deliverance

I am seeking deliverance.

Deliverance from the mundane, the monotonous, the mediocre, the mire.  What I seek is deliverance from my own mind.

In the movie, The Matrix, Morpheus sought to free minds from the grip of the matrix, a false reality.  Jesus seeks to do the same.  He frees us from the constructed realities of our minds and reveals the truth.  But it is difficult for the mind to let go.  Like the Hebrews, sometimes I want to return to Egypt, to bondage.  My mind believes the shackles hold me, but in truth the shackles don’t exist. 

Milton wrote, “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

If I can train my mind to see reality instead of the facade then no shackle can hold me, no force can deter me, and nothing can separate me from the love of Christ.  If I can grasp the depth of what it means to have the mind of Christ, then perhaps I can begin to explore what it is to live with strength, vitality, joy, love.

Lofty goals? Or attainable realities?

You decide.

truth

There is truth. There are lies. Sometimes I wonder how to tell the difference. Sometimes I wonder which things I accept as truth are lies in disguise.

Lately, I am struggling because I want to lay hold of something concrete in my mind. I want the answers. I’m sick of sitting with questions. I realize that I will never have it all figured out, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting that. I realize that once a human being makes up his mind about something, it becomes increasingly difficult to believe anything else. We read and watch and listen and look for proof that our own beliefs are the correct ones.

I want my mind to remain open to new ideas, yet I want stability of thought. I want to anchor myself in unalienable truths, to wrap myself in the comfort of absolutes. I want to see my world and touch it and feel that it is really there, that it won’t change on me once I turn away. But life doesn’t work like that.

Relationships change.
Presidents change.
Laws change.
Seasons change.
Diapers change.
I change.
You change.
God doesn’t change.

That last part seems a little out of sync, doesn’t it? But the bible says it and I believe it. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8

I have been told to seek truth in the bible and I believe it lies there. God passed his story down to us and I keep looking to his story to try to understand life. Where I get murky is when I find it necessary to interpret what God is saying through the bible. Because it seems to me that there are a myriad of angles to this story. I am afraid I’ll see what I want to see, that my eyes will cloud over the truth in my efforts to maintain my secure structure of beliefs.

So I find it hard to land.

I find myself balancing between fluidity and fixedness. I am trying to embrace openness to new perspectives, ideas and truths while also grounding myself in promises and commandments, liberties and laws, proverbs and psalms. My roots are sinking deeper and my limbs are stretching higher...
at least, I hope so.

tulips

I’ve been noticing evidence of spring outside.

Like many other people, spring is my favorite season. Spring breathes life into things that you thought were dead. The sleeping seed buried within the earth awakens and produces something beautiful and unquestionably, alive.

We have new neighbors again this year. The house to my left has seen a number of residents in my tenure. But these are the first occupants of the home to notice the bright yellow tulips that grow along the west side of the house. There are no other flowers on the property. Most people living there never notice them because they usually don’t bloom. But my new neighbors are different. As the first days of spring stretched on, I heard them talking excitedly about the plant growing by the deck. Then I saw them watering it, day after day. My neighbors give the flowers their love and attention. And the flowers bloom.

They are beautiful.

Sometimes it feels as though certain parts of me are dead. Pieces within me that once belonged somewhere and made up the person that is me are now seemingly invisible. But, I think the pieces are still there, just like the seed of the tulip is still there even when you cannot see its blooms. I think perhaps the parts of me that I cannot see right now are lying dormant, waiting for the sun to awaken them, waiting for the breath of life to call them forth from the confines of the darkened earth.

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.

the fascination of 'ordinary' things

When I prepare to write, I sit at my dining room table beside a wall of three windows. Sometimes when I am thinking I look outside and let my eyes wander until they land on something of interest. There is a large tree in my neighbor’s back yard, I can see it through my windows. It is an old tree with lush leaves and beautiful form. Its trunk splits on the ascension upward, one massive trunk diverging into two of less girth. The leaves of the tree stretch forth from the diverse branches, shimmering in the sun and swaying with the wind. It seems alive, and it is, though not in the same way that I am alive, or you are.

