On being, and not being.

On being and not being.

Sometimes I get so frustrated at this girl, looking like me only less graceful than I should think I ought to be, and more awkward (than I like to think I am..) and I become angry. I become angry because she’s doing it all wrong, and what’s worse, she has taken focus away from Him and distracted my vision and even my thoughts. Who does she think she is? Blasted girl.

I get so mad that I walk right up to her and with pent up aggression and I push her, two hands and angry brow, right on out of my way. There! Now I can see Him clearly and all is right with the world.

Wrong.

In that funny rebuke-style fashion (funny in the ‘oh, I should have known much better than that’ sort of way) Jesus looks disappointed in what I’ve done, sad even, as if He were being told He’d have be crucified again for the 89023438^th time. And as if to say with His eyes, “Why would you do that to my friend?” Like I had just lay my hands on Him and done the very deed to Jesus Himself. And he walked up to the girl and gave her His Hand, pulled her up and dusted her off. He lead her back to where she was standing and let her keep watching Him.

This is what blew my mind.

He didn’t leave me standing there to watch her. He came to me and pulled me forward sort of into the girl like she were a hologram and so was I, but when we met, we became real. And then He said, “This is the girl I redeemed. And this is the girl I will keep redeeming.”

So that girl, the one who I was, is redeemed and beautiful and I cannot leave her behind. I cannot be someone I’m not or never was. She is a part of me, only now she's new and better. So we are the same. Only I have to learn to live life now with her and with me. Awkward, but loved; Broken but new.

scales and truths

If you have still have scales in your eyes, I must look pretty distorted and strange. I don't like appearing that way, but hey, I don't suppose Jesus likes what He's become to Americans (among others) either. What does life look like through scale-covered vision? I remember. I used to have them too. Doesn't look too clear, or bright. The bright that I saw was some shade of grey, maybe black. I can't be certain. I don't care. I'll help you take them out if you want.

Scales are meant for snakes but you readily accept them as your own. What's that? You can't see them? Oh. I wonder why. You need a new frame of reference.

Strange, you may say, to put all my hope in a God I've never seen, and a man who lived 2,000 years ago whom even the demons called The Christ. What's that you say? You don't believe demons exist? Oh. Do you believe the Bible is Truth? Scales. They must be big ones. Or maybe they look like rose-colored glass. I suppose the world looks a lot prettier without Truth. Yes, a lot prettier; only a lie.

How is it that the demons knew, but His very own people couldn't get out of their own way to see. How is it that His people believed in demon-posession but didn't believe in a God who would send a Savior to set them free. Scales, I suppose. Or something like that.

Truths I never knew I could believe in:

1. When I pray, God listens.

2. God talks back when I get out of my own way long enough to HEAR.

3. We were created to worship God. I mean face-to-floor, praise-the-Savior worship.

4. God knows exactly who I am, and He loves me anyway.

5. The same power that rose Jesus from death after 3 days dwells in me, and through Him, that same power exists today.

6. I can use that power to glorify it's Creator.

7. I have a big responsibility.

This is the deal. I live this life for Jesus Christ, not because I'm weak and need a feel-good friend to pick me up. It doesn't feel good all the time to live for someone else, trust me. But this is not about me. Or you. Don't you see? See for his namesake. It never was. But I've never been so alive, never known such a joy.

I want so badly to be like Jesus. To hear God say, 'This is my beloved daughter, in whom I am well-pleased'. And I look at Jesus so I can be like him.

I see it like this.

I sink a lot, lose faith in myself, but I can walk on water, too. The reason why I start to sink? It looks sort of like this. I watch Him in marvel, standing on that water, He's beautiful and perfect, and He knows the Love of the Father. But then this girl who looks a whole lot like me walks up, wobbly and weird. She stands right in between Jesus and me. We're still on the water. And she tries to do what He's doing but she looks awkward and silly. And I keep staring at her, pick out everything she's doing wrong until I start telling myself that she's not worthy to stand there on that water with Jesus, because really, she's not. The difference is, He tells me I am. And when she starts to sink, my eyes follow her down instead of remaining on the perfect One. And down I go. And I end up getting in my own way. And the ashes weigh more than the beauty, so I sink with her; "You of little faith, why did you doubt?"

