What happens when the stimulus doesn't match the response? What happens when the punishment doesn't fit the crime? Could it be that we don't have the right information, or that we don't know the whole story, or that we are blinded by the narrowness of our own experiences?
Many Americans think that Officer Wilson deserved punishment of some sort for taking Michael Brown's life. Many Americans think that Michael Brown deserved punishment for stealing cigarillos and assaulting an officer of the law. Many Americans think that rioting and raging is the appropriate response to their perceived injustice. Many others think that the only meaningful and effective response is peaceful demonstrations and discussions. Still others think that there is nothing at all to talk about.
No matter where you land in this spectrum, it is undeniable that there is unrest in America today, and that unrest is about much, much more than the rounds that one white police officer pumped into one black man on one August afternoon. Ferguson has only pulled back the curtains on the tensions that have existed in America for years.
The truth is that this is our inheritance. We aren't responsible for the sins of our fathers, no we aren't. But we are reaping the harvest of what our fathers have sown. Strange fruit has withered and died and fallen from many trees into the soil of our society, where its seeds have taken root and grown into new trees, bearing a different kind of fruit that is no less deadly but is, alarmingly, much less visible to the dominant culture.
So what can we do? What can we do in the face of such longstanding, deep-seated tension? What do we do with this harvest of Distrust, Prejudice, Misunderstanding, Confusion, Fear, and (at best) Voluntary Segregation?
I don't know. I don't have a pat answer for you. Because I'm not YOU. I'm me -- with my own life experiences, my own history, my own family, my own neighborhood, my own job and coworkers, my own roommates and friends, my own fiancé, my own church, my own grocery store, my own positions of influence and power, my own story. But this much is true: Each person can only lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him. God has established and instituted our authorities. Our hearts make plans, but each of our steps must be brought forth by the Lord. And although we may not hold the position in our culture that we desire, we know that God's grace toward us to give us the life that He has chosen for us is not in VAIN, but is to demonstrate His wisdom and power. By the grace of God, I am what I am.
So what can we do? Each of us, in whatever circumstances the Lord has placed us, can take steps each day to tear down the wall of hostility. I'm in my neighborhood, you are in yours. But we will face different moments of decision each day, moments where we can deny our prejudicial inklings; where we can stand up for the cause of justice; where we can refuse to comply with our dominant culture's practices of apathy, indecision, and passive, tacit approval of the status quo. These are moments where we can willfully step outside of our own perspectives, where we can ask questions and engage in conversations with people we normally wouldn't, so that we can become students of what the American experience truly is. These are moments when we can kindly confront someone who is spewing vitriol and senseless hatred and urge them to pursue the path of love and peace. These are moments when you can use your voice -- the voice that the Lord ordained for you to have, for the people the Lord ordained to hear it -- to stand on the side of Justice and Righteousness. Speak for truth. Speak for love.
But the one thing we cannot do -- the one thing that will absolutely, without question, irrevocably cause the most damage -- is to do nothing. To sit idly by while hatred and injustice and division wins. To apathetically let the moment pass us by, to forget about the the seeds that are being planted, to ignore the harvest that will be coming.
America, the trigger has been pulled. We have been asked to see, to learn, to seek to understand, and to change.
How will you respond?
Hate evil, love good,
and establish Justice in the gate.
Let Justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
Let it roll.
5.24.2014
my heart lives in a broken home.
I keep looking over my shoulder,
out the front window,
to the spot on the street where he always parks his car.
Is he coming today? Does he know how much I need him to come today?
Today is hard day.
Today, yes, today is a hard day,
but there aren't a lot of things that get to me when I am in his arms.
Today is a hard day because today we don't go home together.
And that's stupid, because we don't go home together on any other day, either,
but today,
two of our friends went home together
for the first time,
for the rest of their lives.
And after the celebration was over,
and the sendoff secured,
and the sound equipment put away,
we both went home.
Alone.
We don't go home together.
Someday, maybe.
Not today.
He isn't the center of my identity.
He isn't the keeper of my security.
He isn't the giver of my life and breath.
He isn't the author of my destiny and he isn't the holder of my happiness.
And yet, I feel like a half of a whole without him.
Incomplete.
Homeless.
Naked.
It's like we are a broken home, split each day by the Watterson Expressway.
We don't go home together.
Someday, maybe.
Not today.
It's true, they say: Comparison is the thief of Joy.
How can I not compare
when the contrast is glaring me down,
and the robber has stolen off with any shred of gratefulness I had.
I was better off making my own way,
making my own home,
making my own happiness.
I was better off as the only part of a homogenous whole,
keeping my home and my heart and my happiness intact,
sharing my life with hundreds and thousands of others,
belonging only to the universal brotherhood of man.
Now I belong to one.
Half of my heart sits halfway across the city.
And he wonders in wonderment
and he fusses in frustration,
"Why
does she cry
at every good-bye?"
Because her heart lives in a broken home, babe.
No number of rousing choruses of "A Day is Coming Soon…"
can lessen the pain of this daily breaking homeless heart.
Be kind, and patient, and understanding.
Be long-suffering and loyal.
Be the wiper of tears
and the kisser of hair
and the holder of hands
as if they were your own.
Because I gave you my heart,
and now you carry it away
every
single
day.
out the front window,
to the spot on the street where he always parks his car.
Is he coming today? Does he know how much I need him to come today?
Today is hard day.
Today, yes, today is a hard day,
but there aren't a lot of things that get to me when I am in his arms.
Today is a hard day because today we don't go home together.
And that's stupid, because we don't go home together on any other day, either,
but today,
two of our friends went home together
for the first time,
for the rest of their lives.
And after the celebration was over,
and the sendoff secured,
and the sound equipment put away,
we both went home.
Alone.
We don't go home together.
Someday, maybe.
Not today.
He isn't the center of my identity.
He isn't the keeper of my security.
He isn't the giver of my life and breath.
He isn't the author of my destiny and he isn't the holder of my happiness.
And yet, I feel like a half of a whole without him.
Incomplete.
Homeless.
Naked.
It's like we are a broken home, split each day by the Watterson Expressway.
We don't go home together.
Someday, maybe.
Not today.
It's true, they say: Comparison is the thief of Joy.
How can I not compare
when the contrast is glaring me down,
and the robber has stolen off with any shred of gratefulness I had.
I was better off making my own way,
making my own home,
making my own happiness.
I was better off as the only part of a homogenous whole,
keeping my home and my heart and my happiness intact,
sharing my life with hundreds and thousands of others,
belonging only to the universal brotherhood of man.
Now I belong to one.
Half of my heart sits halfway across the city.
And he wonders in wonderment
and he fusses in frustration,
"Why
does she cry
at every good-bye?"
Because her heart lives in a broken home, babe.
No number of rousing choruses of "A Day is Coming Soon…"
can lessen the pain of this daily breaking homeless heart.
Be kind, and patient, and understanding.
Be long-suffering and loyal.
Be the wiper of tears
and the kisser of hair
and the holder of hands
as if they were your own.
Because I gave you my heart,
and now you carry it away
every
single
day.
2.22.2014
the time is short.
Have you ever lived under unbearable circumstances and nearly lost all hope for change? Have you ever longed for something so badly that you couldn't hardly think about anything else? Have you ever found yourself thinking that, despite all your efforts, "this relationship will never, never, never be repaired?" Have you ever sat in your car, rallying every ounce of fortitude and courage you could muster, just so you could open the door and face whatever the next few hours would bring? Have you ever despaired that you could possibly survive the next years, months, weeks, days… minutes?
Yes. I have too.
Through trial and error, and through erring in trials, I have learned this lesson a hundred times over: the pain is only as bad as my perspective is wrong.
Perspective.
Perspective creates space for the truth to be seen.
Perspective teaches proportion.
Perspective gives us a hint of the greater reality: how very little we really know.
Perspective gives us hope that things can be different.
Perspective helps us to bear the unbearable, to love the unloveable, to forgive the unpardonable.
When we lack perspective, our troubles loom large in our field of vision, and we can see and think on nothing else. Our troubles then become our primary basis for our emotions, our decisions, our reactions, even our identities.
Perspective comes when, standing next to our troubles, we have a true vision of God: the Sovereign Creator, the Ever-Gracious Father, the Sacrificial Lamb, the only true Healer, Comforter, and Teacher. Compared to what God is doing eternally, is there any burden we cannot bear for a short while? Compared to the eternal wisdom and might of God, is there any circumstance that could befall us that He cannot redeem? Compared to His long-suffering suffering, is there any pain or longing we endure that outdoes His patience and endurance?
In the hands of our sovereign God, nothing is wasted. The time is short, beloved. He will not delay His mercies. Only remember, your vision is broken, occluded by your woes; for Him a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years is like a day. In a single moment, He may swiftly bring to you a thousand years' worth of blessings and comforts and joys and wisdom. Over a thousand years, He may steadfastly bring to you one monumental day's worth of blessings and comforts and joys and wisdom. Either way, He would not be wrong. Either way, He would be good.
I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. ...I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.
4.23.2013
life and death
"For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord."
2 Corinthians 5:1-8
five short years ago my then-24-year-old cousin Jason was diagnosed with uncurable brain cancer. we prayed for a miracle. we prayed for God's will. we prayed for peace and understanding. we prayed for life.
So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord."
2 Corinthians 5:1-8
five short years ago my then-24-year-old cousin Jason was diagnosed with uncurable brain cancer. we prayed for a miracle. we prayed for God's will. we prayed for peace and understanding. we prayed for life.
Jason married Heather a few years ago. we celebrated in the new mexico sunshine without a care in our hearts. we all know that our days are numbered, yet none of us know the number. we prayed for many days together for Jason and Heather.
a few months ago, after many promising treatments, the cancer began again to grow. spread. suddenly it was in Jason's brain stem.
a few months ago, after many promising treatments, the cancer began again to grow. spread. suddenly it was in Jason's brain stem.
and now we are down to the days. the numbered days. the count-on-one-hand the days we have. this pain is unspeakable. when i think about Heather, and my aunt and uncle and other cousins sitting with him now, reading to him, singing songs of worship, praying, and crying, my own grief for their pain is overwhelming and immeasurable.