But I don’t really gaze much on that tree as I sit here. Instead I trace the lines and slopes of the deck outside my window. This deck isn’t special, it’s really pretty ordinary. It was just power washed I notice, so the color is truer to the natural wood grain, but this makes little difference. Once again, my eyes follow the crisscross pattern of the lattice beneath the deck and the vertical lines of the railings and the parallel horizontal beams that make up the steps.

Of all the things to look at outside my window, I’m not sure why I choose the deck and not the tree. The tree is obviously more beautiful to look at, but the deck holds my attention.

My first thought, as I ponder this question, is of God and me. Of all the things God can choose to look at, why does he choose to look at me? There are so many things in this world he created which I consider to be quite stunning, and then there is me, and honestly I’m fairly ordinary… like the deck outside my window.

But what if that deck outside my window is more than ordinary? What if, without knowing it, when I look at the deck the beams are crying out to me? What if the wood from a tree once standing tall is telling me something? What if that tree saw a number of things you and I have never seen? What if the tree remembers when birds of the air nested in its arms, when tiny eggs became little creatures full of breath and life? What if the tree wants to tell me that it remembers when its fingers brushed the wind, when the lightning struck so close, when the rain pelted down and thunder rumbled through the sky? Or what if those chiseled pieces of wood remember when a family came together to build it? What if this deck was forged in love and laughter and good conversation? Maybe it remembers how it was born and wants to tell me. Maybe it still listens to the parties and arguments and tender moments, and a part of it wants me to share in these moments too.

So what appears to be a simple deck holds a lot more meaning when you look closely, because it is made up of more than wood and nails.

Perhaps the same is true of me, and of you.

Mark 6:2-3 And when the Sabbath had come, He began to teach in the synagogue. And many hearing Him were astonished, saying, “Where did this Man get these things? And what wisdom is this which is given to Him, that such mighty works are performed by His hands! Is this not the carpenter, the Son of Mary, and brother of James, Joses, Judas, and Simon? And are not His sisters here with us?” So they were offended at Him.

slavery

Last week I was talking with God about my hopes, my dreams. I was energized throughout our conversation, finally starting to believe that maybe wispy dreams could be transformed into concrete reality. And as I was dreaming with him I was also asking him to keep me humble, to keep me real. I very much want to change things, but not for the wrong reasons. I would love to say that my desire to make the world a better place comes only from a pure need to help people. That’s not entirely true though. There is a part of me that desires recognition. That desire for success, that mental plaque that proclaims that I am worthwhile and touts my success as proof of my worth, is a dangerous trap. And it could corrupt everything.

When Dr. Bob spoke at New Community last week, I got that eerie sense that God was saying something to me, personally, through his message. DB reminded us that the greatest among us must be least. He asked us to read John 13, proclaiming that God is raising an army of foot washers. He said we need to be clamoring to stand under one another, not over one another. He regarded the most liberating thing in the world as nothing more than enlisting as a slave in the kingdom of Christ.

God was speaking to me about that desire I have to be great. He was saying that if I truly want to accomplish his vision, if I want to be part of his revolution to transform lives, I’m going to have to enlist as a slave. The role of slave isn’t exactly a role I covet.

Why is it difficult to accept the position of a slave?

I imagine the way slaves are treated. They aren’t regarded highly. Their opinions are not valued. They are given the last share of everything. Slaves are regarded as property, free to be beaten if their master desires or traded in for a newer version. People hold conversations while a slave is in the room and that slave, that person, isn’t even acknowledged. It’s like they aren’t even there. They are invisible.

Life as a slave seems like the worst existence imaginable.

