Call It Like It Is.

I closed my eyes to better feel the drum beat reverberating in my chest.
The throng of voices resonating off the warehouse walls, hundreds of hearts vibrating to the same rhythm.

I smiled to myself as I thought of the quiet worship of last week. So different, both rich.
Rich also, the comforting smell of strong coffee, this time from the cups of friends on left and right.

Between the coffee, music, poignant sermon, and Eucharist, there was a whole bunch of awesome. But one thing in particular stuck with me.

A few words from Paul in the book of Acts.

“Yet he did not leave himself without witness, for he did good by giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, satisfying your hearts with food and gladness.”

He said this to the people of Lystra.  A people who named the Giver of Good with titles like Hermes and Zeus.

Yet he did not leave himself without witness.

This kept reverberating off the walls of my heart long after the music stopped.

It didn’t matter that they used names like Demeter or Apollo to give credit.  It didn’t matter that they were getting the name wrong.  At the end of the day; rain and bounty and satisfaction and joy came from I AM.

When I don’t have the language. The times I don’t take notice, He is still giving testament.  Witness of his love. His good-doing. He is forever giving evidence.

I took the dog for a walk to spend some time listening, desperate to hear.  Instead I found myself barking to stop the barking and hopelessly day dreaming.  [Which is where I usually find myself.  Not the barking, but the day dreaming part.]  I wasn’t hearing anything, my mind too busy running around frantic and starry eyed like the dog at the end of the leash.

Until, I saw it.
Witness.

Fresh green leaves.  Twisting in the breeze and evening sun.
There was one of those slow motion movie moments and I felt the vibration in my ribs.

Yet he did not leave himself without witness.

Even if I wouldn’t have seen it.  The Beauty would have still occurred.

It was by the kisses of my nephew and the heavy eyelids of my little niece.
It was across the sun lit sidewalk over a cup of peachy-tea with pen in hand.
It was in the sharing of vulnerable lessons and freckling cheeks.
It was on the beige table holding sandwiches and pickles and long overdue catching up.
It was through live melody and poems of hope and healing accompanied by guitar.
It was under huge maps and late night laughter in chairs and a purple couch.
It was God.
Bearing witness.

“Even with these words they [Paul and Barnabas] scarcely restrained the people from offering sacrifice to them."

After explaining that all the good was from The God, the Lyconians still attributed the miracles to the names of Hermes and Zeus.  They were given the language, given name.  And they missed it.

I want to Name this.
I want to call it like it is.

Let’s not miss the witness.

More To What More.

The announcements were just starting as the musicians ambled back to their seats.
The smell of dark, black coffee in hand drifted up to my nose and I found a seat.

I ran out the door five minutes prior, in a last minute decision to return to a church I had visited a few weeks earlier.  As I settled down into my chair and rummaged through my purse to find my bible I could not have been happier with my frantic choice.  The sweet routine of Sunday morning.

Ritual and routine is something I want to pretend that I don’t unabashedly love.  Crazy religious nuts do that; love that meaningless, going through the motions stuff. Part of the reason I thought I wouldn’t come back here.  It was so foreign.  Robes. Chanting. Readings.

But, who am I kidding?
I love routine.
The comfort of the leather in my hands. The familiar words spilling from the mouths of my neighbors. The standing and the sitting.  Okay, I still don’t like shaking hands with people around me with only enough time for an awkward "Good Morning", but I admittedly adore the comfort of sameness on the morning of the sabbath. [And this probably deserves a post of it’s own...]
Thankfully this morning I was able to look past the white robes and sash to hear something interesting. It’s a little more on What More? I wrote not long ago.

“Faith equals evidence plus the willingness to believe”

John 20:24-25
Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came.  So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

Thomas was told by the disciples, [notice plural] -people with whom he’d lived and journeyed with for months.  Trusted comrades told Thomas that they had seen Christ return.  Just as Jesus promised.  And yet, that wasn’t enough.  Thomas wanted more.  He had the evidence, the word of many bystanders from several different occasions.  [Let’s not forget the Mary’s sighting at the tomb.]  He just couldn’t take the words for truth until his own hands and eyes could prove it.

And then Christ appears to Thomas.
“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.” 


See you idiot. Didn’t I tell you I was coming back? Why didn’t you believe?
No, no.  That’s not what he says.
He says, “Do not disbelieve, but believe.”
Jesus doesn’t ground our doubting Thomas into the ground, but calls him up. Up to belief.