--
on april 24, 1985, my mother gave birth to a perfectly healthy, albeit a little loud, baby girl named rachel lynn. someone picked up the phone to call california. my aunt Sharon, who several weeks earlier had given birth to Andrew, answered the phone in a panic and said, "Andrew's not breathing. we're going to the hospital. i'll call you later."
my aunt sharon never forgets my birthday, because it was the day she nearly lost her youngest son. and though Andrew's had his share of medical fun, he not only survived that frightening moment, he thrived. and he now sits at his brother's side as Jason slowly expires from this world.
how can i celebrate my 28 years of life when Jason is losing his? do you know, today my aunt emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. today, while her eldest son is spending his last moments in her arms, she came to share her love with me. how? how is that possible?
--
on april 24, 1985, my mother gave birth to a perfectly healthy, albeit a little loud, baby girl named rachel lynn. someone picked up the phone to call california. my aunt Sharon, who several weeks earlier had given birth to Andrew, answered the phone in a panic and said, "Andrew's not breathing. we're going to the hospital. i'll call you later."
my aunt sharon never forgets my birthday, because it was the day she nearly lost her youngest son. and though Andrew's had his share of medical fun, he not only survived that frightening moment, he thrived. and he now sits at his brother's side as Jason slowly expires from this world.
how can i celebrate my 28 years of life when Jason is losing his? do you know, today my aunt emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. today, while her eldest son is spending his last moments in her arms, she came to share her love with me. how? how is that possible?
we have an unshakeable hope. yes. we a Savior who has gone before us, who has made a home and a body for us in eternity. and for those of us left behind, while Jason sheds his failing body of death, we soldier on, marching down our numbered days until we join him. what great joy and what great sorrow are held in this moment. death and life are held in the same hands.
Jason. Go under the grace. Go see our Savior's face. The angels point your way.
3.12.2013
timelessness in time
there is this moment at the end of tchaikovsky's sixth symphony, as the basses draw their bows to sound the last note, when the physical waves of sound have stopped but the listener could swear that she hears the heartbeat bass line continue. it is a moment frozen in--or rather, unaffected by time. the listener is suspended, untouchable, breathless... subsumed. the song continues within, and she is never the same.
then the conductor lowers the wand, cuing the audience to applaud, and the listener is snapped back into reality, separated into autonomy again. the soloists stand. the orchestra vacates the stage, the audience dissipates into their cars and cabs, the lights are turned, the doors are locked, and the only song that remains is the hum of the janitor's vacuum over the lobby floor.
sometimes i feel like i'm supposed to live in that moment. that's where i'm supposed to remain. i was made to be there. subsumed. but then, as with the thunderous applause, i get pulled back into time and space, unwillingly, and i am shoved into the menial demands of survival, like one of so many cogs in a great, unknowable mechanism. and i can be a good cog, too. but even a good cog is still not alive.
i know that i'm still living in the world of a dim mirror, a world where i am surrounded by so many shadowy copies of the Heavenly Truth. i know that i am wrapped in flesh, i know that i have ashes in my mouth, i know that my breath is fleeting and the work of my hands is chaff that will be burned away. but there is something even more fundamentally true, and that is that even though everything i have ever known is temporary, i was made for the eternal. for permanence. for literal breathlessness. there is something in me that is more real, more true than the marrow in my bones and the words in my mouth. this flesh will melt away, this mortal shell is a servant to the space and time that it occupies. and what will remain?
i have this mental image of coming up for air. i was made for permanent union with a perfectly good God outside of time and space. but as i am bound by these fetters He has put on me, i can only catch a glimpse here and there. and each glimpse is a life-giving breath. with each glimpse, i am subsumed. i want to stay here forever, but i can't do that and live. no man can see God and live, right Moses? either i am caught up, or i am just caught. and while i am caught, i am sustained by each break in clouds where i can draw that life-giving breath.
oh, for the eternity that already is: come soon.
then the conductor lowers the wand, cuing the audience to applaud, and the listener is snapped back into reality, separated into autonomy again. the soloists stand. the orchestra vacates the stage, the audience dissipates into their cars and cabs, the lights are turned, the doors are locked, and the only song that remains is the hum of the janitor's vacuum over the lobby floor.
sometimes i feel like i'm supposed to live in that moment. that's where i'm supposed to remain. i was made to be there. subsumed. but then, as with the thunderous applause, i get pulled back into time and space, unwillingly, and i am shoved into the menial demands of survival, like one of so many cogs in a great, unknowable mechanism. and i can be a good cog, too. but even a good cog is still not alive.
i know that i'm still living in the world of a dim mirror, a world where i am surrounded by so many shadowy copies of the Heavenly Truth. i know that i am wrapped in flesh, i know that i have ashes in my mouth, i know that my breath is fleeting and the work of my hands is chaff that will be burned away. but there is something even more fundamentally true, and that is that even though everything i have ever known is temporary, i was made for the eternal. for permanence. for literal breathlessness. there is something in me that is more real, more true than the marrow in my bones and the words in my mouth. this flesh will melt away, this mortal shell is a servant to the space and time that it occupies. and what will remain?
i have this mental image of coming up for air. i was made for permanent union with a perfectly good God outside of time and space. but as i am bound by these fetters He has put on me, i can only catch a glimpse here and there. and each glimpse is a life-giving breath. with each glimpse, i am subsumed. i want to stay here forever, but i can't do that and live. no man can see God and live, right Moses? either i am caught up, or i am just caught. and while i am caught, i am sustained by each break in clouds where i can draw that life-giving breath.
oh, for the eternity that already is: come soon.
the best story we can tell
My family is full of storytellers. On both sides. And they never forget the really embarrassing stories, of course.
Some of these stories have garnered such great fame that they begin to tell themselves. Little cousins who weren't even born before the actual occurrence of events can tell the stories just as well--if not better than--those of us who have lived through them.
These are the stories of the moments that have made us who we are. There's the story about the catfish at Hamilton Lake, which made my sister and I afraid of swimming for a least a few summers. The story of the Chevy at the bottom of Oliver Lake, when some teenage boys (my uncles) pushed it out onto the ice. Then, of course, the time I got "married" to my four-year-old buddy and his sister pronounced me his "awfully wedded wife." Mom's surprise 40th birthday party, which she figured out 30 minutes before a cried the whole drive home before arriving to a houseful of guests. The time I sunk the speed boat. The time Grandma shot two holes in her wood floor because someone rang the doorbell. The time my dad passed some liver pate to my mom, thinking it was cinnamon butter. Now, if we ever think he's making something up without evidence, we ask him if it's cinnamon butter. These are the stories that bring us joy with every memory. Only a few sentences into these stories, and suddenly the room is filled with laughter.
Then there are the stories that bring a fresh wave of grief or pain. They are the stories that make us who we are, too, but these are the ones that reveal the true fortitude of our character. There was the time we found the drugs. The time the anger poured over into a rage, grandmother hurling abusive words at a cowering daughter while the grandchildren looked on in fear. The day the babies died, the day they were buried, and the cold, silent thanksgiving dinner just days later. The arguments at night, punctuated by a kindergartener waking up to say, "please stop, kiss and make up!" The time I took away the Christmas presents from under the tree and blasted Everclear's "I will be hating you for Christmas" on my stereo. The time our van broke down in Georgia and our nuclear family nearly exploded. The phone call about the pathology report, and the words, "there is no curative treatment, only palliative care."
These are the true stories of my life. These are the places where my identity was forged, where my character was tested, where my worldview and sensibilities and passions were shaped. In many ways, these stories are my center, my ground. I'm not sure who I would be without these stories. In a word, these stories are home.
And then, the truest story of them all. The story of a world wrecked by destruction and brokenness, of humanity full of rebellion, distress, turmoil. The unsettling inescapability of death. The absence of God. And then, the dawn of hope in the face of a baby, God in the flesh, God with us. The baby who became a teacher, a healer, a leader, a controversy. The man who set his face toward the city of his death and marched on fearlessly. The man who prayed for relief from the burden, but prayed even more than that for the will of God to be done, no matter how bitter or painful. The man who became obedient to death, though He was God himself. The man who defeated death for us, who repaired the broken world, who redeemed the rebellious humanity.
As much as any other story is my center, my identity, my home... this story is only story that gives me a new name, that adopts me into a new family, that has the power to change my very character. This is it. This is the one that makes me who I am, really and truly. This is the story to tell all other stories, this is the only one that can make sense of all the others, put them into clarity and give them purpose. This is the story that all other stories are telling.
May it be the best story we tell to each other, and may we tell it often. May we tell it always. May we never stop telling it. May it be the first story we learn and the last story we tell. And may it tell us who we are, may it be the place we make our home. May it be our center.
Some of these stories have garnered such great fame that they begin to tell themselves. Little cousins who weren't even born before the actual occurrence of events can tell the stories just as well--if not better than--those of us who have lived through them.
These are the stories of the moments that have made us who we are. There's the story about the catfish at Hamilton Lake, which made my sister and I afraid of swimming for a least a few summers. The story of the Chevy at the bottom of Oliver Lake, when some teenage boys (my uncles) pushed it out onto the ice. Then, of course, the time I got "married" to my four-year-old buddy and his sister pronounced me his "awfully wedded wife." Mom's surprise 40th birthday party, which she figured out 30 minutes before a cried the whole drive home before arriving to a houseful of guests. The time I sunk the speed boat. The time Grandma shot two holes in her wood floor because someone rang the doorbell. The time my dad passed some liver pate to my mom, thinking it was cinnamon butter. Now, if we ever think he's making something up without evidence, we ask him if it's cinnamon butter. These are the stories that bring us joy with every memory. Only a few sentences into these stories, and suddenly the room is filled with laughter.
Then there are the stories that bring a fresh wave of grief or pain. They are the stories that make us who we are, too, but these are the ones that reveal the true fortitude of our character. There was the time we found the drugs. The time the anger poured over into a rage, grandmother hurling abusive words at a cowering daughter while the grandchildren looked on in fear. The day the babies died, the day they were buried, and the cold, silent thanksgiving dinner just days later. The arguments at night, punctuated by a kindergartener waking up to say, "please stop, kiss and make up!" The time I took away the Christmas presents from under the tree and blasted Everclear's "I will be hating you for Christmas" on my stereo. The time our van broke down in Georgia and our nuclear family nearly exploded. The phone call about the pathology report, and the words, "there is no curative treatment, only palliative care."