But Paul says, Do you not know that when you present yourselves to someone as slaves for obedience, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin resulting in death, or of obedience resulting in righteousness? Rom 6:16
Dr. Bob says that we will never be more than slaves, we will either be slaves to self or slaves to Christ.
And Jesus says, Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. John 13:14

Then, this morning God asked me a question: “What do you think it looks like to be a slave in my kingdom?”

So, I don’t know? Maybe…
To be a slave is to be free.
To be under is to be exalted.
To be last is to be chosen.
To be invisible is to be loved.

here

“…what is sought is, and has always been, right here all along. ‘It,’ in other words, is never somewhere else.” Lawrence Kushner, God was in this Place & I, I did not know

Have you ever thought you couldn’t find something, only to discover that it was always within your grasp, you just weren’t aware of it? Kind of like thinking you misplaced your car keys. You’re searching frantically all over the living room, overturning seat cushions and scanning the carpeted floor for evidence of metallic objects when you decide you better double check your purse, where you usually keep your keys. You looked there once, but you’re in a hurry and it is possible that you just didn’t see them…

Have you ever sat with a child looking for hidden objects within a picture? Your eyes search and scan every inch of the page, and when you finally come across that coveted hidden treasure, it becomes the only thing your eyes can see among numbers of other insignificant objects on the page.

Or when you’re presented with a riddle and you just can’t seem to crack it. You look at the words, the wheels of your mind cranking, trying to look at it from every angle and then the answer comes to you… and it seems so obvious that you wonder how you could have missed it at all.

This is how I feel now. It seems in answer to years of searching for the presence of God, my answer is simply that his presence was here all along. It seems I do not need to go anywhere to find it. Apparently, there is no need to conjure up any type of mystical experience, holy feeling or moment of epiphany. It seems that God is present and available in every moment and in every place. There are a number of Scriptures verifying this truth, and I regularly encounter beautiful people who reinforce this reality.

I simply refused to acknowledge this reality as true.

I am choosing to shift my concept of reality. I am choosing to acknowledge that God is here, whether I can tell that he is here or not. I am trying to become aware of his presence. In essence, I am practicing the presence of God.

“When you look closely and for a long time, you discover things that are invisible to others. Most people make the mistake of trying to ‘look deeper’ when all they need is to pay attention to the obvious.” Lawrence Kushner, God was in this Place & I, I did not know

“The trick is to pay attention to what is going on around you long enough to behold the miracle without falling asleep. There is another world, right here within this one, whenever we pay attention.” Lawrence Kushner, God was in this Place & I, I did not know

God was in this place

Mary Magdalene is crying her eyes out and Jesus asks her who she is seeking… she doesn’t even realize it’s him…..and then he speaks to her, but she thinks he is the gardener…

John 20:15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” She, supposing Him to be the gardener, said to Him, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.”

Two men are traveling together toward a village… they are talking, trying to figure out what is happening… the body of Jesus is no longer in the tomb and the women are saying they have seen angels… and these men mourn because they thought Jesus would redeem Israel… and they are telling all of this to a stranger who met them on the road, only that stranger is really Jesus and they don’t even realize it…

Luke 24:15-16 So it was, while they conversed and reasoned, that Jesus Himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were restrained, so that they did not know Him.

God is all around us and sometimes we think he’s just a gardener, tending the earth.
But sometimes in hindsight we recognize that he was here…

Luke 24:30-32 Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight. And they said to one another, “Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us on the road, and while He opened the Scriptures to us?”

But what if God is always here? What if his presence continually lingers with us, manifested even in the breath of created beings? Is some part of God in every inhale, every exhale?