Jesus goes onto say that the blessed are those who believe when they haven’t put their fingers in wounds.  I don’t think this calls us to be ignorant. Thomas wasn’t informed that Jesus had risen from the dead only by the town loony.  He was informed by reliable sources.  He did have evidence. Blessed are those who have evidence, even if it might not feel like quite enough, and choose to believe.  If I’m honest with my doubting self, there will never be quite enough.  And so continues my wrestling. I have accumulated a pretty overwhelming amount of evidence in my short life.  And am amassing more with the passing days. Am I willing to really step into the mess of all of it?

What more do you need? What more?

John 20:30-31
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.

Relentless Assurance.

Sometimes I really need words of hope. Okay, all the time I really need words of hope. There are a lot of dark, heavy things going on out there and over here. And sometimes when it seems like too much, I run across something that gives me strength and courage and comfort.

The words of Jesus as recorded by John:

Let not your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God; believe also in me.


In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? and if I go and prepare a place for you I will com again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.


Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.


Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.  If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it.


And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth,


You know him, for he dwells with you and will be with you.


I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.


Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me.  Because I live, you also will live..


If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.


But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whome the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your rememberance all that I have said to you.


Peace I leave you, my peace I give to you.


Let not your heats be troubled, neither let them be afraid.


These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be full.


No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends.


You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.


Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you.  But if I go, I will send him to you.


You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy.  When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.


So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.


Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.




I thought about trying to edit this down, as it seemed like a lot to read.
But why cut short relentless appeals to step out of despair and into hope?
May you know His relentless assurance. His relentless presence. His relentless love.
And may it strengthen and renew your weary soul.



And for more words on hope read this.
It’s like she took the words right out of my mouth.  Except for they were better than what would have come out.  :)

Pack It Up, Pack It In. Let Me Begin.

Packing.
I’ve been packing all my life.
In boxes. Duffle bags. Suitcases. Plastic totes. Paper bags. Lunch bags. Hiking packs and backpacks. Purses and pockets. Trash bags, trailers and trunks.

It started first with sleep overs.
Escalated with every other weekend and Wednesday nights.
I pulled things together for vacations and trips.
For school and dance class.
In the fall and again in the spring.
From cabin to cabin and house to house.
From tent to mountaintop.
Across the country and over the oceans.
In fact, packing has become my permanent.

I’m quite proficient at this routine.

Choose versatile combinations.
At least one good book.
Quickly run through your possible activities.  Choose shoes accordingly.
Just keep all personal hygiene products forever in one bag.  And on the off chance that you happen to leave your deodorant on the sink, you’ll only smell bad for a time.  Unless of course you keep your lavender oil in that toiletry bag and your sandalwood in your purse.  Which of course you do, so no worries.
Always pack extra underwear.  You just never know.
Dental floss and a little toothpaste can cover a multitude of forgetting that toothbrush after a last minute brushing.
Simplify.  See the first piece of advice. And notice the quantity of bag in line four.  Add small to that.
Roll.  Not fold, roll.
Don’t neglect the power of the extra pockets.  Use them wisely.

Despite my perceived packing prowess, I have come to loathe this routine.  It is a necessary evil in the game of life. True, it doesn’t usually take me very long, but I despise it all the same.  My least favorite part of the travel process to be sure.

I’ve spent way to many late nights stuffing bags and boxes.  I’m getting better at preemptively packing, which may really speak of my mastery of this routine, as I am often a procrastinator.  Add that to the list: Don’t wait until the last minute. Packing sucks anytime you do it, but the suckfest is only magnified when you feel exhausted and rushed.

Packing represents the end.  The end of a week.  A party with friends.  A vacation. A semester. A job. The end of a season. The end of relationships. The end of something.

As I tucked the last corner under the first, I thought about the loss.  The end.

And also the beginning.  Because while packing represents the end, it also represents a beginning.  The beginning of the next week.  A different party.  A new adventure. Another semester. A new job. The start of a new season.  The beginning of relationships.  The start of something.

The box I just taped up isn’t going to sit closed forever.  It’s going to get hoisted down after a time.  Tape ripped open and contents sorted through. The bag will get emptied and filled again soon. It’s a continuous action.  A perpetual movement, a continual metamorphosis.

