Sunday, December 23, 2007

A New Name

"What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears." (Hosea 6:4)

"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first." (Revelation 2:4-5)

"I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die" (Revelation 3:1b-2)

"You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked." (Revelation 3:17)

You poor wretched soul, mine. You do not realize that all along it has been THE GOD, Yaweh, who has kept you. Your soul is fed by HIS love, and your cares are met in HIS arms, and by the grace of a GOD who requires the sacrifice of HIS most precious Son to pay the debts of drunkards, addicts, thieves, perverts, murderers and everything in between... by HIS grace, there is hope.

"To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it." (Revelation 2:17)

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The man (or woman, as the case may be) behind the curtain.

"Our whole destiny seems to lie in...being as little as possible ourselves, in acquiring a fragrance that is not our own but borrowed, in becoming clean mirrors filled with the image of a face that is not ours."--C.S. Lewis

Oh, Clive! I love you. I love familiarity; I am not going to lie. Infact, I could (at this very moment) go up to my room and find a pencil where I left it - "um, what does that have to do with familiarity?", you may ask. The catch is, I could do that with my eyes closed. Relying on what has been in place for some 5 years now (the layout of my house), that which has evolved little (if at all) from originality at such a pace that I've have to aclimate. That being said -- I don't like change. Try as I may, I just don't care for it. I love going to different places and trying different things, and seeing different cultures and peoples. I LOVE different foods, etcetera, etcetera; but when I come home to HOME I like familiar. My mom moves the furniture around and I feel like my family has changed beyong recognition (okay, not quite to that degree. It's just to make a point). This, however - the changing of things in the home - is rare and far in between. However, after a conversation with a very dear friend, it suddenly occured to me that just as my desk has a place in my room where it serves it's purpose, so I have a place in my family. We all do; it's just that, like our furniture, we ourselves do some renovation, we move things around, change the routine, and get familiar with each change that comes along. We do this so well, in fact, that we learn to live without those who leave us. What happens when they come home? I ponder this as I contemplate leaving home for a time (a short, sweet, time!) in search of adventure and life and ehm "education". What if I misplace my place, and my familiarity is tossed out the window like our old casset stereo? Then, I remember that my place is, as Lewis says, 'in aquiring a fragrance that is not my own, and in becomming a clean mirror reflecting Another's face'. This, dear one, is your place.
(It's also in throwing the occasional fit, and stumbling and realizing that you are really who you used to be only better, that those around you are also that, and that you really do have a place it's just not the same as it once was; and in the end, it will be better.) Happy... new (ick!)... Year!

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Think.

Stop the madness long enough to actually see.
Truth, it's hidden deep in compromise.
Thoughts that pulse and probe,
Pain that lies within open wounds.
Smiles conceal more than tongues,
And numbness is more than not feeling.
THE SON OF GOD - SLAIN
MY HEART A MURDEROUS SMEAR.
THE LIGHT OF GOD SHOWN.
CHRIST'S BLOOD - REDEMTION - SALVATION IS HERE.
I cry, I cry at night. I hold my hands around my side.
I long, just long for a day without a fight.
Will my brokeness know a day without apathy?
Stop this madnesss. Break The silence.
I cry, I cry, but nothing's comming out.
REDEEM ME, ABBA, MY FATHER.
BRING ME WITHING YOUR WINGS.
I WONDER, WILL I DIE WITHIN SUCH A PLACE?
IF I MUST DIE, LET ME DIE CRYING LOVE INTO THIS WORLD'S DYING FACE.
... let me dare to be, more than who i am. who YOU make me.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Mechanical Christianity

I see it alot. Mostly, in me. If you've grown up in the chuch, perhaps you'd understand where I am coming from. We have Sunday worship ever Sunday morning from this time - to this time, we go to worship practice, we got to a candle light service. You sing, maybe you even memorized the words to the songs because you sing them so often. Showing up for church, whether I'm ready or not, is so detached from how I'm actually feeling most of the time. But, I've learned what answers earn respect, I know how to make people cry tears of joy with a song, I've learned to manipulate everyone's heart but my own. Because, I become a machine. This monstrous Christain machine. I spew out the right answers. Listen to a prayer request, and spout out the automated response "I'll be praying for you this week". How often does that happen? How often, after the benediction, do I go out into the world to spread the Love of Christ with a hurting world? Machines cannot do that. Just like my beloved "self-check out" lines at Wal-Mart, if there is an actual problem (and, with people problems and complications will always arise), if there is a question, or a need - - the only thing it can do is carry on it's intended function. It won't see the necesity in a tone of voice, or in someone's eyes. That's when you go to customer service I suppose... but there aren't customer service lines in real life. I suppose that's what many people think pastors and therapists are for. And, yeah, they are. But... if machines like me actually stopped and became real... would there be such a need?

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Stronger

He's a lot stronger than me,
he's never taken off his wedding ring,
it's worn him now for birthdays past, these
days that keep on turning.

And he never broods or snaps, not once.
Though who could blame him if he did?
He doesn't bring up painful conversation,
to aide the pain that's surely hid.

And while we slice birthday cake,
my presents passed around.
I look at quiet Grandpa,
he smiles but doesn't make a sound.

I wonder how he misses her,
and I wonder what it's like,
to celebrate a birth, on the day he lost his wife.
And he's much stronger than I would be.
He forgoes his pain for me.