“The holy of holies was so sacred that, according to Rabbinic tradition, only the High Priest could enter, and even he could only do so on Yom Kippur… Once inside the holy of holies, he had to do only one thing. And he had prepared to do this for months. He would utter the Shaym HaMeforash, the ineffable four-letter Name of God. Yod, Hey, Vav, Hey. It is a name made from the three letters of the Hebrew alphabet that function primarily as vowels. How do you pronounce all the vowel sounds at once? The reason that God’s name is unpronounceable is because the Name of Being is the sound of breathing. The High Priest went into the innermost sanctuary and simply breathed.” Lawrence Kushner, God was in this Place & I, i did not know

What if you and me and every single person in the world are uttering the name of God simply by breathing?

If so, then truly…
God was in this place and I, i did not know. ~Gen. 28:16

dive in

diving into the coolness that is You,
for a moment my fingertips meet the edge,
where You begin
and i begin to end.
and yet there is no beginning to You,
You have always been,
though how You came to be,
remains a mystery.
unanswered questions surround You.
You tell me to lose myself
and i’ll find myself where You are.
not a girl with a plastic face,
not a God with an iron heart,
but who i really am
and who You really are.
diving in,
into the bottomless pool that is You,
my arms propel me deeper
and the water draws me down
deeper and
i think i’ll find the bottom,
surely i must be getting close,
and then another bend,
an open corridor,
waiting for my footsteps
to shatter the silence.
so i explore the depths
and i see…
my little girl coming home,
a smile lights her face
and tears sparkle in her eyes.
she met You
at a cross,
on a zip line,
in the giggling conversations
and the quiet moments of little girls.
and we dive in,
into the depths of You.
and i see…
my tender-hearted warrior
who thought he was just treading water,
diving deeper
finding new paths waiting to be trodden.
and he pulls himself deeper
reaching,
shining a light in the darkness,
where love looks brighter
against the contrast of darkened quarters,
desperate alleyways
and sinking sand.
it is there You called us,
inviting us
to carry your treasure
and set the captives free.
and we dive in,
into the bottomless pool
that is
You.

maze

I feel like I’m stuck in Your maze right now. I’m looking for the way out, but I keep finding dead ends. So I turn around and go back the way I came and look for another corridor, hoping to find the neon exit sign. I spot a passage that leads somewhere new, so I start walking but pretty soon I see that it’s just an illusion ending in a mirror reflecting my own image at me. It’s not really a passageway at all, just a dead end in disguise.

I take a look at myself in the mirror. I’ve seen this before, it’s just my image staring back at me. But there is something there nudging me, encouraging me to probe deeper, to look closer. Maybe the answer is there after all. Is the answer in self-reflection? Or do I think too much? Do I analyze and dissect the why’s and how’s of my behavior until my mind is too exhausted to find You? Maybe I need to find the mirror that reflects You.

You’ve got to be the way out, that’s all I can figure.

I know You are here in this maze. One of these passageways must lead to where You are. Or maybe they all do. Maybe I’m just missing You. Maybe You’re standing there and I breeze right by, absorbed in my own thoughts. Find me in the maze, Abba. I’m directionally challenged and unsure of the way.

So I’m stuck in this maze, but I’m not really stuck. I guess I’m growing in here. I must be learning something as I explore all these corridors.

I like to be an idealist, the dreamer I think everyone must love. The idealist sees how things could be and believes it is possible to transform reality. The idealist would have no problem with this maze. She would see beyond the maze, she would make a detour and escape it easily. But I’m not her right now, I’m the realist. A realist thinks practically, she methodically solves problems, her feet are firmly planted on the ground. The realist finds difficulty dreaming big dreams and talking about how things could be. She sees things how they are, right now. That’s her focus.

I don’t like being a realist. It’s my burlap sack, as Kristin would put it. It’s itchy and uncomfortable and I don’t want to wear it. But that’s where I am right now. The idealist soars above the maze, but the realist must find the way out.

Job 28:12 But where can wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?

a girl, a tiger and a piece of glass

It is summer and that means lots of outdoor adventures. On a recent escapade to the zoo with my girls, we looked in on the white Siberian tiger…

She sits in the shade of the rocky cave, facing outward and peering through a piece of glass. She has positioned herself at the edge of her habitat, with only a few inches of glass between her territory and ours. In awe we approach her, conscious of the rarity of the moment. We watch her. She watches us.