These are the true stories of my life. These are the places where my identity was forged, where my character was tested, where my worldview and sensibilities and passions were shaped. In many ways, these stories are my center, my ground. I'm not sure who I would be without these stories. In a word, these stories are home.
And then, the truest story of them all. The story of a world wrecked by destruction and brokenness, of humanity full of rebellion, distress, turmoil. The unsettling inescapability of death. The absence of God. And then, the dawn of hope in the face of a baby, God in the flesh, God with us. The baby who became a teacher, a healer, a leader, a controversy. The man who set his face toward the city of his death and marched on fearlessly. The man who prayed for relief from the burden, but prayed even more than that for the will of God to be done, no matter how bitter or painful. The man who became obedient to death, though He was God himself. The man who defeated death for us, who repaired the broken world, who redeemed the rebellious humanity.
As much as any other story is my center, my identity, my home... this story is only story that gives me a new name, that adopts me into a new family, that has the power to change my very character. This is it. This is the one that makes me who I am, really and truly. This is the story to tell all other stories, this is the only one that can make sense of all the others, put them into clarity and give them purpose. This is the story that all other stories are telling.
May it be the best story we tell to each other, and may we tell it often. May we tell it always. May we never stop telling it. May it be the first story we learn and the last story we tell. And may it tell us who we are, may it be the place we make our home. May it be our center.
8.24.2012
open letter to an abuser
what does your face look like to someone who hasn't seen it a thousand different times, a hundred different ways? the past has taught me to read the subtle lines around your mouth, to catch the rolling thunderhead in your eyes before the first bolt of lightening strikes. these days, it would take something impossible to catch me by surprise ... if we, our relationship were new, if we could begin each moment as if there were none before it, maybe you could be different, or i could respond with truth. in love. in a way that you would hear.
what do your words sound like to someone who has never heard them before? that tone, that tone, that tone which, from its overuse, has deafened my ears to its meaning--what does it sound like? i hardly know. you say the same things, i can practically recite your lines, as if we were players and this were going to be some Psychology major's fodder for analysis. maybe we are, maybe the script has been written and we're too caught up in our roles to imagine that it could be different. we're too consumed to see that, until the day is done, the pen is still alive in our hands.
--
is it better to throw in the towel, to cut my losses? because history has taught me the painful lesson that people can change but they aren't likely to in this lifetime.
they tell me to hope! hope, ha. how long? how long, how long, how long is too long to hope? the shiny-eyed optimist cheers, "until death! until the final chapter! until we are unchangeably changed!" but this, really? this? this i should endure. i should hope, pray, work for something better. well. empiricism would disagree, my friend.
--
do you know what the worst part is? you don't have to lay a hand on me but i can still see your fingerprints. i may not hear your voice but there are days that your words come out of my own mouth. poison! like a virus, like a tube of toothpaste, like pavlov's puppy... vile, treacherous regurgitation. i'm hardly more than domesticated animal, barely holding the wild beast in check.
what have you done? do you have any idea? these are not scars, these are mutations. stolen potential, ripped away from me before i even knew what it was. am i anything more than a victim? please, God, tell me there is something more, something left to salvage from this wreckage. i trusted you. implicitly. i knew nothing else.
--
tell me, what demons do i face today? and alone! how will i ever be healed? restored? complete? no, i am damaged. i am unchangeably changed. and it's your fault. and you can't even look at me. can't even share two civil words.
i could limp on alone. i could leave you to self-destruct. oh, believe me, i would love to. the urge is powerful.
but there is one thing worse than being me:
being you.
knowing what you have done. un-undo-ably. seeing what you have created. feeling powerless to change. you can't face me because your sins are written all over my face.
there is only one way out: together..... ironically enough.
because i need you to tell me that you were wrong. that you know it. that you feel bad. that you didn't mean to. or maybe you did, but you hate that you did. that you are sorry. that you are in need of forgiveness. that you are weak and unable to change and you wish you had known what it would do to me and that you wish it had been different.
and you need me to tell you that i forgive you. that i love you. that i'm ok. really, i am. i'm ok. i have been unchangeably changed. twice. i know, impossible.
"for men, this is impossible. but all things are possible with God." Jesus told me so.
if the gospel is true, there is no condemnation.
if God is real, the wasted years will be restored.
if we are His, there is hope. hope for a day when every tear will be wiped away and every pain forgotten forever in the blaze of His marvelous light.
if we are His, there is nothing so good that we could have that would be better than knowing Him.
if we are His, there is nothing so terrible that could happen to us that it would steal the joy of knowing Him.
if we are His, we are unchangeably changed. it's His fault.
so yes, i forgive you. every day. what else can i do? i know no other way. i know nothing else.
--
what do your words sound like to someone who has never heard them before? that tone, that tone, that tone which, from its overuse, has deafened my ears to its meaning--what does it sound like? i hardly know. you say the same things, i can practically recite your lines, as if we were players and this were going to be some Psychology major's fodder for analysis. maybe we are, maybe the script has been written and we're too caught up in our roles to imagine that it could be different. we're too consumed to see that, until the day is done, the pen is still alive in our hands.
--
is it better to throw in the towel, to cut my losses? because history has taught me the painful lesson that people can change but they aren't likely to in this lifetime.
they tell me to hope! hope, ha. how long? how long, how long, how long is too long to hope? the shiny-eyed optimist cheers, "until death! until the final chapter! until we are unchangeably changed!" but this, really? this? this i should endure. i should hope, pray, work for something better. well. empiricism would disagree, my friend.
--
do you know what the worst part is? you don't have to lay a hand on me but i can still see your fingerprints. i may not hear your voice but there are days that your words come out of my own mouth. poison! like a virus, like a tube of toothpaste, like pavlov's puppy... vile, treacherous regurgitation. i'm hardly more than domesticated animal, barely holding the wild beast in check.
what have you done? do you have any idea? these are not scars, these are mutations. stolen potential, ripped away from me before i even knew what it was. am i anything more than a victim? please, God, tell me there is something more, something left to salvage from this wreckage. i trusted you. implicitly. i knew nothing else.
--
tell me, what demons do i face today? and alone! how will i ever be healed? restored? complete? no, i am damaged. i am unchangeably changed. and it's your fault. and you can't even look at me. can't even share two civil words.
i could limp on alone. i could leave you to self-destruct. oh, believe me, i would love to. the urge is powerful.
but there is one thing worse than being me:
being you.
knowing what you have done. un-undo-ably. seeing what you have created. feeling powerless to change. you can't face me because your sins are written all over my face.
there is only one way out: together..... ironically enough.
because i need you to tell me that you were wrong. that you know it. that you feel bad. that you didn't mean to. or maybe you did, but you hate that you did. that you are sorry. that you are in need of forgiveness. that you are weak and unable to change and you wish you had known what it would do to me and that you wish it had been different.
and you need me to tell you that i forgive you. that i love you. that i'm ok. really, i am. i'm ok. i have been unchangeably changed. twice. i know, impossible.
"for men, this is impossible. but all things are possible with God." Jesus told me so.
if the gospel is true, there is no condemnation.
if God is real, the wasted years will be restored.
if we are His, there is hope. hope for a day when every tear will be wiped away and every pain forgotten forever in the blaze of His marvelous light.
if we are His, there is nothing so good that we could have that would be better than knowing Him.
if we are His, there is nothing so terrible that could happen to us that it would steal the joy of knowing Him.
if we are His, we are unchangeably changed. it's His fault.
so yes, i forgive you. every day. what else can i do? i know no other way. i know nothing else.
--
12.29.2011
all there is
it is a divinely happy thought that, though i fail and stray and falter often, i do not stand on my own merit, be it good or bad. my righteous deeds are as filthy rags, and at my weakest point the strength of Christ is perfected, and yet i am already approved regardless of what i have merited.
approved on the life, death, and victory over death of Christ.
i have no other claim. i can claim nothing more. that is all there is.
it is a divinely happy thought.
approved on the life, death, and victory over death of Christ.
i have no other claim. i can claim nothing more. that is all there is.
it is a divinely happy thought.
12.05.2011
how long, how long, how long?
i distinctly remember reading psalm 13 in high school. i remember it so distinctly because it totally confused me.
how long, O Lord? will You forget me forever?
how long will You hide your face from me?
how long shall i take counsel in my soul,
having sorrow in my heart all the day?
how long will my enemy be exalted over me?
consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
enlighten my eyes, or i will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, 'i have overcome him,'
and my adversaries will rejoice when i am shaken.
when i was younger, no only did it seem totally uncouth and arrogant to ask such questions of God, as if this were a cross-examination to uncover His of malevolent intentions, but on a fundamental level, the inquiries seemed irrelevant for someone whose hope is in the Lord.
i mean, really!? "how long will you forget me?" come on. hey psalmist, don't you know that even if a mother could forget her own child, even then the Lord could not forget his own? our names are written on the palm of His hand? He has seen every day of our lives and can number the hairs on our head? PSH! like HE could ever forget us? why would you ask such a silly question?
and, come on, dude. get your face out of the mud! sorrow in your heart all day long? and seriously, you're ready to die because you're convinced the Lord doesn't see you? can somebody please say it--you're delusional.
or maybe you're just incredibly impatient. don't you know the Lord commands the stars to rise and the sun to set, and He is master over time and space because He created it? i mean, can't you give Him a LITTLE credit that He knows what He is doing inside of time? wait on His timing, it's obviously right. quit your little pity-party and buck up. geez.
that was the mindset of my 16-year-old self. maybe it was because i only asked such questions when i was being selfish and whiney. maybe it was because i was afraid of asking the Lord to faithfully display His own nature to me more fully. maybe it was because i had already been waiting on the Lord for three whole years (since i became a believer), and, you know, waiting wasn't turning out to be all that hard.
until it was. ten years later.
and the dull ache of loneliness starts to settle into my bones.
