Be of Good Heart

“Is this all there is?”

This is the question when life feels stuck and unmoving.  Its search must surely be rhetorical because we already know the answer and it aches our cracking bones.

“Yes”

It feels so true, yet do not be fooled.  This is the myth perpetuated by the Resistance.  No creative imagination to envision beyond the “life” set before us, and no container to hold something greater than what is predicted.  Inescapable and Unavoidable serve as our companions in our dutifully-obliging-life.

Monotony transfixes us in a hypnotic state and overruns our unique identity with a colonized and civilized auto-pilot.  The work is never ending, the days never changing.  Rocks from this pile to the next and back again.  “Keep up the good work”, “Don’t let anyone down”, “You can try something new tomorrow” are just a few of the thin sentiments we try and feast on.

Yet we are starving.  A thin shadow of who we are to be.

Our identity molded and formed not by Free Spirit, but by this sly never-ending-production-to-please.  We are a stranger to ourselves.  What began in us in our youth has been weathered, eroded, and tamed.  Waking up is difficult when you’ve been lulled to sleep.

“Flavor” is a word exiled from our vocabulary and upon its reflection our forgetful-self strains to come up with even a few morsels of something palatable.  Pointless, meaningless, and apathy become the only colors in our existence.  Each one of them of the same shadow-like hue.

Until…

Something breaks in.

A Voice, a Word, a Breath.

Too much for even the Magnificent’s lungs to hold, this Wind penetrates an air-tight existence and unlocks its breathless captives from the inside.

Our flat world suddenly takes shape.

No longer must we waste our breath trying to convince the self-made-king of the truth welling up within us.  There is more.  There has always been more.  Today is a fresh existence that has not and will never be copied, cloned, or industrialized.

This is the day.

And the rulers of this dying age?  The Light has removed their shadow, revealed their nakedness, and left them blind to what is real.  Yet they keep on going, jawing about this and that (the way they always do) as they try to mend their delusion.  Fear and visions of impending enemies, all meant to solidify our tribalism, will not work us up in a frenzy any longer.  The spell they once held has been broken.

Broken by the sound of trumpets.  Shattered by the height of cheer.  Overturned by the tide of mercy.

Be of good heart; Love has found us.

Crushed

There is a deep beauty that runs through this life.
So intrinsically woven even Death cannot remove its brilliant color.
The Fool of Death believes in only the finite-end and cannot see what Death has unknowingly ushered.
Such a force and violent quake; the veil separating the Shadow from the True is torn with power.

An in-breaking finds us and blinds with what earthly eyes are not conditioned to see.
A potency of rich beauty released, so strong, so pure, it can no longer be contained.
Tasting such fullness from the Source brings the knowledge that what was before was a thin diluted true.
Bearing witness to such power I erupt with confession:
"Even now, even here, it is good".

What's in My Journal

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

                                                   - William Stafford

Compelled to Confess

I was compelled to confess this week.  Not my sin but my affirmation.  This confession was not given as if to convince myself, rather it welled up within me until I burst with belief.

I believe God is who he says he is; and he is good.

I believe my children are who he says they are; his beloved.

I believe my wife and I are who he says we are; his children.

I believe the power of death is great and certain; but there is a power still greater.

I believe the resurrection has the last word and it will be spoken forever.

God's Absence

I have often been told that when one first turns to God, one is greeted with brilliant 'Yes' answers to prayers.  For a long time that was true for me.  But then, when he has you hooked, he starts to say 'No'.  This has been, indeed, my experience.  But it has been more than a 'No' answer lately; after all, 'No' is an answer.  It is the silence, the withdrawal, which is so devastating.  the world is difficult enough with God; without him it is a hideous joke.

Madeleine L'Engle, The Irrational Season

We have been fooled to believe that following after God always brings clarity and dispels any confusion.  In this instance Religion is exceedingly helpful; an answer for everything and everything in order.  Yet somewhere along life's path the construct of Religion (whether it be our religious fervour for politics, god, or human ingenuity) is tested by the weight of the unpredictable mess-of-life.  We work diligently to ensure that the structure of our Religion can withstand the pressure.  We double our efforts, deepen our convictions, and attack out of our own survival.