My daughter Madison, energized by this intimate encounter with a tiger, raises her hand to the wall, her fingers dance on the glass. She wants to get as close as she possibly can. The tiger is frightened by Madison’s approach and lashes out with a growl and a flash of teeth. And then the tiger lunges. But her paws don’t meet flesh, they meet glass. Madison is immediately stilled, recognizing the power of this animal. At that moment we were acutely aware of that piece of glass, the only thing standing between us and an angry tiger.

There are two levels to this story.

First level – the earthly moral of the story:
Don’t go near tigers, unless you can count on an impenetrable wall to protect you from imminent death. A titanium body suit could serve as plan B.

Second level – the spiritual significance of the story:
We have an enemy; you might think of him as a tiger. We can be like children, ignorant of danger that is just beyond our fingertips. And there is something between us and the enemy, a protective barrier; you might liken it to a glass wall.

In the spiritual realm a metaphor was being played out again. At first glance the tiger appeared tranquil, even approachable. She lazily peered at us through the glass. We began to feel she might be safe. A few seconds changed that perception. She was anything but safe. Isn’t this what the enemy wants us to think? He presents himself as approachable, serene, safe. He tells me that he has the true reality; his way is the path to life. And when I get close enough, he tries to rip my throat out.

But there is this barricade between me and the tiger. The barricade is growing stronger these days. I can still get around it if I really want to. I could tear it down. Sometimes I entertain the thought. The tiger looks safe to me. He looks like he knows something that is just within my grasp, and if I could just lean in a little closer he could whisper the secret in my ear…

And then I remember.

The tiger is dangerous, and he is afraid of me. He is afraid of me because of the power that resides in me, a power transferred from Jesus. That tiger would rip me to shreds, except for that power.

1 Sam. 22:23 Stay with me; do not fear. For he who seeks my life seeks your life, but with me you shall be safe.

pendulum

Swinging
Back and forth,
Slowly gliding to one extreme
And then the other,
Looking for the center,
Not finding it and
Swinging
Back again.
The steady rhythm of it
Lulling me as
I make the arc again,
Momentum ebbing
I fall back into line
And find myself again
On the other side
Of a weighted circle.
Swinging
Back and forth
Looking for the center,
Where I’ll be perfectly balanced
And swing only a little
Or maybe not at all.

I am a swinging pendulum, trying to steady myself between two extremes.

There is a lot of talk about living in the tension, finding balance. I am trying to do this because it seems like the wisest way to live.

But at present, I am a swinging pendulum.

rambo

We recently viewed the final act in an epic of Hollywood films starring Rambo. Rambo is a man who needs no one. He is a hard man, embittered by years of combat. He is a hero, boldly rushing in to rescue the innocent when no one else is strong enough to overcome the enemy. Rambo is a warrior and he is good.

The enemy is not good. The enemy is portrayed screaming and yelling, killing and pillaging. The brutality of the enemy is boundless. As I watched images of soldiers, ripping the caps off of grenades and tossing them into nearby ponds, I wondered what they were trying to accomplish? There were no other soldiers nearby, there was no ongoing combat. There were only prisoners of war, hands bound behind their backs, starting at the ground and some crying with fear. The soldiers tossed the grenades and began shouting, motioning the prisoners to run, shooting into the air. The scene was chaotic, but it became clear that the soldiers’ purpose was to create terror and a sense of inferiority in their prisoners. Another purpose was simply to dispose of these people in an entertaining way. This was a game aimed at stealing their humanity, to turn them from image-bearers into animals.

