This Is The Thing

This Is The Thing that is rocking my world right now (the song, not the video). I can’t explain it—just is: over and over and over.

Until I saw the last episode of Lie To Me, I’d never heard of Fink before (glad I watch tv!).

Into The Night

Sorry, if this is redundant—I’m posting on both blogs. Just came across a band called the Motorhomes that’s no longer together. If my legacy was as good as this, I’d be okay with that. I’m in love with this song right now…added to fav list.

Into The Night by The Motorhomes

Let

One of my essential Christian Living books, Holy Sweat by Tim Hansel, continues to deliver again and again.

I was reminded of one of it’s little gems this last weekend in a conversation with a new believer who didn’t know how to do all the things he felt compelled to change and fix in his new life. It wasn’t a guilt feeling, but more of an overwhelming.

Hansel’s advice applies:

1. “Contrary to what you may have heard, we are not called to live for Christ, we are called to live in Christ…”

2. “…A brilliant New Testament scholar once asked a group of us what is the most important word in the New Testament. We all took stabs at it. Was it love? Faith? Hope? Sanctification? Grace? “No,” he said. “It’s the little word let. L-E-T.” Let Jesus Christ do his work in you. Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus… Let your peace return to you…Let your light shine before men… Let is a word of transforming faith, with encyclopedias of meaning poured into it. Let assumes the total love and power of the Creator. It assumes that heaven is crammed with good gifts the Father wants to give his children. The profoundly simple word let is the gate that opens to that power. It gives God permission to work his might in us. That’s the good news…”

When Two Strikes are Three Strikes

God speaks to me.

Mostly, He seems very concerned with the (other) people in my life. In fact, He frequently encourages me toward doing things for them. This might seem silly, that God would use the same voice He used to separate light and dark, make plants grow and man appear, just to tell me some little thing to do for another person. It may seem inappropriate, or irresponsible, to waste precious communication on little gestures, gifts, and encouragements given the systemic economic and moral unrest of our country. From my perspective, it’s the perfect use of His voice: He still cares about people and their needs; He’s still involved on a personal level in my (and their) lives; He has control of the universe—planets and seasons are still swimming in order—we are the ones out of our lanes.

Yet, I still test His voice—in fact, I rail against it at times. I like my world small and manageable. I don’t like others intruding into my tidy world and hence I hate intruding on others—doing so makes me feel awkward. I’ve found this to be a great test of whether God is truly speaking to me, by asking: am I being called to step out of my comfortable world in pursuit of someone with a need, or is this something I’d naturally do? The little heart palpitations and garden-hose flow of sweat on my brow only results from His call to step out, into awkward situations and assist someone else. My heart races and I sweat because I’m that shy, that disposed to my organized, air-conditioned life (without awkward moments) and because I don’t have a routine for new moments. Some people like adventures like these; I don’t.

So, it was with much chagrin that I walked into my apartment and immediately noticed a book I normally give out to friends (I already know) who need some spiritual encouragement. The reason for my chagrin was that I had just spoken with my neighbor, who was putting the finishing touches on cleaning her apartment before moving away. It was a last chance to communicate with someone I’ve spoken with exactly 5 times in a year of living next door to one another. I said my goodbye, unlocked my front door, entered, and my eye fell on my Jesus Calling book. I have four left.

And God spoke: Give one to her.

My immediate thought was that she would not want one, would not get anything from it. I’ve given this book to numerous friends who walk daily with God and they didn’t absolutely love it. Why would she? I reasoned. Walking past my bookshelf, I moved to get ready for my run. Getting dressed I played the back-and-forth argument in my head. I should give her a Bible if I’m going to donate a book. I should try to preface it with some statement that will make sense of the gift. I should be more eloquent than, “here.” I should plan this out. That, by the way, is always my defensible fortress for inactivity: planning.

By then, I was in my running gear and selecting my playlist. I actually grabbed a book off the shelf. Opening the door I could hear my neighbor arguing with her friend (who was helping her clean). I didn’t want to get (even more) involved. And, reasoning to myself, me standing in my workout clothes was way worse than before. I planned to give her a book once I got back. Strike One.

God spoke again: Give one to her.

I ignored His voice and walked downstairs thinking I’d give her the book when I got back. I ran fast, planning to hand her a book the instant I got thru the front door—I walked it out in my head, even.

Of course, once I returned all sweaty and flushed, I realized that handing a book while pouring (even more) sweat from my forehead really was the wrong direction. I needed to shower and be presentable, I figured. Passing her open front door (again) I grabbed a fast shower–thinking to give her the book once I was properly attired and adequately not flushed. Strike Two.

Once cooled and attired, book in hand, I opened my door to walk over and give her my gift. Her door was closed.

She was gone.