There is so much at stake; there is too much to lose.

Our self-preservational instincts to double our efforts around our ideologies will only shroud us from the depth and vastness of God.  We will live small lives if we hold on too tightly for fear that our life may actually be lost.

This is the descriptive of a grown-up-mature faith.  One that no longer is seduced by an answer for everything and can instead, in the stillness of God's absence, continue the journey in faith.

"Anxious Hope"

22x30 Watercolor

Do Not Be Afraid to Be Afraid

Too often I try and convince myself that I am not afraid.  Why?  Well, because I am 35 and should be old enough to have figured things out, because I am a Christian, and Christians should trust and not worry.  So the convincing goes on... "I am not afraid"...I tell myself.  And all the while I long to hear God's reassuring voice in agreement, "That's right, you're not afraid" God would say, but that voice of agreement never comes.

Silence.

My voice amplifies, "God, where are you?!?!  I'm telling you I'm not afraid, now show yourself!"

Silence still.

"Some god this is..."  I think to myself; all the while living the not-afraid-life.

I've come to recognize that my statements of "I am not afraid" are really a smoke screen trying to divert my attention from my real fears.  My fears of failure, my fears of not being liked, me fears of not finding my vocational groove, my fears that I will fail my family.  So I continue with my brave I'm-not-afraid-self.  And the truth?....

I am terrified.

I am afraid.

There is freedom in being able to say "I am afraid."  If I boldly and brashly exclaim that I have no fear then what need is there for God to respond?  Even if He did, what would I expect him to say?  "Great job, you're not afraid, way to go, you're fantastic".  There is no reason for God to speak when I've told Him I know what I'm doing and I know where to go.  God does not intrude with the contrary or try and convince otherwise.

God's silence comes because I've offered Him no room to step into the truth of my fear.  But when I can openly express before the throne of grace that "I am afraid" God reaches back.

God appears.  "Take courage" He says.  "For I am with you."

My inability to speak my fear keeps God silent.  Speaking my fear opens the floodgates of God's ever present voice.

Do not be afraid to be afraid.

What If I Had...?

Reflecting on our past is necessary but dangerous territory.  At its best it can point to those elements that make up our true self and at its worse it can push us in an escalating spiral downward.

The "What if I had...?"

A villain and thief in the worst way.  You could also attach the "I should have..." and "Why didn't I?"  These phrases paralyze us in our past and promote fear for our future.  These are difficult adversaries.  They bring along with them a never-ending lament and a self-wallowing despair.  This kind of reflection is hell-bent on devouring you.

And it will.

Recognizing this, many of us, in an act of self preservation, will avoid reflecting on the past and work at convincing ourselves that "tomorrow will be better" and that "life is what you make it".  Yet this is the false self uttering its clever voice once again.  Do not trade your past reflection for some future, propped up on serendipitous thinking.  Instead, shift your question.

"God, where are you...?"

This shift takes the pressure off of us to solve and gives God the space to surface.  It allows us to find grace in our inconsistent past and provides us with the generosity needed to be benevolent to our imperfect selves.  We shift from focusing on operation to  God's occupation and become introduced to the God who lives in past, present and future.

Yet this question is not without its difficulty.  What if in uttering this question you hear nothing?  What if God's silence is the only thing that occupies past experience?  What if...

Let go of the "What if..."  Ask God to show you where he is and where he has been at work.  The voice may be small at first but as you learn its distinct sound trust and follow; the voice will grow.  When life cloaks you with enough darkness to shroud the face of God keep asking, "Where Lord, are you?" 

This is a grown-up question.  A question of maturity and faith.  It requires the audacity to demand that God reveal himself and the tenacity to pester until he does.

As you journey through this day, in reflection of the past and in anticipation for the future, call to God and may you be open to hear him utter, "I am here".