and the long hours, days, weeks... years of silence from the Lord starts to deafen my ears to the truth.
and the painful struggle against the temptation of habitual sin starts to seem unconquerable.
and the growing emptiness of unrealized hopes and dreams starts to numb me of all desire.
and the futility of every effort taken to repair broken relationships starts to build up walls of bitterness.
the the endless string of morning upon morning, evening upon evening, where all i can say is, "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner in constant need of grace."
it's wearying.
and now i understand the psalmist, who undoubtedly waited so much longer than 10 years for the Lord to return, repair, restore, resurrect. i understand the plea: how long, o Lord? how long? how long? i'm not looking for an estimated wait time or a countdown calendar. i'm asking for your PRESENCE. be here, with me, now, and fix this. only You can. show up. do it. i'm DONE. i'm so stinkin' done with all this crap. get here, now. where are you? i know, i know, you're "everywhere." but i mean, where are your purposes and where is your truth and goodness in the middle of all this waiting? i don't get it, Lord, and i'm starting to lose sight of the horizon.
but i have trusted in Your lovingkindness.
my heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
i will sing to the Lord,
because He has dealt bountifully with me.
there it is. the rooting of our souls. the foundation of our faith. the watch by which we measure all waiting. His nature. His love. His plan for salvation. He has proven Himself in the past; if only we would be reminded more frequently.
and i am not asking to accuse or to whine or to convince Him to change the plan. no, i ask because i need Him to know that i need Him today. i ask because i am so very weary and He is so very good. the only good; the best good. i ask because i need to know that this is not the final chapter, that one day He will be the dawn and the darkness will forever die. i ask because i have not forsaken the hope that He provides. i ask so that i can keep looking forward. i ask so that i can live. i ask because if i don't ask, i may die.
how long? how long? how long until this burden is lifted?
how long? how long is this the song that we sing?
how long until the reckoning?
--andrew peterson--
how long, O Lord? will You forget me forever?
how long will You hide your face from me?
how long shall i take counsel in my soul,
having sorrow in my heart all the day?
how long will my enemy be exalted over me?
consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
enlighten my eyes, or i will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, 'i have overcome him,'
and my adversaries will rejoice when i am shaken.
when i was younger, no only did it seem totally uncouth and arrogant to ask such questions of God, as if this were a cross-examination to uncover His of malevolent intentions, but on a fundamental level, the inquiries seemed irrelevant for someone whose hope is in the Lord.
i mean, really!? "how long will you forget me?" come on. hey psalmist, don't you know that even if a mother could forget her own child, even then the Lord could not forget his own? our names are written on the palm of His hand? He has seen every day of our lives and can number the hairs on our head? PSH! like HE could ever forget us? why would you ask such a silly question?
and, come on, dude. get your face out of the mud! sorrow in your heart all day long? and seriously, you're ready to die because you're convinced the Lord doesn't see you? can somebody please say it--you're delusional.
or maybe you're just incredibly impatient. don't you know the Lord commands the stars to rise and the sun to set, and He is master over time and space because He created it? i mean, can't you give Him a LITTLE credit that He knows what He is doing inside of time? wait on His timing, it's obviously right. quit your little pity-party and buck up. geez.
that was the mindset of my 16-year-old self. maybe it was because i only asked such questions when i was being selfish and whiney. maybe it was because i was afraid of asking the Lord to faithfully display His own nature to me more fully. maybe it was because i had already been waiting on the Lord for three whole years (since i became a believer), and, you know, waiting wasn't turning out to be all that hard.
until it was. ten years later.
and the dull ache of loneliness starts to settle into my bones.
and the long hours, days, weeks... years of silence from the Lord starts to deafen my ears to the truth.
and the painful struggle against the temptation of habitual sin starts to seem unconquerable.
and the growing emptiness of unrealized hopes and dreams starts to numb me of all desire.
and the futility of every effort taken to repair broken relationships starts to build up walls of bitterness.
the the endless string of morning upon morning, evening upon evening, where all i can say is, "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner in constant need of grace."
it's wearying.
and now i understand the psalmist, who undoubtedly waited so much longer than 10 years for the Lord to return, repair, restore, resurrect. i understand the plea: how long, o Lord? how long? how long? i'm not looking for an estimated wait time or a countdown calendar. i'm asking for your PRESENCE. be here, with me, now, and fix this. only You can. show up. do it. i'm DONE. i'm so stinkin' done with all this crap. get here, now. where are you? i know, i know, you're "everywhere." but i mean, where are your purposes and where is your truth and goodness in the middle of all this waiting? i don't get it, Lord, and i'm starting to lose sight of the horizon.
but i have trusted in Your lovingkindness.
my heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
i will sing to the Lord,
because He has dealt bountifully with me.
there it is. the rooting of our souls. the foundation of our faith. the watch by which we measure all waiting. His nature. His love. His plan for salvation. He has proven Himself in the past; if only we would be reminded more frequently.
and i am not asking to accuse or to whine or to convince Him to change the plan. no, i ask because i need Him to know that i need Him today. i ask because i am so very weary and He is so very good. the only good; the best good. i ask because i need to know that this is not the final chapter, that one day He will be the dawn and the darkness will forever die. i ask because i have not forsaken the hope that He provides. i ask so that i can keep looking forward. i ask so that i can live. i ask because if i don't ask, i may die.
how long? how long? how long until this burden is lifted?
how long? how long is this the song that we sing?
how long until the reckoning?
--andrew peterson--
9.24.2011
i'll have no other.
at the end of an empty bottle--
at the end of that ill-fitting relationship--
at the end of an entire tank of gas taken one-way west--
at the end of the roller coaster--
at the end of that first kiss--
at the end of the bowl of ice cream--
at the end of an argument you 'won'--
at the end of your maxed out credit card--
at the end of a Jane Austen--
at the end of a great job offer--
there is thing we like to call "real life." ha. whatever that is.
this is our real life:
we pay high prices to assuage the aching emptiness. we sell our resources, our relationships, our dignity, our time... just for a moment's peace. just for an escape to some sense of perfection, one that's gone in a blink.
andrew osenga sings it this way: "almost every girl i've ever kissed is married//it's not a lot of weddings, but it's sure a crazy thought//now they all seem like someone else's story//i wonder what we paid for what we got."
i wonder what we paid for what we got.
when will we see? the price is too high and the prize is not worth it! how long until we cry 'uncle,' until we say, 'Enough!'
the things that are real will endure. only the unshakable will remain. and i examine what i've bought with my resources and relationships and dignity and time, and i realize: i'm not gonna have much when it all shakes out. not much at all.
Oh, that You would cure my heart of its bent to passing pleasures. Oh, that You would stay my heart from straying to a quick fix. Oh, that You would be my vision, and that, beholding You, all else would fade away. there is only One true. there is only One good. be all mine; i am wholly Yours, and i'll have no other.
at the end of that ill-fitting relationship--
at the end of an entire tank of gas taken one-way west--
at the end of the roller coaster--
at the end of that first kiss--
at the end of the bowl of ice cream--
at the end of an argument you 'won'--
at the end of your maxed out credit card--
at the end of a Jane Austen--
at the end of a great job offer--
there is thing we like to call "real life." ha. whatever that is.
this is our real life:
we pay high prices to assuage the aching emptiness. we sell our resources, our relationships, our dignity, our time... just for a moment's peace. just for an escape to some sense of perfection, one that's gone in a blink.
andrew osenga sings it this way: "almost every girl i've ever kissed is married//it's not a lot of weddings, but it's sure a crazy thought//now they all seem like someone else's story//i wonder what we paid for what we got."
i wonder what we paid for what we got.
when will we see? the price is too high and the prize is not worth it! how long until we cry 'uncle,' until we say, 'Enough!'
the things that are real will endure. only the unshakable will remain. and i examine what i've bought with my resources and relationships and dignity and time, and i realize: i'm not gonna have much when it all shakes out. not much at all.
Oh, that You would cure my heart of its bent to passing pleasures. Oh, that You would stay my heart from straying to a quick fix. Oh, that You would be my vision, and that, beholding You, all else would fade away. there is only One true. there is only One good. be all mine; i am wholly Yours, and i'll have no other.
7.22.2011
when only the unshakable remains
most of our lives are lived very near to the surface. we can't plumb the existential depths of human life for very long before we need to come up for air. we get stuck in the cycles of work, eat, sleep, play... and it's easy to stay busy at that level.
until. until something within us is pricked, or pushed, and all the things that hide in the darkness of our depths are brought up to the light.
here's what i mean: i was driving down I-64 on my way to work a few days ago. i was trying to merge, i had just had a jerky driver nearly cause an accident, my day had started with an emotionally draining phone conversation, and i was stressed out about arranging my upcoming move. suddenly, my phone rang. it was actually a really good friend of mine who i would normally love to hear from. but instead of answering, i shut off the ringer and i primal-screamed at the top of my lungs.
my heart is like a tube of toothpaste. if you apply enough pressure, what's on the inside is inevitably going to come out. and sometimes, it's not going to be very pretty.
this little volcanic temper tantrum is indicative of the last few weeks of my life. i'm not gonna lie: it's been a little rough. i have had the limits of my patience tested. i have been accused of having no moral fiber. i have met resistance when trying to accomplish good. i have lost one of my closest friends. i have fallen into foolish traps of temporary pleasure. i have watched something that i love dearly and have invested a lot of my life into begin to fall apart completely. i have received bad news about several family members. i have considered if it is time to totally cut of the most damaged and damaging relationship in my life, where i had once hoped with expectation to see restoration. i have cried. a lot. and i really don't know if i have ever felt more alone.
except....
where shall i go from your Spirit? or where shall i flee from your presence? if i ascend to heaven, you are there. if i make my bed in sheol, you are there. if i take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.if i say, "surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night," even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as day, for the darkness is as light with you.
this is a bit of a mystery to me: it is right here, in the middle of everything falling apart, where the love of God is made known to me. yes, i know His love in the sunshine and spring of all good and pleasant things blooming around me. yes, i know His love in the blessings of a prosperous life and in the provision of all life-sustaining things. yes, i know His love in the peace and security of solid relationships. all of that is pretty easy; all of that feels good.
