Hands Out, Palms Up: I Surrender

Its a rush, its revealing
There’s not much I can to
To prevent her from stealing
My heart; I wont protect
Its too late for that
Even so its not like I could select
She wasn’t just a face in a crowd
She wasn’t just an arbitrary thought
To love; my heart wishes it was allowed.

Masterpiece

Sometimes i feel like a piece of stained glass. one that everyone looks at and admires and "oohs" and "aahs" as the sunlight hits me and scatters brilliance all around. But i look down at me and see the minute imperfections: the bubbles in the glass, the stains and uneven surfaces. And i see the glaring imperfections: the cracks, the the chips and the broken pieces...i know that if anyone could see me from where i see me they would not ooh and aah so much anymore.

I also feel like a hypocrite. im just glass...im nothing special--infact im just painted glass. im something ordianry that has been chopped up into a mosaic and displayed in grandios fake glory--DONT LOOK AT ME. i scream it in my heart of hearts. but then in my pride i like being looked at, i enjoy the praise of others. and in my vain i marvel at my own color spashed on the walls by the sun. yes, what a real hypocrite i am. I am selfish in my hypocricy too, i dont want anyone to look at the other pieces of stained glass, no, only look at me. i dont want them to like any of my fellow stained glass panes, they must only appreciate MY color and MY beauty. its sad really. at the end of the day when all the admirerers have gone home i reflect on my reflection and realize how utterly selfish and prideful i really am.

Thats when i overemphasize my cracks, thats where i scrutinize the small imperfecions on my glossy exterior and mourn the chips that mar my surface. "why?" i scream. "Why did i do this to myself?" "no one will want me...no one will ever accept me because of what i've done!" My pride turns to despair and self-loathing. There never seems to be a middle ground. I am either in love with my own magnificence or crushed by my own imperfections.

But you know the wonderful thing about stained glass? The wonderful thing about stained glass is that it was created. I did not make myself. Oh, in those moments of selfish pride i imagine that i have...but did i fasion my translucent pane by myself? did i design my mosaic? did i paint the beautiful artwork that is me?
See, the wonderful thing about stained glass is that it had a maker. a designer. an artist.
I am HIS masterpiece. When the sun hits me and casts out my array of colors it is HE who gets the credit for my brilliance.
And my artist is patient enough with me when i break myself. He is compassionate when others chip me. And he reminds me that i was born and conceived in imperfection and that someday my shiny surface will be without imperfections.
It is then that i realize that though my surface is marred by many cracks--some of them quite large, and though i have some gauges and chips, these imperfections only serve to make the light shine more beautifully through me because they have become additional refractors of light in my artist's brilliant masterpiece.

My Strength Has Failed

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress, My God in whom i trust!" For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinons and under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark. (Psalm 91:1-4)

When i came across these few verses in Psalms they just seemed to jump off the page. I was first struck by the many names for God used, "Most High", "Almighty", "LORD", "My God", This is purposeful and deliberate. The writer is seeking to show the many facets of God's character that are the reasons for his psalm of trust. The writer goes on to describe God as a "refuge", "Fortress", "deliverer", "Shield" and a "Bulwark". He also uses the imagery of a mother bird protecting her young under her wings.

The beginning of this passage says that it will be the one who dwells in the "shelter of the Most High" who receives the benefits of the Lord's protection and provision. Adam Clark in his commentary points out that the "shelter of the Most High" probably refers to the Holy of Holies in the tabernacle. He who enters legitimately there shall be covered with the cloud of God's glory-the protection of the all-sufficient God. This was the privilege of the high priest only, under the law: but under the new covenant all believers in Christ have boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus; and those who thus enter are safe from every evil. John Gill says that it is in this place that believers also are shown His everlasting love, it is made known to them and they dwell in it.

Its fascinating how this provision and protection that we as God's Children receive is at once seen as a mighty defensive structure (shield, refuge and bulwark) and at the same time also a tender caregiver (A mother hen protecting her young), both something that we as fragile humans desperately need. This metaphor of a mother bird sheltering her chicks is common in sacred writings, it refers to God taking us under his wings when birds of prey appear, and also sheltering us from chilling blasts. Furthermore, it is interesting that the The Septuagint reads: εντοις μετα φρενοις αυτου επισκιασεισοι “He will overshadow thee between his shoulders” This alludes to the custom of parents carrying their weak or sick children on their backs, and having them covered even there with a mantle.

