I'm not saying he loves the tragedy both that I've suffered and committed, but he is not only interested in my story, he loves it.

This is a start. As a Christian, I am in the really unique and weird position of knowing the one who's written and continues to write my life. I don't know what tragedies or joys are around the bend, I don't even know what I have experienced all that well, but I can rest in the knowledge that the resolution, the climax, the ending will be glorious.

I was thinking about this last night as I sat with our small core church-planting group. We were talking about hope - "the ernest expectation of things to come." We were talking about longing. And we were looking at the painting I've pictured above, "Lift up Thine Eyes."

As we were talking and sitting in silence as well, I was wondering, "What if my deepest hope and longing is true?" What if all that I most sincerely hope for in the dark will one day explode into the light and color of reality. What will it feel like to have my heavenly father's kiss, to hear his tender words and to finally, beyond any of the shadows, know that all will not only be well but will be beyond what I've even dared to dream.

My dreams are too small for a God like this. A God who indeed is working all things for good, not just for the elect but for all creation. He knows that my eyes are half-shut to his realities. He knows the internal wounds that bleed and the ways in which I interact with the world simply out of these wounds.

And the great thing is, the fantastic thing, the thing that makes my heart race, is that this is not the end. In the gospel it will never be the end. And when it is we will all say "Amen." Truly. And just at it was at the beginning, it will be very good.

A New Rule

2012-11-29T09:13:00.002-08:00

"For neither circumcision counts for anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creation. And all who walk by this rule, peace and mercy be upon them and upon the Israel of God." Galatians 6:15-16

My counselor leaned forward in his chair, gave me his full attention and with earnestness in his voice, invited me to envision with him hope. His hope for me was that I'd be able to walk out of his office, thinking about myself the way he thinks of me and with joy say, "Now what do I want to do?"

That question has been rumbling around my brain for the past 24 hours. What is it I want to do?

I love to write. I love to share the gospel. I love how it shapes us, redefines us and is the reality that is so bigger than any of us. If I can't write, I know I'd be very very sad. So I want to write. And I want to write about the gospel.

I love people. Well I do and I don't love people. People are complicated. But they are infinitely interesting and I want to work with them. I don't want to get holed away somewhere alone, burying myself in a coffin of to-dos.

But most of all, deeper than I even know, the divine within me, Jesus himself, is calling me to walk according to a rule. A rule that I am a "new creation." This rule frees, this rule enables me to breath, this rule is about peace, mercy, love and hope, real hope.

And as I think about this new rule and it's hope and all that I want to do, I'm encountering a deep longing to live near my family (my parents and siblings). But they live in the Pacific Northwest.

We've moved here to Orlando to take up a place with Cru High School (formerly known as Student Venture), and rather than feeling like I've struck gold, found the place where I belong, I've grown disillusioned, sad and weary. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a very good minister, but I will not back down from the truth that God is ministering through me. So I'm conflicted.

Many people suffer similar frustrations with their jobs, thinking they are out-of-place, getting over-looked or not using their giftings. And many have gone before me and had a dream and chucked it all only to find that they're not any better off "near their family". Yet I do wonder about my family...

And I'm in a tricky circumstance I'm not even sure I should be blogging about. I'm a fully-supported missionary financially, and this may cause friends and partners to doubt I am where God wants me to be. Or it may even make them think I've lost the vision of reaching those who haven't heard the gospel. It hasn't.

But honestly, most of me believes right now, in this moment, that I am here simply because I didn't know what else to do. Crazy right?! I raised financial support for 2 years, put my family on the line through a big move, and now am wondering if I did it all out of fear of not knowing what to do.

So what do I want to do? I'm not sure. But I know one thing. The God that created this new rule, this fact that I'm a new creation, will not only take care of me and my family but enable me to do what I most truly want. Not my will, but his will be done.

I write all of this in the hope it connects with you, and for the selfish fact that I just wanted to get some of this out of my head.