but even when the sun isn't shining, even when the accusations are flying, even when relationships are falling apart, even when i've effed everything up beyond all recognition... even there, Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will hold me.
and You know what? You have. i don't know why you still do, i don't know how You still can, but i know that You love me. grace upon grace, this is the love of God that surpasses all knowledge. and don't i know it.
this is love: not that we have loved God, but that He has loved us, and has sent His Son to be the atonement for our sins. not that we have loved God. but He has loved us. He is loving us until it hurts, until there's nothing on this earth we love more than Him. His touch is devastating as he shakes out all that can be shaken, until only the unshakable remains. it hurts to be shaken, but what i will be when all the shaking is done is worth it.
so yeah, i'm being shaken. and maybe i'm falling apart right now. and maybe... it's the best thing that has ever happened to me.
until. until something within us is pricked, or pushed, and all the things that hide in the darkness of our depths are brought up to the light.
here's what i mean: i was driving down I-64 on my way to work a few days ago. i was trying to merge, i had just had a jerky driver nearly cause an accident, my day had started with an emotionally draining phone conversation, and i was stressed out about arranging my upcoming move. suddenly, my phone rang. it was actually a really good friend of mine who i would normally love to hear from. but instead of answering, i shut off the ringer and i primal-screamed at the top of my lungs.
my heart is like a tube of toothpaste. if you apply enough pressure, what's on the inside is inevitably going to come out. and sometimes, it's not going to be very pretty.
this little volcanic temper tantrum is indicative of the last few weeks of my life. i'm not gonna lie: it's been a little rough. i have had the limits of my patience tested. i have been accused of having no moral fiber. i have met resistance when trying to accomplish good. i have lost one of my closest friends. i have fallen into foolish traps of temporary pleasure. i have watched something that i love dearly and have invested a lot of my life into begin to fall apart completely. i have received bad news about several family members. i have considered if it is time to totally cut of the most damaged and damaging relationship in my life, where i had once hoped with expectation to see restoration. i have cried. a lot. and i really don't know if i have ever felt more alone.
except....
where shall i go from your Spirit? or where shall i flee from your presence? if i ascend to heaven, you are there. if i make my bed in sheol, you are there. if i take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.if i say, "surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night," even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as day, for the darkness is as light with you.
this is a bit of a mystery to me: it is right here, in the middle of everything falling apart, where the love of God is made known to me. yes, i know His love in the sunshine and spring of all good and pleasant things blooming around me. yes, i know His love in the blessings of a prosperous life and in the provision of all life-sustaining things. yes, i know His love in the peace and security of solid relationships. all of that is pretty easy; all of that feels good.
but even when the sun isn't shining, even when the accusations are flying, even when relationships are falling apart, even when i've effed everything up beyond all recognition... even there, Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will hold me.
and You know what? You have. i don't know why you still do, i don't know how You still can, but i know that You love me. grace upon grace, this is the love of God that surpasses all knowledge. and don't i know it.
this is love: not that we have loved God, but that He has loved us, and has sent His Son to be the atonement for our sins. not that we have loved God. but He has loved us. He is loving us until it hurts, until there's nothing on this earth we love more than Him. His touch is devastating as he shakes out all that can be shaken, until only the unshakable remains. it hurts to be shaken, but what i will be when all the shaking is done is worth it.
so yeah, i'm being shaken. and maybe i'm falling apart right now. and maybe... it's the best thing that has ever happened to me.
5.18.2011
proof of what is possible
i have a friend who is known for saying, "you can't argue with a changed life."
yeah, that's the truth. tonight i was encouraged to hear the story of a changed life. and i got to thinking about all the people i know who have the miraculous story of a changed life. a life redeemed from certain destruction. i got to thinking about the true reaches of this power i profess to believe, the power of resurrection, the power of death becoming alive. i got to thinking about how little i believe for those lives around me who are in desperate need of becoming the story of a changed life.
i have a friend who was an addict. violent. angry. divorced. bankrupt. estranged. and now he is clean. gracious. loving. patient. forgiving. employed. becoming a father again. seeing the work of God's grace in his life.
i have a friend who was a gang member. drug addict. poser at a christian college. God brought him to his knees, to his face, literally. and redeemed his life from the pit. gave him grace to be a leader, leading countless people to the Lord and working to be an agent of justice in a broken world.
i have a friend who was unfaithful. and subsequently rejected. abandoned. and now is whole and complete, lacking nothing.
i have a friend who was ruled by an eating disorder. and now is free.
i have a friend who was bitter with the Lord for her lot in this life. and now is joyful at the wisdom and providence of what God has given.
i have a friend who was angry, prideful, never admitting she was wrong. she estranged all friendships and most family relationships. she nearly broke apart her family. she was depressed and out of control. and now she is learning how to say, "i'm sorry, please forgive me." how to control her temper. how to maintain even the most difficult relationships. how to love those who have hurt her.
i have a friend who dared to speak the unspeakable word, "divorce," for the lack of hope for her marriage. but she put her hope instead in the Lord, and was able to watch Him transform her husband and her marriage into something better than it ever could've been before.
i have a friend who was betrayed and broken by a fiance's broken promise. she waited on the Lord, and He delivered to her something better, something that could not have been so sweet if it had not been framed by the heartache.
time would fail me to finish the stories of redemption, were i to continue. but you get the idea.
this, today, is not the final word. this is not the end of the story. you may have seen yourself in one of the stories above; i can see myself in nearly all of them. and so come with me, let us put our hope in the Lord, the only One who can bring life out of death, who can bring something out of nothing. this is the proof of what is possible with the Lord: you can't argue with a changed life.
yeah, that's the truth. tonight i was encouraged to hear the story of a changed life. and i got to thinking about all the people i know who have the miraculous story of a changed life. a life redeemed from certain destruction. i got to thinking about the true reaches of this power i profess to believe, the power of resurrection, the power of death becoming alive. i got to thinking about how little i believe for those lives around me who are in desperate need of becoming the story of a changed life.
i have a friend who was an addict. violent. angry. divorced. bankrupt. estranged. and now he is clean. gracious. loving. patient. forgiving. employed. becoming a father again. seeing the work of God's grace in his life.
i have a friend who was a gang member. drug addict. poser at a christian college. God brought him to his knees, to his face, literally. and redeemed his life from the pit. gave him grace to be a leader, leading countless people to the Lord and working to be an agent of justice in a broken world.
i have a friend who was unfaithful. and subsequently rejected. abandoned. and now is whole and complete, lacking nothing.
i have a friend who was ruled by an eating disorder. and now is free.
i have a friend who was bitter with the Lord for her lot in this life. and now is joyful at the wisdom and providence of what God has given.
i have a friend who was angry, prideful, never admitting she was wrong. she estranged all friendships and most family relationships. she nearly broke apart her family. she was depressed and out of control. and now she is learning how to say, "i'm sorry, please forgive me." how to control her temper. how to maintain even the most difficult relationships. how to love those who have hurt her.
i have a friend who dared to speak the unspeakable word, "divorce," for the lack of hope for her marriage. but she put her hope instead in the Lord, and was able to watch Him transform her husband and her marriage into something better than it ever could've been before.
i have a friend who was betrayed and broken by a fiance's broken promise. she waited on the Lord, and He delivered to her something better, something that could not have been so sweet if it had not been framed by the heartache.
time would fail me to finish the stories of redemption, were i to continue. but you get the idea.
this, today, is not the final word. this is not the end of the story. you may have seen yourself in one of the stories above; i can see myself in nearly all of them. and so come with me, let us put our hope in the Lord, the only One who can bring life out of death, who can bring something out of nothing. this is the proof of what is possible with the Lord: you can't argue with a changed life.
3.06.2011
useful sin
a confession: i don't practice confession very well. (too much irony?) but really, i don't. actually, i brought it up in my member interview at Sojourn this past week. my community group and close friends therein have been great examples of how God uses good confession to heal and sanctify us. i've experienced the goodness of the discipline. i am just not intentional or, honestly, all that glad about practicing it.
one reason i don't regularly confess is that sin immobilizes me. i feel paralyzed when i consider my sin. look, i've been at this Christian thing for a long time now, over a decade actually. you might think i'd start to get a little better at it. but i'm not. sometimes i think i'm worse than i've ever been. so when i approach the confessional, i do not hear the ringing truth of God's sufficient grace. i hear the sirens wailing, pulling up my very tainted track record.
then it becomes a spiral: i remember other errs, grievous ones, ones from last month, last year, even 15 years ago. things i did and words i said to people who needed to be loved. and i am crushed. is that who i am? it's certainly not who i want to be, but it's starting to look like that's who i am. that's what my life is reflecting. and it's got a lot of ugly. i'd rather not get into it, thankyouverymuch.
is this starting to get depressing? i hope it is. because it's true, and it's the human condition. cognitive dissonance can only go so far; at some point we have to face the music.
this is why i need confession. i need to know how ugly this really is. i need to get into it.
because i need to know how far this grace must come.
it's like i'm digging a hole in the ground: with each confession of sin, i'm digging out the poison and casting it away, that part of me is taken away and it no longer has any bearing on who i am. so i dig, and dig, and dig some more. i dig until i break a sweat, until my arms are sore, until i'm covered in dirt and bruises and smell like i haven't showered in a week. i dig until i think i've gotten it all. then see i haven't; and i dig some more.
and then it rains.
and it doesn't stop raining until the entire hole is filled.
it is sufficient.
sin makes me feel useless. i stop participating in the work God is doing when i wallow in my own sin.
but sin is useful: it reveals my need for God, and it reveals the depth of His great love for me. "at the right time, while we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. for a righteous man, someone will rarely die, and for a good man, someone might possibly be willing to die. but God demonstrates His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." romans seven : six - eight.
this unthinkable love is true. and every time i practice confession, i claim it as my covering. confession is the starting place for the love of God to be fully known in my life.
one reason i don't regularly confess is that sin immobilizes me. i feel paralyzed when i consider my sin. look, i've been at this Christian thing for a long time now, over a decade actually. you might think i'd start to get a little better at it. but i'm not. sometimes i think i'm worse than i've ever been. so when i approach the confessional, i do not hear the ringing truth of God's sufficient grace. i hear the sirens wailing, pulling up my very tainted track record.