This Psalm of faith written most likely by David reminds me that my God is worthy to be trusted in all circumstances, those in which he is my fortress and shield and even those that in which he is my father, cradling me upon his massive, capable shoulders when my strength has failed. and many times he is both these things--and more--at the same time.

Hard Boiled Eggs?

"The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says 'Give me all. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want you. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked—the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.'"
"...The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole self—all your wishes and precautions—to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are trying to do instead."
"...He [Jesus] never talked vague, idealistic gas. When He said, 'Be perfect,' He meant it. He meant that we must go in for the full treatment. It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all hankering for is harder—in fact, it is impossible. It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad."
-C.S. Lewis "Mere Christianity" ch. 8-

A Hill to Die On

We don't see light; we see what it touches. it is more or less invisible, made from nothing, just purposed and focused energy, infinite in its power (it will never tire if fired into a vacuum, going on forever). How fitting then for God to create an existence, then a metaphor, as if to say, here is something entirely unlike you, outside of time, infinite in its power and thrust: here is something you can experience but cannot understand. Throughout the remainder of the Bible, then, God calls Himself light. -Donald Miller, "Through Painted Deserts" p.60

I was talking to my friend Greg the other day and we were remarking on the inexplicable frustration we experienced when people use God, or the words of God, as weapons. It seems to me (to us) that more often than not it is those who have fallen into the path of legalism who are more guilty of this than others. They wield the word of God against their fellow believers (yes, even against their own children) in wrath and self-righteous indignation attempting to prove some point about the validity of their strongly held values. I admire the fever, i admire the conviction, yes i even admire the values sometimes to lesser or greater degrees. But should these be hills to die on? Should we hold with such conviction our values of music? Of dance? Of alcohol? Or even of lesser, petty, theology?
There comes a time when i must think that the heart, yea even the mind, must stop and consider the outlandishness of a value that is an extrapolation of scripture overshadowing the value of love and brotherly kindness. When did our preconceived notions of "Christian morals" become more important than the simple teaching of Christ about Faith, Hope, Truth and Love? When did our personal beliefs become the standard for the rest of Christianity? And when did these personal standards become a pedestal from which we look down on the meager masses of milling Christians wallowing in adulterous sin to their maker? Who gave us that right? Are we so great that we understand the infinite mind of God? Are we so great as to think that what we have interpreted as "right Christian living" is not open for debate; is the only answer and the only true example?
I fear, my friends, that if Christ were to walk among us today we would be the pharisees. I fear that we would be the "whitewashed tombs" who harbor so many rules and regulations that we cannot accept the simple grace of the messiah. For what is grace but a thing undeserved? Why then do we, who have received such a gift, live continually striving to be worthy? For what are all these rules and regulations that we set up but standards we try to meet so as to feel justified and know that God "approves" of us? It is not so my friends. No matter how high your standards, or how exacting your methods, you will never be viewed by God as any better or more spiritually worthy than the next Christian who has none of those standards. God does not judge in that way. My dear friends if He did none of us would be here. And if initial grace is not earned by merit, how then can we think that the grace of sanctification is any different...or anything different than the same grace we initially received?
Why then hold so dear to standards extrapolated from scripture? on music? or on alcohol? or on dancing, smoking, etc.? (or ANYTHING else we feel called to apart from scripture?) These are mere personal standards that have no foundational basis in scripture as to be a command for ALL men. They make no person better, they make no person more worthy Most importantly, they make no person more loved by God--and adherence to them should make no person more or less loved by US.
God, and godliness, and His words are not yours to use as your weapons against your own. He alone is the counselor to His thoughts, He alone will decide whom He loves and gives grace to, He is unthinkable and unsearchable, how dare we play His part in deciding what is, and who has Christian Spirituality by thoughts of our own choosing and making.

Retrace
Anberlin

Oh, how I've tried to get you out of my head.
And I lied, broken words I said.
Never thought I'd walk on this street again.
Standing where it all began.

Tried to forget when I left this town,
But it takes me right back when I come back around.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm right there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

Oh, how I find every subtle thing screams your name.
It reminds me of places of times we shared.
Couldn't live locked in these memories.
Now I'm chained to my thoughts again.