My Perfection Problem

2012-11-27T11:03:00.000-08:00

"But when he who had set me apart before I was born, and who called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, in order that I might preach among the Gentiles..." Galatians 1:15

My friend looked up at me, winced and said, "Are you ready to go through the Gospel presentation video script? I hear it's really shitty." I smiled and nodded enthusiastically, and not just because I enjoy hearing swear-words. I'd just read the script and it really was bad.

Here's why: The video script we had been given to review was based in a coffee house where too young women, one Christian and one not, have a discussion about what Christianity is all about. So far so good, even if it is cliche. But then as we read we noticed that when the Christian began to share the gospel she sounded like a robot. Surely she can't have hardly believed what she was sharing, even if she was fictional.

She talked about how a perfect God loves us, how sin cuts us off from this perfect God, how Jesus bridges the gap to God by his perfect death, and how we can receive God's perfect gift if we pray a prayer (it was probably a perfectly scripted prayer as well). "Perfect," I was thinking, "all we need are more perfect gospel presentations about perfection."

God didn't offer Jesus up to suffer his wrath and essential hell for us because he simply wanted us to be morally perfect! Jesus wasn't God's formula for perfection, as if God was a divine perfectionist.

This reminds me of a radio commercial I hear all the time. It goes something like this: "Have you ever done anything wrong? No? How about the time you took that paper-clip from the office? Did you know that stealing is a transgression against God's holy and perfect law? Did you know that any offense cuts you off from the perfect and holy God?"

Really!? So you can go to hell for paper-clip stealing?!

Is Christianity such a petty religion, is the gospel so truncated, that the best we can do to describe our rebellion and hatred towards God is paper-clips? Is the gospel about being perfect?

Yes the gospel is about being perfect. It says so in my Bible. But it's also about so much more. I believe that the gospel is primarily relational.

Here's my short take, if I have to make one without the time to go into explaining Israel: God created us as his beloved children. Satan tempted us to mistrust and disbelieve in God's love, so we rebelled and went our own way. So God, being the extremely merciful and loving type that he is, put in action the bravest rescue attempt known to mankind. He put his life on the line for us, so that we would not only know his love and enter in to it, but have something like the cross to point to whenever we are tempted to doubt it again.

So the gospel is not primarily about moral perfection. If that's all it is, we might as well just say "Thanks God," and be on our merry way. No the gospel, I believe, is about God showing a perfectly unbalanced love towards us.

Paul above said it was because God was "pleased" with him that he revealed Jesus to him. I can't think of one perfectly good reason God would do that. Why reveal Jesus to someone who murders Jesus followers?

Was it just so Paul could have a perfect record and think of himself as sinless? No, I believe Paul's life reveals a much deeper motivation than that - namely the very fact that God was pleased with him and wanted him, even though he was a sinner.

Fates Entwined

2012-11-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

"Whom have you mocked and reviled? Against whom have you raised your voice and lifted your eyes to the heights? Against the Holy One of Israel?"
...
And that night the angel of the LORD went out and struck down 180,000 in the camp of the Assyrians." - 2 Kings 19:22&35

My fate is intertwined with the LORD's. I know that I am just as unfaithful as the nation of Judah when they faced it's marauders the Assyrians. I deserve the taunts and the heckles. But God won't have it. For his reputation is all mixed up with mine.

It's weird how God does this. It's strange this sort of love. That he would take up my cause and make it his own really doesn't make too much sense. I'm not better off than the Assyrians, and Judah's king Hezekiah had to be aware of his nations unworthiness when he took his nations threat into the house of God. He had to know that he wasn't better off. His nation was just as arrogant, unfaithful and idolatrous.

Yet he knew something about God so he went, and there he rolled out the scoll of the Assyrian's taunt. From here God does the rest, wiping out 180,000 of the invaders.

Do I believe that God cares that much about me? Or has my sin and unworthiness clouded my understanding of God's covenantal faithfulness, in which our fates are bond together.

It all seems to good to be true. That a God would make my cause his own is out of character for gods. But there you have it. This is the God of Israel. And when the clouds of condemnation and disaster gather, I am sure glad he's mine as well.