then it becomes a spiral: i remember other errs, grievous ones, ones from last month, last year, even 15 years ago. things i did and words i said to people who needed to be loved. and i am crushed. is that who i am? it's certainly not who i want to be, but it's starting to look like that's who i am. that's what my life is reflecting. and it's got a lot of ugly. i'd rather not get into it, thankyouverymuch.
is this starting to get depressing? i hope it is. because it's true, and it's the human condition. cognitive dissonance can only go so far; at some point we have to face the music.
this is why i need confession. i need to know how ugly this really is. i need to get into it.
because i need to know how far this grace must come.
it's like i'm digging a hole in the ground: with each confession of sin, i'm digging out the poison and casting it away, that part of me is taken away and it no longer has any bearing on who i am. so i dig, and dig, and dig some more. i dig until i break a sweat, until my arms are sore, until i'm covered in dirt and bruises and smell like i haven't showered in a week. i dig until i think i've gotten it all. then see i haven't; and i dig some more.
and then it rains.
and it doesn't stop raining until the entire hole is filled.
it is sufficient.
sin makes me feel useless. i stop participating in the work God is doing when i wallow in my own sin.
but sin is useful: it reveals my need for God, and it reveals the depth of His great love for me. "at the right time, while we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. for a righteous man, someone will rarely die, and for a good man, someone might possibly be willing to die. but God demonstrates His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." romans seven : six - eight.
this unthinkable love is true. and every time i practice confession, i claim it as my covering. confession is the starting place for the love of God to be fully known in my life.
2.12.2011
sustained.
sometimes i feel like it's too tall an order, this business of becoming who i am... becoming who i already am, becoming who i want to be.
i get so scared of messing up that i don't even want to try. i get so discouraged by my repeated failures that i just want to quit. it's too hard! it's too much work! it's insurmountable! i'm so far away from the goal. how will i ever get there? what could possibly sustain me?
what could possibly sustain me?
what could possibly sustain me to see the vision realized, to see the goal met?
and it's there, right there in that place, that it is proved:
i need You. i do.
i get so scared of messing up that i don't even want to try. i get so discouraged by my repeated failures that i just want to quit. it's too hard! it's too much work! it's insurmountable! i'm so far away from the goal. how will i ever get there? what could possibly sustain me?
what could possibly sustain me?
what could possibly sustain me to see the vision realized, to see the goal met?
and it's there, right there in that place, that it is proved:
i need You. i do.
2.02.2011
professor horner's bible reading system and other medicine man miracles
i mean, really? is there a better way to imagine the signage for professor horner's bible reading system than as the weathered advertisement on the side of a traveling circus wagon? but i digress.
i've tried a reading plan or two in the duration of my enlightened life. this is the only one i've ever wanted to recommend... or even commend, for that matter. perhaps it is the ease of accessibility on www.youversion.com, including the youversion app on the iphone, but i have had a higher success rate than expected. the best part: even when i don't succeed at keeping up with the daily reading, i can tell youversion to "catch me up," and i don't have to wade through four day's worth of 30-60 minute readings. (four days? who am i kidding. try seven. i hope my honesty helps to free you of your religious, self-righteous guilt for not cracking your good book yesterday.) you can even have youversion email you the daily reading, or subscribe in your feedreader via RSS. i mean, this is the lazy man's best study friend.
i am really enjoying the juxtaposition of the OT and NT in this reading plan. i'm especially enjoying the order that the plan dictates: not all OT then all NT, but back and forth between the two. not only does this keep my mind fresh (hey, who doesn't love a good chapter-full of geaneologies?), but it is helping me to see the common thread woven through all: that is, the gospel of salvation by God's hand through Jesus Christ alone for the ultimate glory of God.
all that to say: if you're looking for a plan that is more-than-five-minutes-comprehensive yet attainable, user-friendly and guilt-free*, try this one on for size.
*guilt-free only comes with the "by grace alone" package, though, so you might need to take that pre-requisite before diving in.
"Prof. Horner’s Bible Reading System is meant to be an intense foray into every part of the Bible. This system will have you reading ten chapters each day if followed properly. The intent is to read quickly through each chapter, being careful not to “skim” or “dig-deep” into any single section. Good luck!"
i've tried a reading plan or two in the duration of my enlightened life. this is the only one i've ever wanted to recommend... or even commend, for that matter. perhaps it is the ease of accessibility on www.youversion.com, including the youversion app on the iphone, but i have had a higher success rate than expected. the best part: even when i don't succeed at keeping up with the daily reading, i can tell youversion to "catch me up," and i don't have to wade through four day's worth of 30-60 minute readings. (four days? who am i kidding. try seven. i hope my honesty helps to free you of your religious, self-righteous guilt for not cracking your good book yesterday.) you can even have youversion email you the daily reading, or subscribe in your feedreader via RSS. i mean, this is the lazy man's best study friend.
i am really enjoying the juxtaposition of the OT and NT in this reading plan. i'm especially enjoying the order that the plan dictates: not all OT then all NT, but back and forth between the two. not only does this keep my mind fresh (hey, who doesn't love a good chapter-full of geaneologies?), but it is helping me to see the common thread woven through all: that is, the gospel of salvation by God's hand through Jesus Christ alone for the ultimate glory of God.
all that to say: if you're looking for a plan that is more-than-five-minutes-comprehensive yet attainable, user-friendly and guilt-free*, try this one on for size.
*guilt-free only comes with the "by grace alone" package, though, so you might need to take that pre-requisite before diving in.
1.24.2011
justification and old-school derek webb
this was the song all the christian college kids liked to learn on their acoustic guitar--i mean, the lyrics included "whore" and "bastard" but you couldn't get in trouble for saying them because it was still about Jesus. you know, kind of like the Bible.
ha.
anyway, i was listening to "wedding dress" while i was driving around town today, and i heard it in a new light.
at lunch with my community group, a question was posed about how best to teach the doctrine of justification. we discussed different analogies and how it had been best described to us, and it was a fairly illuminating conversation. here's what i gleaned: we have been given, regardless of merit but rather by the work and power of Christ, the identity of Christ. it's something that is put on us like clothing, in the same way that the prodigal son is given a robe and a ring--signs of power and authority even though he squandered his inheritance and ran away. "the clothes make the man"-- and we are clothed in righteousness, we are called righteous by God, and so we are. we didn't DO it, and yet we ARE, because He said so. He creates life by His breath, certainly he can make us justified with the same.
after our lunchtime theological discussion, i was listening to derek webb. i've liked the song "wedding dress" since the first time i heard it. to me it meant many things, but i never quite grasped what exactly was his intention or message. then, a few years ago, i stumbled upon a youtube video of derek introducing the song, and he explained that he had written it in response to the craze over the book "the prayer of jabez." he was responding to the church being soured by the american consumerist mentality of entitlement and comfort. it was about idols, and materialism, or ... something like that. honestly, it kind of cheapened the song for me. i had found it really profound, as a confession of my sin and a cry for grace to come. but now it seemed a little hollow--almost political, perhaps only a commentary on the modern american church. such a commentary is certainly not a useless exercise for a songwriter, but it was not what the song had meant to me previously.
but then, as echoes of our lunchtime conversation bounced around in my head, i heard something new in the lyrics. i heard justification, by grace alone.
if you could love me as a wife
for my wedding gift your life
should that be all i'll ever need,
or is there more i'm looking for?
God makes me His, and that is all i need to be perfect. it's not Jesus, plus ______. it's only Jesus. i don't need to jump through rings of fire or sing pitch-perfect church choir solos or even be baptized or be nice or pay my bills on time to be perfect. i am His, because He said so, and so i am perfect.
'cause i am a whore, i do confess
i put you on just like a wedding dress
and i run down the aisle, i run down the aisle
i'm a prodigal with no way home,
i put you on just like a band of gold
and i run down the aisle, i run down the aisle
to you
you see? i'm a whore. i'm a sinner. but God says i'm His. and so i am. that's how the whore puts on the wedding dress, and how the debt-ridden prodigal takes the golden ring. it's grace from start to finish; no more, no less.
what is beautiful to me about this picture of justification is our response: i run down the aisle. i can feel the urgency: this is too good to be true, let me seal the deal before He realizes what He's getting. the runaway son can turn around and come home, because he is accepted in spite of his former rebellion. the promiscuous woman can march down the aisle and take the vows, because she is loved and desired as a wife in spite of her 'tainted' life.
bottom line: come, ye sinners.
Let not conscience make you linger,
Not of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him.
ha.
anyway, i was listening to "wedding dress" while i was driving around town today, and i heard it in a new light.
at lunch with my community group, a question was posed about how best to teach the doctrine of justification. we discussed different analogies and how it had been best described to us, and it was a fairly illuminating conversation. here's what i gleaned: we have been given, regardless of merit but rather by the work and power of Christ, the identity of Christ. it's something that is put on us like clothing, in the same way that the prodigal son is given a robe and a ring--signs of power and authority even though he squandered his inheritance and ran away. "the clothes make the man"-- and we are clothed in righteousness, we are called righteous by God, and so we are. we didn't DO it, and yet we ARE, because He said so. He creates life by His breath, certainly he can make us justified with the same.
after our lunchtime theological discussion, i was listening to derek webb. i've liked the song "wedding dress" since the first time i heard it. to me it meant many things, but i never quite grasped what exactly was his intention or message. then, a few years ago, i stumbled upon a youtube video of derek introducing the song, and he explained that he had written it in response to the craze over the book "the prayer of jabez." he was responding to the church being soured by the american consumerist mentality of entitlement and comfort. it was about idols, and materialism, or ... something like that. honestly, it kind of cheapened the song for me. i had found it really profound, as a confession of my sin and a cry for grace to come. but now it seemed a little hollow--almost political, perhaps only a commentary on the modern american church. such a commentary is certainly not a useless exercise for a songwriter, but it was not what the song had meant to me previously.
but then, as echoes of our lunchtime conversation bounced around in my head, i heard something new in the lyrics. i heard justification, by grace alone.
if you could love me as a wife
for my wedding gift your life
should that be all i'll ever need,
or is there more i'm looking for?