Shoes In The Back Hall

We have a back hall in our home.  A space between our family room and our garage.  We use this space more than we do our front door.  Each day we travel "to" and "from" using this space.  It is a transient space.  A space created to usher from one place to the next.  This space is also small; so narrow that if the backdoor and closet door are both open one cannot pass through.

This transient space often becomes a bottleneck for us.  Coming home with arms full of groceries: crowded space.  3 school kids trying to get out the door with backpacks, instruments, and lunches in tow: crowded space. 

Yesterday when I came home (through the usual, narrow, crowded passage-way) I was held up by my kids' shoes scattered and clogging up the hallway (I had difficulty getting the door all the way open because of their shoes).  My initial reaction was to holler (out of frustration) at the kids to come clean up their shoes and "put them away properly" (like I've told them so many times before!).  Yet I held on for a moment.  No hollering came.  Instead I was graced by something else: vision to see what I usually miss.

In that moment I heard God remind me, "There will be a day, not too far off, when you will long to trip over your kids' shoes."

In that moment I found myself pausing.  Stopping and really seeing what is.

That was the "long, loving look" that Walter Burghardt talks about.  The privilege to see scattered shoes as more than a nuisance, inconvenience, and obstacle to my final arrival home.  I was reminded of the joy my kids bring me, reminded of all the places their shoes take them, and reminded of how small their feet were when they were born.

I was reminded that cumbersome spaces of transition are often a gift.

May you be given the capacity to look deeply into the cluttered, disorganized, confining, transition of life; that you might be overwhelmed with the truth that even there, you are home.

The Destructive Self

We have all been designed to create in this life.  To fashion ideas into realities, to explore new thoughts, and to live lives that outwardly express the true inner self.

We marvel at those who who bring their art to life.  Musicians, Painters, and Poets.  We long to express ourselves in such a beautiful and constructive manner.

Because we don't know how to express ourselves (perhaps we really do know how, but choose not to for fear of what it will cost us) we live inwardly conflicted lives.  We secretly wrestle, quietly scream, and inwardly go to war.  We can't make sense of the tension and cannot express ourselves in the manner of the true Artist and so what comes from our hands is nothing short of destruction.

It may come through throwing the tools when you can't get the swing-set constructed just right or the tearing up of the canvas when the picture wasn't getting flushed out the way you envisioned.  It may come through hateful words when you and another fail to see each other fully, or worse, it may come into being when you strike another because they have unknowingly reflected to much of your worse self.

We destroy when the frustration of "what we wish to be is not what is" breaks past our capacity to hold it safely.

We destroy because the old container clearly does not work anymore and birthing the new is too labor-some.

These expressed fits of aggravation reveal something to us:

Our petulance for destruction is bound in our longing to create.

Please do not be startled anymore by the self that wants to scream, throw, and smash (do not bury it away, pretending that only the pietist within you exists).  Yet do not indulge it because of its ease; the unleashed destruction will only become amplified.  Instead, listen to it.  Invite it to sit and be still.  Let it, without fear, become a teacher for you; usher it to the light.

For it is an indicator that there is creative work yet to be done.

It Would Do You Well To Be Bored

We place a high value on having something to do, staying busy, and being entertained.  As a result we fill our time with activities, scroll through Facebook updates to "see what's going on", and play mindless games on our iPads.  We are constantly filling our minds in the name of productivity but really we have fallen for  one of the greatest myths of the 21st Century.

Boredom should be avoided.

As a parent I hear the "boredom complaint" from my kids and I am quick to offer resolutions.  However I'm not sure this is the best remedy.  When quick solutions to boredom are offered no real thinking has to be done.  When 2 friends, a ball, and boredom are involved the sky is the limit on the kind of games that can be created.  Boredom isn't something to be fixed or avoided it is the space that can begin to incubate the next fresh idea.

If we allow it, boredom can become an ally in our pursuit of creativity and fresh thinking.

Boredom, once thought to be the no-man's-land where ideas go to die, might really be the lab where things are tinkered with and new combinations are discovered.