Because the contents of bag I packed for that first sleep over doesn’t look the same these days.  Those footie pajamas wouldn’t fit anymore.  And it’s a different bag anyway, if we’re getting into specifics.

As time goes on, some things get carried over, some left behind. I happen to pick up a new shirt and leave an old pair of tennis shoes. Some sand or a rock or two hop on board and a million socks and a billion hair ties seem to get lost along the way.

Sure, the transition is sometimes tiresome, but I need to learn to love packing.
For one thing, it keeps me from ending up with a bunch of useless crap.
But it also helps me sift and sort.  Reorder and reorganize.  It forces me to evaluate what I really need and what I could and should do without. See what I’ve gained and recognize what I’ve shed.

Packing allows things to end, in order that new things can begin.

The Proverbial Snack.

Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates reproof is stupid.

I may or may not have laughed out loud when I came across this verse.
And cried at the same time.

Proverbs does a great job of cutting to the heart and creatively using language to paint a picture.  And in this case, to cut right to the chase.  For some reason the use of ‘stupid' shook me awake from the metaphors and analogies strewn throughout the verses.

After reading a few chapters however, the art of written word is not what sticks with me.  It’s the cutting part.  The part that feels like a cup of cold water to the face.  The chapters feel like one tall order after another.

Whoever belittles his neighbor lacks sense, but a man of understanding remains silent. 

Unfortunately, I have not always been a "man of understanding" in remaining silent... 

Whoever is steadfast in righteousness will live, but he who pursues evil will die.      

Steadfast in righteousness probably not on my top five list of self-descriptors...

Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life; he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.     

 I was born with a big mouth?

Proverbs is a great road map.  Except for it’s more like a trail map.  Through the AT’s hundred mile wilderness.  It’s all laid out for you, but it’s going to take some serious sweat to get from point A to point B.

The great news is that there are a lot of really incredible promises laid right beside those charges.  One of my favorites:

I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently will find me.

Promises that are the pat on the back after the slap on the shoulder.  That all the hard work involved with developing habits of righteousness and corralling tendencies to behave rashly leads to something good.  Things like finding that for which you search.

With the humble is wisdom.
The righteous will never be moved.
A gracious woman gets honor.

And there are also just some beautiful truths about life.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life. 
The heart knows its own bitterness, and no stranger shares its joy.
Anxiety in a mans heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad.

And so there is a little nibble of Proverbs.  You’ll encounter some things to look forward to like honor and security and wisdom.  And you’ll also get knocked around a little bit on issues of being lazy, speaking when you shouldn’t or ignoring what you know is right.

I highly recommend digesting some more of this, even if some parts are kind of hard to swallow.  I hear if you can’t take a little reproof your stupid...so there’s that.

The Ship: Part II

The sun beats down on your sea-weathered face,
A smile plays at your lips.
You feel the soft wooden handles of the wheel beneath your fingers,
Rejoice in the calm of a fresh day.

You breathe deep.
The air, crisp and sweet,
It fills your weary lungs.
So to, the gleaming sails now taut and full, as well.
It stirs up your hair and brushes past your face.
The bow cutting through the blue green swells forward and onward, once again.

You think back to the night before.
Hunkered beneath the creaking deck.
You squint your eyes and gaze about and that is when you see.
The place that you find your self on this new morning,

It’s right where you ought to be.

These aren’t the coordinates you had set before the squall kicked up.
It wasn’t your original plan.
Strangely, wonderfully, you find that what lies upon the horizon,
Is what you set out for from the start.

Your smile widens and you realize a new and profound truth.
Your ship was not unmanned last night, while you hid out down far below.

The ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before,
Ever carrying you through.

A tear rolls down your freckled cheek.
Now finally you know.
You know the reason you’ve made it through the wind and driving rain.
The ship is strong and sturdy, true.
But the Captain, the real Captain, it is He who has carried you through.

While you waited out the storm, unable to set the course.
The Navigator was there all the time.
Setting the path.
Guiding you on.
His strong calloused hands, took control of the spinning wheel.
Set the course in the blackest of nights.
He knew just where you were going, even when you could not see.

You look down at your hands.
They know this wheel so well.
The salted tear, it hits your lips as they curl up once again.
You open your fingers, drop your hands to the side.
And turn over the wheel.


[click here for part one]