And I tried to forget when I left this town,
But I'll take you right back if you come back around.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm right there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

I need some shelter, I need some safety.
Photographs, they haunt me lately.
Chasing shadows as the evening takes me.
I'm still searching, but the picture's fading.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm right there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards, still counting backwards.

And no where else has ever felt like home.
And I can't fall asleep when I'm lying here alone.
I replay your voice, it's like you're here.
You move the earth, but now the sky is falling.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
In my mind, I'm back by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

Just Like the Sun...But More Like the Moon

How do we love?
Is it the same as sight?
Painted reflections on another’s heart
Sight unseen
Is choice an object?
How much more the intangible?

In the Interest of God

So, im going to be honest here, i cant figure this thing out. Why i do this to myself i don't know–i just figured out how to work the new facebook and navigate that semi-smoothly and then i throw the blogspot concept at myself. this is not good. i was literally lost in my OWN profile for a half hour. i couldnt figure out how to get back to my blog. i finally just had to sign out and then sign back in. Its hard to admit defeat–especially at the hands of an website.
But, while i was sitting there lost on my own page i noticed something...something interesting and maybe even disturbing. I was looking at my "interests". and they include, if you have not read them already (and if you havnt i dont hold it against you), God, reading, writing, theology, philosophy...etc. I read this list over a few times (for the seventh time as i tried to find my way out) and satisfied that it correctly summed up my life i began to scroll down in another hopeless search for a link to my blog, and then it dawned on me. What was God doing under my "interests"? Sure, like a good Christian i listed him first, who wouldnt....but an Interest? i mean, yeah...i'm interested in God for sure, but thats why i put Theology on there. theology is a legitimate interest. Should that be a designation for God?
I scrolled back up and stared at it. what should i do? Surely God didnt belong in this category...but where should i put Him? (figuratively speaking of course. remember, this is the guy who is lost in his own profile.) I liked the Passion of the Christ, but God didnt ultimately belong in my Movies. i like Christian music but he doesnt ultimately belong there. i like Christian books by Ted Dekkar and company but God doesnt ultimately belong there either. None of them seemed right, none of them seemed like the place to list God so that he would get the predominant place he deserved.
then i looked up. this little section labled "About me". A place where i had so cleverly written "its not" in a lame attempt to appear more spiritual. It occured to me that i would like to place the name of God there, i want that to be true. I want everything "about me" to be about God. I dont want Him relegated to an interest or a movie or a song or even one of my beloved books, i want him consuming and eminating from my life so that no one need even ask what i am "about", the answer is plainly obvious.
This might seem kinda silly, the movement of "God" from one category on a profile to another. But in some ways i think its highly symbolic. And no, if you check my profile, i have not changed anything yet. I'm not sure i can, not because i'll get lost...i've figured this out...i think, but because I'm not sure that what that movement would signify would be completely true. i WANT it to be, i pray that it will be, but i dont think it is. I shall think on this some more.

Oh The Joys

Have you ever volunteered for something only to find out later that significantly more was expected of you, and your services, than what was originally thought?
My day kinda went like this: to bed at 1 am after arriving back at Moody from a hilarious "haunted" corn maze. (its true that I haunted that corn maze way more effectively than the spooks they hired). I slept for 4 hours and woke up at 5:15 to hurry and get to work at the Catering kitchen and make coffee, O.J. and ice water for the people watching the Chicago Marathon. I was told originally that all i had to do was make the various drinks, drop them off at the specified location then peace out and go back to sleep until noon, at which time i would go back and pick it all up.
Now, anyone who has spent, oh say, three minutes with me on any morning knows that i am NOT a morning person. (i repeat, NOT a morning person). but i overcome this periodically to make money. (read: go to work). So when Mr. "i'm in charge of this party" walks over just as Austin and i were about to head back to bed and says: "So where's the platters? Your boss said you would plate up all the bagels", you can just imagine how happy i was. not only were there about 675 bagels in three ginormous bags, but ten dozen donuts and various boxes of random (and i mean RANDOM.) pastries. (we're talking wheat-based products i've never seen before)
But it gets better. Mr. "I'm in charge of this party" continues. he realizes that we are not exactly on the same page, and i have no doubt he caught my chilly, not-so-friendly, grouch gaze, and realized i had not planned on anything else than delivering his drinks. (and for good reason...THAT WAS ALL HE ORDERED.) He says: "Your boss also said you would stick around and replenish the drinks as they get empty...until noon."
This is where i became rather upset. before it was a minor inconvenience, he had only deprived me of a half hour of sleep by asking us to plate the bagels. now he was ripping away an entire morning of precious rest.