God makes me His, and that is all i need to be perfect. it's not Jesus, plus ______. it's only Jesus. i don't need to jump through rings of fire or sing pitch-perfect church choir solos or even be baptized or be nice or pay my bills on time to be perfect. i am His, because He said so, and so i am perfect.
'cause i am a whore, i do confess
i put you on just like a wedding dress
and i run down the aisle, i run down the aisle
i'm a prodigal with no way home,
i put you on just like a band of gold
and i run down the aisle, i run down the aisle
to you
you see? i'm a whore. i'm a sinner. but God says i'm His. and so i am. that's how the whore puts on the wedding dress, and how the debt-ridden prodigal takes the golden ring. it's grace from start to finish; no more, no less.
what is beautiful to me about this picture of justification is our response: i run down the aisle. i can feel the urgency: this is too good to be true, let me seal the deal before He realizes what He's getting. the runaway son can turn around and come home, because he is accepted in spite of his former rebellion. the promiscuous woman can march down the aisle and take the vows, because she is loved and desired as a wife in spite of her 'tainted' life.
bottom line: come, ye sinners.
Let not conscience make you linger,
Not of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him.
11.02.2010
conflict and the gospel
i have a sharp memory from my sophomore year of college: i was reading through my new training material for Youthworks, my upcoming summer job. the binder had an entire section dedicated to conflict--the good, the bad, the ugly. it talked about how to anticipate conflict, how to keep composure in conflict, how to reach a true better-than compromise, how to walk in a manner worthy of the gospel even in the midst of conflict.
it was like all the house lights suddenly came up.
sophomore year was characterized by constant conflict. you know, best of times//worst of times. we had a great group of friends, we had tons of fun, we all lived in the same hall, and eventually we became an infected, seeping, ingrown toenail of sorts. girls fought over guys, guys fought over girls, the guys treated the girls with very little concern, the girls didn't give the guys much respect or space, and we played a lot of texas hold 'em and catchphrase in between all of the mess.
and we were incredibly unpracticed at applying the gospel to our corporate mess.
when i read the training manual on conflict, i immediately discussed it with a few of the girls involved. it was a hard pill for all of us to swallow. we had to admit that we were doing something wrong. we had to give up our claims of rightness and our self-justifications. we had to repent of our selfish anger and these-are-my-rights mentality. and we had to extend grace to one other for our weaknesses.
bear one another's burdens, and this way you fulfill the law of Christ. galatians 6:2
oh, gospel. there you are.
you know, when we are accustomed to being ruled by worldly wisdom or carnal desires, the word of the cross becomes a stumbling block. the wisdom of God sounds like foolishness to our death-filled ears. we wrap our fists around all the so-called injustices we have suffered and we use them as weapons of vengeance. and you know what? we may even be "right." but, as a wise friend once told me, the gospel changes everything.
the gospel
changes
everything.
even when i'm right. especially when i'm right.
what good is it to win every conflict by clever arguments or sheer force of personality if the gospel is trampled? there is no winner when the flesh determines the outcome, for there is only death in the way of the flesh.
but when conflict brings about truth spoken in love, when it brings reconciliation, when it brings healing, when it brings us to be satisfied in Christ instead of the world, when it exposes and expunges our sin, when it brings redemption ... then the gospel lives, and we with it.
so tonight i'm thinking about how to be diligent to preserve the bond of unity, which is love, between my brothers and sisters, even when we frustrate one another. it is certainly not easy, but it is definitely worth it.
it was like all the house lights suddenly came up.
sophomore year was characterized by constant conflict. you know, best of times//worst of times. we had a great group of friends, we had tons of fun, we all lived in the same hall, and eventually we became an infected, seeping, ingrown toenail of sorts. girls fought over guys, guys fought over girls, the guys treated the girls with very little concern, the girls didn't give the guys much respect or space, and we played a lot of texas hold 'em and catchphrase in between all of the mess.
and we were incredibly unpracticed at applying the gospel to our corporate mess.
when i read the training manual on conflict, i immediately discussed it with a few of the girls involved. it was a hard pill for all of us to swallow. we had to admit that we were doing something wrong. we had to give up our claims of rightness and our self-justifications. we had to repent of our selfish anger and these-are-my-rights mentality. and we had to extend grace to one other for our weaknesses.
bear one another's burdens, and this way you fulfill the law of Christ. galatians 6:2
oh, gospel. there you are.
you know, when we are accustomed to being ruled by worldly wisdom or carnal desires, the word of the cross becomes a stumbling block. the wisdom of God sounds like foolishness to our death-filled ears. we wrap our fists around all the so-called injustices we have suffered and we use them as weapons of vengeance. and you know what? we may even be "right." but, as a wise friend once told me, the gospel changes everything.
the gospel
changes
everything.
even when i'm right. especially when i'm right.
what good is it to win every conflict by clever arguments or sheer force of personality if the gospel is trampled? there is no winner when the flesh determines the outcome, for there is only death in the way of the flesh.
but when conflict brings about truth spoken in love, when it brings reconciliation, when it brings healing, when it brings us to be satisfied in Christ instead of the world, when it exposes and expunges our sin, when it brings redemption ... then the gospel lives, and we with it.
so tonight i'm thinking about how to be diligent to preserve the bond of unity, which is love, between my brothers and sisters, even when we frustrate one another. it is certainly not easy, but it is definitely worth it.
9.24.2010
autumn delights
although i probably COULD write an entire post about how delightful autumn is to me, this is actually a recipe for an autumn treat. i don't want to call them cookies because they're really much more healthy and not as sweet, but they're just as delicious as their chocolate-chip (and butter-laden) counterparts.
soundtrack: vaughan williams, fantasia on a theme by thomas tallis (this is a critical part to the baking process)
"wet" ingredients:
1/2 cup butter or coconut oil, softened
2 eggs
1 tbsp molasses (or maple syrup, i suppose)
1/2 cup splenda/sugar mix
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
cinnamon (i use a LOT, and i don't measure. to taste?)
nutmeg (same story, but not as much)
2 medium apples, cored, peeled, finely diced (hello food processor! and apple corer/peeler/slicer!)
dry ingredients
3 cups oats (for a finer texture, i put mine through the food processor for a minute or so.)
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
crasins (i used cranberry and pomegranate flavor)
preheat oven to 375*, or 350* for dark or non-stick
in large bowl, combine all wet ingredients except apples with hand mixer until well blended. blend in apples until well mixed. add flours and oats, stirring until very well mixed. fold in cranberries.
spoon onto cookie sheets, about 2" apart, by rounded teaspoonfuls. be mindful that they will retain whatever shape you put them in, so the rounder, the better. bake on center rack for 9-12 minutes, until they retain shape when lightly pressed.
remove immediately from pan and cool on rack or wax paper. yield: 50-55 cookies.
soundtrack: vaughan williams, fantasia on a theme by thomas tallis (this is a critical part to the baking process)
"wet" ingredients:
1/2 cup butter or coconut oil, softened
2 eggs
1 tbsp molasses (or maple syrup, i suppose)
1/2 cup splenda/sugar mix
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
cinnamon (i use a LOT, and i don't measure. to taste?)
nutmeg (same story, but not as much)
2 medium apples, cored, peeled, finely diced (hello food processor! and apple corer/peeler/slicer!)
dry ingredients
3 cups oats (for a finer texture, i put mine through the food processor for a minute or so.)
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
crasins (i used cranberry and pomegranate flavor)
preheat oven to 375*, or 350* for dark or non-stick
in large bowl, combine all wet ingredients except apples with hand mixer until well blended. blend in apples until well mixed. add flours and oats, stirring until very well mixed. fold in cranberries.
spoon onto cookie sheets, about 2" apart, by rounded teaspoonfuls. be mindful that they will retain whatever shape you put them in, so the rounder, the better. bake on center rack for 9-12 minutes, until they retain shape when lightly pressed.
remove immediately from pan and cool on rack or wax paper. yield: 50-55 cookies.
9.09.2010
the plunge
not to be confused with the plunger :)
this sunday, i'm being baptized at the 7:00 pm service at sojourn community church. if anyone who reads this is in the louisville area, i would love for you to celebrate this with me, especially since my family won't be able to attend.
i've never actually attended a baptism service at sojourn because of work schedules and being out of town, so i'm a little bit nervous about how it's all going to go down (pun intended). but i know this much: i wrote my baptism testimony for them, and someone is going to read it before i'm dunked :) i thought it might be an encouragement to someone out there, so i'm posting it here as well. some background: i was baptized in the methodist church when i was a month old. i was saved when i was 13, after which time i went through confirmation (and a public confession of faith) to join the church. because of this, even as i learned more about doctrine and denominational theology, i became conflicted about whether or not i needed to be baptized "again" -- or maybe just plain ol' baptized. i was afraid of offending my family. i was afraid of causing other people in similar situations to doubt their salvation. but ultimately i came to understand this: baptism is not magical. it's not salvation-inducing. it's not something that will give me heaven insurance. in fact, i am already completely assured of my salvation, so it's not going to even make me "feel better."
so what is it? it's an act of obedience. it's conforming my life to be more like Jesus'. it's putting action to my faith. it's worship and submission to God.
that's certainly something worth doing.
