shrapnel

Dallas Willard discusses the "gospel of sin management" in his book, The Divine Conspiracy, and several other authors share similar views on the subject. To summarize, they are saying we Christians tend to spend a lot of time trying not to sin, and I believe this is true, we do. By our own hand I believe we have largely defined Christianity as a religion focused on following the rules and avoiding sin.

So, what is the difference between a person who has decided to invite God into his life through Christ and is trying to follow the rules and be a good person, and someone who has no interest in relationship with God, but is still trying to be a good person and having some measure of success at this way of life? Both of these people will continue to do some bad things, maybe even a lot of bad things, over the course of their lives. Both will do good things as well.

To attempt to answer this question, let me tell you about a movie Thane and I recently watched, Ironman. In this movie the main character is, ironically, injured by one of his own missiles and the shrapnel lodges itself within his body. This deadly shrapnel is attracted to the source of his vitality and life force, his heart. Without aid the shrapnel will slowly work its way into his heart, eventually killing him. But fortunately for our character, a noble doctor crosses his path and installs a crude magnetic device in his chest to repel the shrapnel, thereby preventing the deadly metal shards from piercing his heart. Because our beloved main character is a genius, he makes dramatic improvements upon the crude magnetic device of the doctor’s design ultimately creating a circular magnetized structure that he will forever wear in his chest. It is in this way that Ironman is born and retains his life.

God keeps me alive just as this magnetic device keeps the Ironman alive. God is a protective force that dwells within my being, repelling the deadly shrapnel of sin and death. Without him my heart would eventually be penetrated by the poisonous shrapnel and I would progress down a path that leads to death. But with God, I live.

So, while outwardly all of us who follow Christ may appear to be very much like anyone else, if you open our shirts and look at our hearts, you will see the glow of life provided by God’s life-giving protective force, keeping the shrapnel of sin and death from penetrating our souls.

a fistful of dirt

Have you ever fantasized about being someone different?

As a girl I can remember the aching desire to be someone, or something, else. I dreamed of being a bird able to soar far above the treetops and skim across the top of the ocean, or a horse with strong, powerful legs and a flowing, wild mane. I also wished to be several others things… the popular girl, the beautiful girl, the smartest girl, the girl with the best body, or the best skin or the best something. Instead, I felt ordinary and plain.

Thus began a long journey up Achievement Mountain. Perhaps you have traveled this road too? The path winds up a treacherous incline and the way involves striving, reaching, climbing, pushing… but always, even when your steps are taking you up the mountain, there is a nagging, relentless whip lashing at you, driving you on. No achievement is enough to silence this taskmaster. You think with the next step the voice will finally diminish. But the opposite happens, it grows louder and increasingly insistent. I have discovered that this mountain has no summit. There is no end to this uphill battle. I will never “get there.”

No matter how high I climb, I am still me. I’m not able to be someone else. I realize that I am being transformed. Christ is changing me, and I see those changes and celebrate them. But there are some things that haven’t changed about me and I don’t know if they ever will. It is difficult for me to accept this. But I believe acceptance, not perfection, is the path to joy.

My hope is that I will learn to take firm hold of acceptance, instead of grasping handfuls of dirt on Achievement Mountain.

a sunny day in november

Unusual weather for November, isn’t it?

I took my girls to the park on Monday and while we were there I noticed how stunning it was. The sun was descending through the sky, making its arc toward the western horizon. A thick blanket of orange, golden and auburn leaves covered the grass. And it was warm. I remember thinking that these types of days are rare in November. Days like this don’t make a big impression on me in June or even September, because most of us know that there will be more days like these in the not-too-distant future. But because this day occurred in November, I am aware that it is one of the last before winter. And that knowledge makes me want to hold on to it.

When a person is dying and their loved ones know it, they make efforts to create space for intimate conversations and special moments that they can keep with them when their loved one leaves. As a beautiful thing comes to a close, we all do what we can to hold onto its beauty a little longer.

This experience of awareness at the park with my girls made me think about time and mortality, things beginning and things ending. It made me want to hold onto beautiful things that I know cannot last. Being there helped me to become more aware of my own existence and the existence of the world around me. No startling revelations occurred at the moment, just a sense of peace. Reflecting on it, I believe that peace was a result of an aligning of my soul with reality. Like the thin places the Celtics believed in, this place felt holy somehow. I was alive and present right there, relieved of the incessant nagging of my mind tugging at me to go somewhere else.

the freight car

A while back I had a dream.

I dreamt that I was riding in the last car of a freight train. I was there with my sister and my mom, and we were traveling a great distance. We were in a foreign land, a place unfamiliar to us. I couldn’t tell you where we were going. The freight car transporting us was in bad shape. It was leaking water from the ceiling and everybody was being jostled about. My sister and I were concerned and decided to attempt to change cars. We opened the door leading out of the car and looked down at the narrow “walkway” before us. The walkway consisted of a couple of latches of metal holding our car to the car in front of us. The latches connected to make a sort of bridge. But the bridge was rocking and bumping and it was no wider than a few inches. After some deliberation, we concluded that it was a little too risky for us. We opted to stay in our freight car. Shortly after our deliberation the last freight car detached itself from the rest of the train and we came to a screeching halt. We were left with no adequate form of transportation. The rest of the dream was made up of inquiries by my mother as to how we could get out of the country, but no resolution was found.