Mr Catering supervisor was NOT happy.

I really dont appreciate people taking advantage of the service we offer. and dropping my bosses name to make me do stuff for you aint cool either. So what did i do? i did as i was asked, not because the customer is always right (they're not...they RARELY are, most of them dont have an iota of a clue as to what they are talking about), but because i knew that when a customer asks us to add to an order the day of the event we get to itemize the list of the extra things and charge them extra for them. =)
is it revenge if its standard policy? I might not care.
Poor Austin had to work with me all morning as i took my anger out in passive ways, like muttering sarcastic comments at the WMBI guy standing on a platform by the street screaming into a microphone at the marathon runners saying the same thing over and over... "Go, go! you can do it! yeah! Go go! you can do it!..."
...i mean seriously...shut up.
Radio people need to say on the radio–where i can turn them OFF if i want. i seriously doubt any one of those runners was like, "you know im gonna quit now at mile marker 11.......oh wait! i've been invigorated by the annoying man on the microphone who just loves to hear his own voice! i can now continue running and finish!"
honestly? i mean, seriously. If they are tired at mile 11 when they run by Moody they deserve to drop out. didnt they train for this? call me pessimistic or fatalist but the Kenyan's win anyway. they run by a full half hour ahead of everyone else. I understand its a personal accomplishment to run the 26.2 miles of the marathon, that is not lost on me. But i just dont think that any man screaming on a mic is going to encourage them any more than anyone else. Now he might make them run faster to get AWAY from him. that might be an advantage for them.

Anyway, that was my day.
i finish with a quote that i think is quite applicable to this situation, and as Austin said, sums up the entire job of catering as a whole:

"Poor planning or communication on your part does not necessitiate an emergency on mine."

words to live by my friends.

Excerpt from My Latest Song

I saw a city
Marked under rain
By night and then by day
Hurried and busy
She was frantic and unknown
Light and color
War and peace
The reflection of sheer beauty
Blurred by the deep
Lost and wandering
Sure and steady
Cold and wet
Yet amazingly well met
I saw a city
I saw my heart

It's the Question

Bent twisted broken confused
How to wind up like this: I muse
Dream a life away holed up inside
Ironic that I forget the power to pray
Is it enough to throw a life away?
Enough to stake a claim of enduring love?
Is walking away the failure of a decision?
Or the failure of an option?
Sick of pain, sick of waiting, sick of no assurance
I'm tired of fighting alone.
But yet, still there is love.

The Squirrel and the Scream

The gum trees outside the back fence are turning red, yellow and orange; the squirrels are alternating between scurrying around collecting nuts and avoiding our dogs who are running around crazily because of the brisk weather. Soon the pine trees will drop dull yellow needles that will coat the ground in overlapping circles beneath their trunks. The oak leaves will pile up in the yard blown against the fence in random piles perfect for a momentary childhood diversion–if i would be so inclined.
And i will miss it this year. Fall in the pinelands of NJ has always been my favorite; and stuck downtown in Chicago i wont get a chance to see the gum trees explode in color, or the squirrels play their carefully choreographed dances cheating certain death by dog, nor will i get to play football on the slippery needles beneath the pines. And hard as it may be to imagine, Chicago doesn't offer many chances to jump in a pile of crispy, crunchy leaves feeling them scratch against my face and smelling the dark scent of earth and the sweet aroma of fall that can only be experienced while rolling in a pile of fallen foliage.
Its all a rather nostalgic thought for me and i cant escape it, no more than i can escape the changing weather or the candy stuffed in every store shelf. But on a happier note, Chicago does have some rather diverting haunted corn mazes that are fun to traverse with friends–especially the girls who run and scream when the guy with the fake chainsaw runs at us. its all rather amusing. though, not as amusing as watching the squirrels run when lucky chases them.