But He's still there in front of me, waiting, saying follow me. He'll never leave me alone.

You may call me a dreamer. Maybe I am. But this is reality.

I don't know if this is finished.

I have an over-sized bathtub in my one bedroom apartment. I'll call it a garden tub, yes, a garden tub that's over-sized, and overused. Last night, I tip-toed into the bathtub with approximately 4 books about God, a notebook, my journal, my Bible, and an audio Bible playing on my CD player.

I didn't become aware of what I was doing until I had done it. And it looked like the efforts a little girl might make to feel part of something bigger. And before I knew it, everything in me was crying out. Every part of my body hurt as I longed for Him. Like what felt like tiny golden chords tied to every pore on my skin that began in Heaven and ended on my skin. And I felt every one of them being pulled so gently, but not enough.

Maybe I thought the more books I had to look at and the more places I had to write about Him would calm the desire inside my heart. And I think He looked at me and smiled at my pathetic attempt to show Him my heart.

Maybe it was a sad sort of smile, because He knows my heart and how it longs. And He must have laughed a little to himself, at this little creature He had made, with her strange mind and funny symbolism. And I think He must have been close, because as much pain as I felt from missing something that I couldn't quite have enough of, I want to feel it all the days I breathe life on this earth. And I cried. Oh how I cried. And it wasn't a few tears falling down my face. It was the sort of hyperventilation cry that happens upon little girls when they want something so bad and they've been told they can't have it.

Wait. Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying I can't have God. Oh, I have Him alright. I have more than I thought I ever could. But this, it's a supernatural sort of longing in my spirit, and it won't be satisfied until my body is able to withstand all of Him it longs for. Which in turn, means I'll never be satisfied until I become supernatural myself. When I die.

So I'm crying and feeling and loving and thinking. And I remember asking God,

Are these the tears You cry as You long for Your people? Because it feels like something like that might feel. Are these the tears You cry when You long to lead your children home, but CAN'T because we'd like to choose death instead?

And we willingly hammer those nails in Your hands and Your feet, and we make a crown from thorns, and push it into the flesh of Your Son. And then we walk away, too little faith and too much greed to wait around and see a miracle happen three days later; after all, we've got other idols to tend.

there is no title.

Sometimes you don't know that you don't know, until you know.

Sometimes I want to move somewhere new, just to know that I'm not settling somewhere I'm not meant to be. Wait, what does that mean? To be meant for something specific? Couldn't I do God's work wherever I end up? I don't believe in all that destiny, soul-mate nonsense either.

Sometimes I want to move into an old apartment above an old city that I've never been. And glide across the old hardwood floors and run my hands down the walls and fall with the peeling paint. And then walk to my big window, and it would open just the way windows used to open, from the inside out with no screen, and I'd meet the world from my safe place everyday. And I'd watch the people and secretly pray for them and play Jason Upton too loud until the neighbors started to complain. And then I'd leave my computer on all day and play scriptures and maybe something would happen in that invisible sort of God way, and someone's life might be touched. And at Christmas I'd string christmas lights around the window and sip coffee at my desk in the dark and play my scriptures on my computer, and I'd seek what I'm looking for. Sweet Jesus.

The Dawn

When I walk through life and arrive in places like October 31st through November 11th, God shows up sort of like a big golden flashlight (i'm so cheesy).

OK, listen. I don't like comparing God's Light to the light of a flashlight. Because when I think of flashlights, I see an ugly black-ribbed piece of plastic with a tiny lightbulb, that emits only enough light to expose one's own shadow lurking in the dark.

And that's liable to scare someone like me into a premature heart attack.

But this flashlight, God's flashlight is not for exposing shadows. I'm not even the one holding it or directing the light in the direction I think I need to walk. It's just a bright light that's going ahead of me, whispering follow Me, and we'll make it out of here.

And as we walk further, it sort of looks the moon in the darkened sky might look. And it's cold and my feet hurt, and I'm thirsty. And very hungry. And I cry to God but it seems like He doesn't hear me at all. And I look around, and no one's there. Just me, a ground full of rocks and broken glass, and a big moon up ahead.