The Prison Break

2012-11-15T08:15:00.001-08:00

"The people of Israel are oppressed, and the people of Judah as well. All their captors hold them fast, refusing to let them go. Yet their Redeemer is strong; the Lord Almighty is his name. He will vigorously defend their cause so that he may bring rest to their land, but unrest to those who live in Babylon." - Jeremiah 50:33-34

I know my prison well. I can see the rocky walls, a damp trickle of water running down one of them, and the scratches in the smoother places of dates, names, crimes and resentments. I star at them in fear. The bars are rusty, the prison cold, I see my shackles I know so well, and hear the chains clank and as I curl up for warmth.

I prefer my prison. In my life of wrestling with anxiety and depression, I know that I often choose my prison.

This week I've spent a couple days in bed "sick". I know it's not good to stay in bed when you're wrestling with anxiety and depression, but I've given in. I just don't want to face all the craziness that is in my mind, so I've slumbered and rested, and oddly I do feel better.

But in retreating and seeking my needs first, I've hurt others. I missed a friend’s appointment who really wanted to be with me, I missed a gathering at work where I could have served. I've gone into prison mode, locking myself off from the world, because my unrealistic fears were just too big.

 A friend leaned across the table this morning and said, "I won't let you do that. I want to be with you. I experience Christ through you."

My captors hold me fast. Fears of what people think of me, what's expected of me, how I measure up, whether I am liked, whether my sin is leaking out, whether people see my shame on my face, it all holds me fast, gripping me with vices daring me to try to step out of prison, or out of bed.

Ever have those mornings like mine? They need a lot of coffee. Ha.

My Lord is STRONG. The LORD ALMIGHTY is his name. He whispers to me, "Son, my dear son, get up. Walk into your world for it is my world. I will vigorously defend your cause. My people shall arise and see me bring them joy and their land rest."

Now how about that? God wants me to take joy in my weakness. To walk out in confidence that he is strong and I am not. To rejoice when I feel vulnerable and want to stay under the covers. To rejoice when I find strength from him to go out and be me, a freed prisoner. Me, broken yet mending, blinded by time in the dark, but rejoicing at the sun on my face. For he is bringing rest to me and the land.

Sometimes setting foot in God's ways is the most painful and scary thing in the world. I so prefer my prisons, my methods and modes of being ok with myself and the world around me. Hell, it's all I'm used to and Hell is all I'm used to. But wait that's not true, I know of a prison breaker, a strong redeemer. The LORD Almighty is his name.

Childhood Closet

2012-11-14T09:30:00.001-08:00

(I've been absent for a little bit, as I've been doing more personal journaling and creative writing exercises, but I want to share bits and pieces of what I write.)

Here's one:

Our closet’s horrible creak was worth it. The door would open to shelves full of our most prized toys. Deep shelves would reveal treasures and we would revel in play.

My brother and I were bound together in our delicious imaginations and adventures. We became more than brothers, we became copilots, coexplorers and confidants. Laughter and jokes as we dug into the shelves. Action figures spilling out with weapons tiny weapons falling in cracks.

What lies in those shelves still? My mind is awash in the mystery of those deep shelves and the joys they held for us. Remote control cars and model airplanes. Home made rockets and stuffed animals.

The door slid shut for inspection, only to be opened again for adventure. Heart beat rising in anticipation of adventure. It was our Narnian wardrobe to new worlds. Through toys we lived lives we couldn’t. We expected and reveled in our futures. All the while knowing we were in the fortress of room, of house, surrounded by love.

Those shelves had to be deep. They contained more than dreams, containing hopes, and great passions. Old projects left to fall apart were drawn out again with joy. Always discovery and rediscovery, this was a joyous closet.

Reaching back one might find amongst airplane models, dust bunnies, loose change and what-it toys that lit the brain with new possibilities, new places or fond forgotten joys ready to be re-explored. My brother’s projects could be found here, making it a place where I could see and find his creativity.