It is said God speaks to us in our dreams, in the twilight hours as our eyes tremble beneath closed lids. At the time that I experienced this dream I had no idea what it meant. But now as I review it I think I have better insight.

I am not a risk-taker. In my opinion, it is wiser to choose the path that looks safe and reasonable. The narrow walkway leading us out of that freight car was not safe and reasonable; it would require faith, exceptional balance and probably divine intervention to cross. This is why my sister and I, who were so practical in my dream, decided it would be better to remain in the pitiful freight car. We knew that there was a very good chance that the crossing would result in death, or at least dismemberment. But after making that choice my journey came to a standstill. We never did get out of that place.

Perhaps there is some parallel here between the reality of my dream and the reality of my life. Maybe God is showing me the result of a risk not taken. He knows my tendency to play it safe. Perhaps he would like to show me a better way.

I wonder what we would have found in the next freight car...

monday, monday

Monday night was, as Madison said, strange. Daddy was playing piano for a long time, Mommy was crying and we allowed Abigail to rummage through the contents of Mommy’s wallet, putting everything in the wrong place.

And it was a strange night. It was the summation of a long and challenging day. It was a day that seemed to be orchestrated from the beginning by an unseen nemesis, and I could just hear him laughing maniacally as I fumbled through it. It was the kind of day that gets you down, that beats on you, wears on you, and though you try to brush it off and stand up straight again, you just keep stumbling. By the end of the day I was weary, my patience was pretty thin and I was afraid to open my mouth because I felt certain of the possibility that I might breathe fire.

And then Thane began playing the piano, and I began to cry. Before that I was sitting by myself on our bed, staring out the window at the red tree in our neighbor’s front yard. Every year I look forward to autumn and the progression of the changing colors of that tree’s leaves. The leaves turn yellow early and slowly ripen to flaming red. Red is their color now, and as I looked at them against the grey sky I felt both peace and chaos churning inside of me. With the first note Thane struck on the piano, the chaos within me broke through the surface erupting in tears. This is how it happens for me; my tears always surprise me.

Thane’s music was his own, his creation, and it flowed from his heart. And with the first note I knew he was suffering, as I was. He chose to express his emotion in music. It was beautiful, and it was a bridge for me because without it I could not have reached the tears. And it was a bridge between us, because although we were choosing to walk through our pain on our own there was something within us that was reaching out for someone to walk through it with us. His music reached to me across the gap and melted my defenses, and I knew I was not alone.

Psalm 45:1-2
1 My heart is stirred by a noble theme
as I recite my verses for the king;
my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.
2 You are the most excellent of men
and your lips have been anointed with grace,
since God has blessed you forever.

Eph. 5:19
Speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord

rain

Once again the rain comes down
To heal the parched soil of the earth
And the ground drinks it up
And the roots of the plants drink it in
Last night
Healing waters flowed through us
Words on a page spring to life
Uttered through the voice of a woman in shame
Words that once penetrated
Like a sword to my heart
Slicing it open
Laying my wounds bare
But now the words don’t ring with the truth they once did
Forgiveness
Grace
Is attainable to me too
And I know it now
And I thank God for showing me
Because sometimes it seems like I’m clawing my way up
Through a pit of dirt
The earthen ground tumbles down on me
My fingers find no solid place
To pull my body up
To see the light of day
And then I see
The pit is getting smaller
It’s not so deep anymore and
The light is spilling in
All around me
And soon I won’t be clawing dirt
But standing above
Soaking in the rain
Like healing water to a thirsty soul
So I listen to it now
The sound of the water
As it lulls me into the peace of God
And I thank Him
For all that he has brought me through

this was a poem I wrote after the first, first Wednesday
it's still true

jigsaw pieces

I’ve been told and I believe that God is everywhere, in everything, waiting to be discovered. So when I fail to see him I attribute the problem to my eyesight. So I look for him, or at least I try.

But lately I feel like I’ve been looking for him for so long. I’m piecing together the puzzle of him, but so many parts are missing that the picture is incomprehensible. So I just stare at it, and wait. I wait because I can’t do anything else. I wait because I can’t even find the pieces right now. It’s like someone came along and dumped out two hundred other puzzles and all the pieces are mixed together. I find it impossible for me to sort them out by myself. But I can’t seem to find anyone else who knows all the pieces either. Sometimes I find someone who recognizes a piece or two, and we place them into the picture of my puzzle God. But after a while we’re both stumped again, staring at the picture together in confusion. And now my eyes are straining to see the pieces, but my lids are growing heavy and I’m so tired of searching.

There seems to be One who knows where all the jigsaw pieces go. He knows the puzzle because he is in the puzzle, the puzzle is him. And I think he wants to help me. But the trouble is that someone keeps coming and dumping more pieces all over my God puzzle, and it’s getting harder and harder to see beneath the mess. And the One who can help me keeps getting pushed out of the way because all of these puzzle pieces are taking up so much space…

So I’m just waiting beneath a mess of jigsaw pieces, and hoping that God will lead me out of it and give me just one more piece. And I keep thinking that if he gives me just one more piece I’ll be able to do the puzzle, except I’m realizing that it’s going to take a lot more than just me to put this puzzle together. So I’m going to have to wait, and listen and ask for help. But even though the puzzle looks like a jumbled mess right now, I am choosing to believe that I’ll be able to see it one day. Just maybe not yet.