Of course, Rambo liberates the imprisoned. As I watched the warrior charge forth, slaying the enemy soldiers and rescuing the innocent, I noticed that I felt no pity for the victims of Rambo’s wrath. These people seemed to have no compassion, no mercy and no love. They no longer seemed human. They no longer looked like image-bearers of God. A glimmer of understanding flickered through my mind, an “ah-ha” moment.

Every one of us is an image-bearer of God.
But we can choose to embrace that,
or we can give it away.

“…in the Scriptures, anything that’s anti-human is anti-God. Genesis begins with God creating the world and then creating people ‘in his own image.’…The writer of Genesis makes it clear that in all of creation there is something different about humans. They aren’t God, and they aren’t going to become God, but in some distinct, intentional way, something of God has been placed in them. We reflect what God is like and who God is. A divine spark resides in every single human being. Everybody, everywhere. Bearers of the divine image.”
Rob Bell, Sex God

“When Jesus talks about heaven and hell, they are first and foremost present realities that have serious implications for the future. Either can be invited to earth, right now, through our actions. It’s possible for heaven to invade earth. And it’s possible for hell to invade earth. A friend of mine talks honestly about how he spent years exploiting women for sex. He knew exactly what to say, how to act. He was a master at finding a woman who had a troubled relationship with her father and manipulating the situation for his pleasure. The first time he was telling me his story, he made a profound point that is true for all of us. He said that exploiting women for sex didn’t just rob them of their humanity, it robbed him as well. As the years went on, he found that he didn’t like what was happening to him. He was becoming less human in the process. He said he was becoming a monster.”
Rob Bell, Sex God

bargains

Last weekend I watched the Twilight Zone. Do you know of this old, sci-fi show? The show I watched was about a dark, pretty girl named Jezebel.

The heart of Jezebel was captured by a young man who made promises of his undying affection toward her, and then broke them. He scorned her love for the hand of a fair young woman, Elle. At a barn dance, the engagement of Jezebel’s lover and Elle was announced and the cold sting of rejection penetrated Jezebel’s heart with bitterness and betrayal. Jezebel flees the party in search of respite and a way to win her lover back. She finds Granny Hart, a witch. The witch hears of the heartbreak of young, naive Jezebel and offers a remedy, but Jezebel is poor and has nothing of monetary value to offer the witch. The witch begins to turn her away, but Jezebel is desperate and agrees to pay any price, any price, for the love of her man. So the witch gives her a potion and she drinks it. The vileness of the potion racks her body, but it achieves its purpose and Jezebel regains the adoration of a lover who had hitherto forgotten her. Now he cannot take his eyes off of her and begs her to give her hand in marriage. But the price was high. At midnight, Jezebel learns what she paid as she is transformed into a witch and is loosed of her soul. Her soul contains her ability to love and since it is now lost, she cannot love the man she paid such a dear price to have.

This show intrigued me. I think this story is also our story. It is my story. You see this theme resurface again and again through the pages of our storybooks. A young, naïve creature makes a bargain with a sinister being without realizing the cost. The price she pays is high, much higher than she imagined. More than once, I’ve made a bargain I was sorry to pay. I’ve recreated a scene first played out in a garden long ago. I remember the moments when I decided to take the fruit, despite the knowledge that it held bitter nectar.

The remembrance of these moments forces me to recall the separation between me and God. Jesus came to earth and built a bridge between this world and heaven. I think I am crossing that bridge. But, there are times when I perceive the dull ache in my heart. Last weekend I felt that ache. The longing that is often pushed to the back of my mind broke through the surface and demanded to be recognized. I couldn’t deny it or try to talk myself out of it. I could only acknowledge it and walk into it.

Matt. 26:14-16 Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver Him to you?” And they counted out to him thirty pieces of silver. So from that time he sought opportunity to betray Him.
Matt. 27:3-5 Then Judas, His betrayer, seeing that He had been condemned, was remorseful and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” And they said, “What is that to us? You see to it!” Then he threw down the pieces of silver in the temple and departed, and went and hanged himself.