So I walk in the only direction I can. It's like a siren calling me, and I almost can't control my body anymore. Because if I could, i'd probably be on the ground half-dead.

And soon I can see the dawn rising there ahead of me. With the most beautiful colors streaking across the sky. Colors I've never known before. I can't even remember how I got here. It doesn't matter. My feet don't hurt anymore. What are feet? Like my body doesn't exist and nothing else matters; All there is, is LIGHT. And I can't stand the glorious beauty, and before I realize what's next, I'm on my knees in awe, praising the One who painted it.

And it's here I realize that I'd never have gotten to see it if I hadn't gone through the night without sleeping.

REMEMBER

Written for my grandfather. Read at his funeral November 3rd, 2010.

A short time ago, or maybe a long time ago (time feels different here), God let me be part of a blessed conversation that would offer comfort and peace, and laughter and tears. It happened in my grandfather's living room. Grandpa, Mom, Dad, Daniel, Thomas and I were sitting in Grandpa's home. We were talking about the new floors he just had put in to that old house. I can recall the words renting and selling; or we could have been talking about something else, but that’s not the part I remember. And then my grandpa said, “Well, you know; when I leave here, ya’ll can rent out the house, you might be able to get something out of it.”

“Leave? Well, where are you going?” My mom said. My grandpa just looked at her. He looked at us all.

Like the answer to that question had already been carved into his heart and pumped through his veins with every new breathe he took.

"Where am I going?" He stated, matter-of-factly, finger pointed upward to the Heavens “Well, I'm goin' Up Yonder!” And we all laughed and today I smile and cry, because God gave this conversation to us to remember on this day.

But sometimes it’s hard to look at situations like these and hear words put together by people who might not understand, for a purpose they probably don't fully grasp (I know I don't), when they say “He’s in a better place,” and then I'm supposed tell my mind and my heart that today is a day to rejoice. Because we are earthly-minded creatures by disease. And somewhere in between life and death; love happened. Love happened to us all and we are left forever changed. And now it’s gone. And what’s left feels like an empty house that was once filled with children and grandchildren and family and LOVE. But now it’s empty, empty but overflowing with memories and feelings of times past, all these that we hold on to, while simultaneously realizing that nothing will be the same as it was.

But God stops me where I'm at, for I am weak. And then He comes to me and says, "Let me carry it for you. I will show you the way." And then I start to realize that I was not meant for earthy-mindedness, but to become spiritually-minded. To put my eyes to the things of God. To recognize that today is the greatest day that grandpa’s soul has ever seen. And I know that there’s a great party up yonder to welcome him home. And I can see my grandma with her new and perfect eyes, taking his hand and placing it in the hand of Jesus, his eyes fixated on the radiating Light. And Jesus walks with him, and places it in the Hand of the Father. And with his new and perfect ears, grandpa hears the whisper, “Welcome home, beloved son, welcome home”.

Rebuke.

Man-pleasing.

God told me last night that I don't need to worry about pleasing anyone but Him. Isn't that funny? Funny is not the right word. I don't know what is. Beautiful, maybe. Like He looks at me and my shabby little blog and says, "Aw, that's cute, wrong, but cute."

I know he gives me words but when He makes it real that he actually knows my thoughts (or reads the blog being written in my head) But I know there's more to it than that, there always is. I can't get into that now. This makes sense in my mind.

Here's what the moment brings me. Now is the time to be diligent; the time for obedience is now.

Trust me, I'm not actively trying to not be obedient. In fact, IF YOU REALLY KNEW ME, you would see that I'm looking desperately for things to be obedient to.

Nothing would please me more than to do my Father's work. How can it not be written all over my face when it is resounding in my spirit and written on my heart? Sometimes it seems like no one understands this when I tell them. 'Yeah, well if that were true then you'd be doing this. If that were true you'd stop walking around with your mouth shut and your eyes wide open and do something about it'.

It is possible (and probably very likely) that I'm looking so hard that I can't see what's in front of my face.

Sometimes we don't know that we don't know until we know.