Slight guilt at looking through his stuff, but excitement at what toys of mine may resurface. Chewbacca’s belt and !AHAH! all of our action figures weapons, stockpiled for a war-time need. That’s where they’ve been! The screech of that closet is unforgettable.

Also it almost always came off the runners. Its doors swung, and were made of cheap metal, but inside it was full of goodness.

Writing

2012-11-01T08:13:00.001-07:00

Why do I take myself so seriously? I know I write a lot about me. And I'm beginning to think that it's a little narcissistic.

Sure I like watching words flow across the page and all that. But I hope I'm reaching deeper into the well of who I REALLY am and who God REALLY is as I write.

I believe I am. And I'm excited to continue writing. I feel compelled to write. It's something I have to, if nothing else than to kill the editor/perfectionist/jerk within.

I've got to beat him. I've got to be drawn into the world of the senses: sight, smell, sound, touch. It's what writing for me is all about, getting dirty.

I want those grubby finger-nails I had as a kid again. I want to scratch the surface of rich brown loamy dirt and come away uncovering treasures. Writing is about exploring just that. And hoping in that. Is there treasure to be found?

Writing too represents freedom. If I can't say something than I've got to ask why? I've got to figure some stuff out, hash it out, have it out and take it to my God.

Writing is also about wisdom. If I don't put stuff down, things don't quite lodge in my core. Does that make sense?

I can't wait to become more proficient at this, and I know it will take hard work, but it's totally worth it.

It's worth escaping the prison of my mind and playing in the garden of God's rich treasures.

I've been listening to NPR a lot recently and they're obsessing on the election. Some poor four-year-old girl phoned in crying saying "I'm just so tired of hearing about Mitt Romney and Barack Obama." I feel her pain.

If I don't write I'll get stuck just like NPR. Obsessing on one thing with no-where to go. So writing for me is a form of prayer as well. It's basically me just crying out my big WAAH! to God. I've got to let it out, or I'll get distended and bloated.

Sometimes I feel like a fool for pursuing this life of a writer. It's scary sharing your secrets. But if I don't share and others don't share, I feel like we'll literally (ha) suffocate in our isolated thoughts. That's why I read as well. I need to hear and find wisdom from others who are reaching out.

So in case you were wondering what keeps me going other than patent narcissism, there you go. I hope you to can find a way to express your longings, desires and struggles as well. Perhaps you could leave a comment :). Something like "I read this."

Reaching

2012-11-01T07:41:00.001-07:00

I feel like I have something to say so I'm writing. I'm sort of going to let my brain wander, so if you're not interested you can move on to another post jerk (j/k).

I don't know much about me these days. I'm hopelessly addicted to escape. I like to ride my bike and jump it, buy bike stuff and dream of biking adventures. Often I just wish I could bike all the time.

But then there's another part of me. A place of shame. A sadness I feel at all the trades I make. Trading time as a father for biking. Trading time with my spouse for biking. Trading energy and joy for biking. I'm finding that I'm getting a raw deal in my trades.

I think we all do this. We sacrifice, in a sense, the good things in life for the not-so-good. We sacrifice our real spouses for imaginary spouses, we sacrifice real parenting for imaginary parenting, we sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice.

God says he doesn't want these. He's tired of them and so am I. What he desires is a contrite heart. Something like that.

He wants me to enjoy this whole comprehensive human flourishing thing. Sure he wants me to mourn my broken desire to hold on to stuff, but he also wants me to lighten up, or rather let him lighten me up.

Satisfaction is too heavy a burden for me to carry. I just can't attain it for more than a moment or a day. And if I do find it, especially if it's in the wrong place, I feel less me, less real.

I feel like I become a ghost of who I am when I pursue life in the wrong place. Hell, I feel like I'm less me all the time.

One day I will be me. I will have union with the one who loves me so much and I love so little. That will be a good day.

But for now I press on, trying not to give up hope, and embracing this God of a million-and-one chances. He's not trying to get me to figure out this whole life thing, he's just asking me to come to him with my hunger, pain and restlessness.