***
I was raised in a church-going family, and I was the Sunday School know-it-all. But even though I knew a lot of things about God, I didn’t know Him as my Father, my Sovereign Lord, or my Savior. In fact, I didn’t even know that I needed a Savior—by my own estimation, I was a pretty good kid. Then, when I was 13, I heard the gospel (probably for the hundredth time) and finally I understood what God had done for me. God gave me eyes to see and ears to hear, and I saw that I had spent my whole life in self-centered disobedience to God. I was a sinner, and I deserved death. But I also heard the call of hope: I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed and wanted to know Jesus Christ who had paid my debt and who had put death in its grave on my behalf. I responded to God’s call to repent of my sin, to believe and to follow Him. That night, at a church camp in Northern Indiana, I prayed for Jesus to take my life, to be my life. Since that time, He has not stopped His work of sanctification in me, by His grace, and I could speak of countless ways that He has changed me and is changing me. He has taught me how to love and forgive in the face of hatred and injustice. He has given me new eyes to see people with compassion instead of judgment. And though I am still wrapped in flesh and struggle with sin, He continues to take my stubborn, stony heart and make it His again. The same God who made me is the same God who saved me, is the same God who is perfecting me by grace in Christ Jesus for His eternal glory. That is why I come for baptism today. Although I was saved by God’s grace 12 years ago, I was never baptized afterward. My parents ‘baptized’ me when I was an infant, and I made a public confession and joined the church after I was saved. But the truth is that God desires and delights in my obedience, and it is His command for me to follow in Jesus’ footsteps with baptism. I am a servant, certainly not greater than my Master, and with my baptism I am telling God, the Church, and the World that I am His and He is mine! I belong to no other, all I have is Christ. His life, His death, and His resurrection are my only plea. So wash me in the water of the Word, make my life His own. Hallelujah!
this sunday, i'm being baptized at the 7:00 pm service at sojourn community church. if anyone who reads this is in the louisville area, i would love for you to celebrate this with me, especially since my family won't be able to attend.
i've never actually attended a baptism service at sojourn because of work schedules and being out of town, so i'm a little bit nervous about how it's all going to go down (pun intended). but i know this much: i wrote my baptism testimony for them, and someone is going to read it before i'm dunked :) i thought it might be an encouragement to someone out there, so i'm posting it here as well. some background: i was baptized in the methodist church when i was a month old. i was saved when i was 13, after which time i went through confirmation (and a public confession of faith) to join the church. because of this, even as i learned more about doctrine and denominational theology, i became conflicted about whether or not i needed to be baptized "again" -- or maybe just plain ol' baptized. i was afraid of offending my family. i was afraid of causing other people in similar situations to doubt their salvation. but ultimately i came to understand this: baptism is not magical. it's not salvation-inducing. it's not something that will give me heaven insurance. in fact, i am already completely assured of my salvation, so it's not going to even make me "feel better."
so what is it? it's an act of obedience. it's conforming my life to be more like Jesus'. it's putting action to my faith. it's worship and submission to God.
that's certainly something worth doing.
***
I was raised in a church-going family, and I was the Sunday School know-it-all. But even though I knew a lot of things about God, I didn’t know Him as my Father, my Sovereign Lord, or my Savior. In fact, I didn’t even know that I needed a Savior—by my own estimation, I was a pretty good kid. Then, when I was 13, I heard the gospel (probably for the hundredth time) and finally I understood what God had done for me. God gave me eyes to see and ears to hear, and I saw that I had spent my whole life in self-centered disobedience to God. I was a sinner, and I deserved death. But I also heard the call of hope: I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed and wanted to know Jesus Christ who had paid my debt and who had put death in its grave on my behalf. I responded to God’s call to repent of my sin, to believe and to follow Him. That night, at a church camp in Northern Indiana, I prayed for Jesus to take my life, to be my life. Since that time, He has not stopped His work of sanctification in me, by His grace, and I could speak of countless ways that He has changed me and is changing me. He has taught me how to love and forgive in the face of hatred and injustice. He has given me new eyes to see people with compassion instead of judgment. And though I am still wrapped in flesh and struggle with sin, He continues to take my stubborn, stony heart and make it His again. The same God who made me is the same God who saved me, is the same God who is perfecting me by grace in Christ Jesus for His eternal glory. That is why I come for baptism today. Although I was saved by God’s grace 12 years ago, I was never baptized afterward. My parents ‘baptized’ me when I was an infant, and I made a public confession and joined the church after I was saved. But the truth is that God desires and delights in my obedience, and it is His command for me to follow in Jesus’ footsteps with baptism. I am a servant, certainly not greater than my Master, and with my baptism I am telling God, the Church, and the World that I am His and He is mine! I belong to no other, all I have is Christ. His life, His death, and His resurrection are my only plea. So wash me in the water of the Word, make my life His own. Hallelujah!
8.20.2010
homemade granola bars
i love granola bars, but i don't like how much they cost. so i decided to try my hand at making my own today. i googled several recipes, but i ended up just making up my own recipe based on what i had sitting around my kitchen.
a few notes, before i share the recipe: the most important thing is the ratio of dry to wet ingredients, so if you don't like flax seed or peanuts, or if you only have honey and maple syrup, simply substitute more/less of another ingredient. you can use any fruit and any nut, even chocolate chips or m&m's if you want to. i used prunes, dates, and apricots, which i diced before i began. i also used cranberries, blueberries, and raisins, which i left whole. i used sunflower seeds, peanuts, and soy nuts, but i threw them all in my food processor to keep it all fine. i'm not a big fan of huge chunks of anything in my baked goods. also, instead of wheat germ or oat flour, as some recipes called for, i just put some whole oats in my food processor for a minute or so until it became flour, and then i added some xantham gum for a little extra "stick." i'm not sure if the xantham gum was necessary, so i suppose you could try it w/o and see how it works! also, i used coconut oil instead of only butter, because coconut oil's melting point is 77*F, which means that it will stay solid longer.
also, these directions are for a double batch. each pan, depending how you cut, will make 12-18 bars.
supplies:
2 large mixing bowls
1 cookie sheet
1 medium saucepan
2 pans, 9"x13" (or 8"x8" for thicker granola squares)
wax paper
cooking spray
dry ingredients:
4 cups oats
2 cups processed oats (to oat flour)
1/2 cup milled flax seed
1/2 cup seeds
1 cup soy nuts
2 cups peanuts (or other assorted nuts)
1 tsp salt
2 tsp xantham gum
3/4 cup brown sugar
3 tsp assorted spices (cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, ginger, etc.)
syrup ingredients:
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup agave
1/2 cup molasses
1/2 cup maple syrup
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup coconut oil
other ingredients:
3 cups cup assorted dried fruit
1 tbs raw sugar
preheat oven to 400*F. mix together all dry ingredients, making sure the brown sugar is well-mixed. Separate into two batches, about 5-6 cups each. (at this point, if making different flavors, add the substitute nuts/spices). toast first batch of oat mix in the oven on the cookie sheet for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to keep from burning. while oats toast, heat all syrup ingredients in saucepan over low-medium heat, stirring frequently to mix (esp. the molasses) and to keep from burning. when toasting completes, put 1 1/2 cups of dried fruit in large bowl, pour toasted oat mix over, mix well. (at this point, begin toasting 2nd batch of oats). add half of the syrup mix to the bowl, keeping the rest over low heat. stir oat mix and fruit and syrup very well, making sure all is coated. i had to stir for about two minutes. in the first 9"x13" pan, place wax paper in the bottom (leave it long enough to fold all the way over the top), spray lightly with cooking spray, and if desired, sprinkle raw sugar lightly. pour the mix into the pan, spreading evenly with spoon. fold wax paper over top, press very firmly into the bottom of the pan. (i found it helpful to cover the wax paper with a towel). allow to cool for 3 hours before removing from pan and slicing to desired size.
my first combination: cinnamon, nutmeg, dates, prunes, raisins, blueberries.
my second: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, almond slivers, apricots, dates, cranberries, blueberries.
a few notes, before i share the recipe: the most important thing is the ratio of dry to wet ingredients, so if you don't like flax seed or peanuts, or if you only have honey and maple syrup, simply substitute more/less of another ingredient. you can use any fruit and any nut, even chocolate chips or m&m's if you want to. i used prunes, dates, and apricots, which i diced before i began. i also used cranberries, blueberries, and raisins, which i left whole. i used sunflower seeds, peanuts, and soy nuts, but i threw them all in my food processor to keep it all fine. i'm not a big fan of huge chunks of anything in my baked goods. also, instead of wheat germ or oat flour, as some recipes called for, i just put some whole oats in my food processor for a minute or so until it became flour, and then i added some xantham gum for a little extra "stick." i'm not sure if the xantham gum was necessary, so i suppose you could try it w/o and see how it works! also, i used coconut oil instead of only butter, because coconut oil's melting point is 77*F, which means that it will stay solid longer.
also, these directions are for a double batch. each pan, depending how you cut, will make 12-18 bars.
supplies:
2 large mixing bowls
1 cookie sheet
1 medium saucepan
2 pans, 9"x13" (or 8"x8" for thicker granola squares)
wax paper
cooking spray
dry ingredients:
4 cups oats
2 cups processed oats (to oat flour)
1/2 cup milled flax seed
1/2 cup seeds
1 cup soy nuts
2 cups peanuts (or other assorted nuts)
1 tsp salt
2 tsp xantham gum
3/4 cup brown sugar
3 tsp assorted spices (cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, ginger, etc.)
syrup ingredients:
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup agave
1/2 cup molasses
1/2 cup maple syrup
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup coconut oil
other ingredients:
3 cups cup assorted dried fruit
1 tbs raw sugar
preheat oven to 400*F. mix together all dry ingredients, making sure the brown sugar is well-mixed. Separate into two batches, about 5-6 cups each. (at this point, if making different flavors, add the substitute nuts/spices). toast first batch of oat mix in the oven on the cookie sheet for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to keep from burning. while oats toast, heat all syrup ingredients in saucepan over low-medium heat, stirring frequently to mix (esp. the molasses) and to keep from burning. when toasting completes, put 1 1/2 cups of dried fruit in large bowl, pour toasted oat mix over, mix well. (at this point, begin toasting 2nd batch of oats). add half of the syrup mix to the bowl, keeping the rest over low heat. stir oat mix and fruit and syrup very well, making sure all is coated. i had to stir for about two minutes. in the first 9"x13" pan, place wax paper in the bottom (leave it long enough to fold all the way over the top), spray lightly with cooking spray, and if desired, sprinkle raw sugar lightly. pour the mix into the pan, spreading evenly with spoon. fold wax paper over top, press very firmly into the bottom of the pan. (i found it helpful to cover the wax paper with a towel). allow to cool for 3 hours before removing from pan and slicing to desired size.
my first combination: cinnamon, nutmeg, dates, prunes, raisins, blueberries.
my second: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, almond slivers, apricots, dates, cranberries, blueberries.
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