This experience must seem silly after my last post about caring and taking the time to affect others. I’m saddened by a) not simply following through and answering God’s voice and call (it shames me, actually) and b) that I missed doing something positive in her life through the simple act of communicating my care in the gift of a beloved book.

I found out today that I am still very weak, very timid, and very human. And even when God speaks I don’t respond as I would like. This is not how I want to be tomorrow.

The Cost of Caring

10 minutes into my run, random songs with fast tempos and heavy bass pumping adrenaline into my body via my ears, another sound catches my attention. Something from outside the earbuds crammed into my head.

“Josh… Josh… Josh!”

Looking over my shoulder I see Sandy Brown, grinning ear-to-ear and leaning out the window of his white Suburban. Without another thought I turn around, winding around some random apartment sign slammed into the dirt, to snake my way up to shake his hand. I’ve not seen Sandy in months, and an occasional phone call here and there just doesn’t go far enough down the road of keeping us even remotely caught up. Sandy is an amazing guy; someone I need to know better, hang around, learn from and eat his (freakin’ amazing) barbecued [anything]. He’s been going through rough times lately. More than just the loss of much of his business, a broken water heater flooded his home. And on, and on, and on. He’s one to never talk about himself, but I was insistent, truly wanting to hear how the fam was and that things were good. They were.

We talked. Briefly. Said appropriately parting words. He leaned back into the car and I spun back around and continued on. “Great exchange,” I thought to myself, “glad I stoppped to say hello.”

Smug with my own greatness, it only took me 10 more steps before the next thought staggered me: How am I going to finish this run under my time limit? My throbbing heart thudded to the floor.

I’ve made a commitment to myself: I have to run 3 miles, as often as I can, but always under 30 minutes. Totally doable; my average time has been 28 minutes–starting at 29 and lately being closer to 27. This is my 6th run in the last two weeks (thank you, Spring). Yet, after maybe 4 minutes of conversation with Sandy, I’m suddenly out of reasonable bounds. I wasn’t sure I could still do it.

Immediately I thought: “Well, talking with Sandy is more important than being under my time on that run. It was a priority. And nobody is watching (or even cares about) my run times. Barely even me, most days (unless it’s really good and close to 27 minutes). Immediately after that first Immediately I picked up the pace, choosing to defer my ultimate fatality to the clock and not my own incompetence or weakness of will.

And sure enough, the clock wasn’t friendly. Noting times at familiar places, I was 3 minutes behind a normal run schedule. Bigger steps. Faster pace. Stitch in the side, shallowness of breath. Gasp. I made the run, forcing myself to do it on time and under 30 minutes. But it hurt. A lot (still does in fact). There may be a payoff later down the road in having risen to the challenge, but that’s not why I did it.

The pointlessness of this daily moment is mitigated by the single thought that taking time to care for another always has a cost. Sometimes it’s a personal one, but not always. Sometimes it’s public, maybe even humiliating. The choice to not care is always there—to not stop, take a moment, to not reach out. In doing so things may not hurt as bad.

Still, I encourage you to take the time. Let it hurt. Live to the fullest.

From Jesus Calling

Words I think will help a friend—as they did for me this morning.

THIS IS A TIME IN YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU MUST LEARN TO LET GO: of loved ones, of possessions, of control. In order to let go of something that is precious to you, you need to rest in My Presence, where you are complete. Take time to bask in the Light of My Love. As you relax more and more, your grasping hand gradually opens up, releasing your prized possession into my care.

You can feel secure, even in the midst of cataclysmic changes, through awareness of My continual Presence. The One who never leaves you is the same One who never changes: I am the same yesterday, today, and forever. As you release more and more things into My care, remember that I never let go of your hand. Herein lies your security, which no one and no circumstance can take from you.

Devotional taken from Jesus Calling (March 24) by Sarah Young

Poppycock

Driving to work today I was surprised by what looked like a large cloud of smoke—a huge gray mass (thanks, Don Delillo) that blotted out the world beneath. I was mistaken, and what looked like the signal of a massive fire was merely a remnant, lone bank of fog still traversing the valley floor unaware of Spring’s recent return. Part of the city literally lie encased in cloud—and my path to work led directly through it. Outside, around and above: breezes grew in flits of bird feathers and falling petals; inside: sunlight fell as though through a damp washcloth, diffuse and wan. Summer reclined behind a sheen of soft-pulled cotton. Beautiful, but unreal, I had wakened to brilliant rays of golden light shining overhead—only to once again be driving through the gray soup of an ominous winter cloud. Windows down, dew clutched at my outstretched hand.

I just heard: my grandmother died today at 5:48pm. I am back under that cloud again.

…

I remember a pot of flowers in a jar, sitting atop the credenza by the door.
I remember peanut butter and honey sandwiches with butter.
I remember ragged handfuls of dryer lint, collected to become a future art project.
I remember clusters of brown and blue Bennington pottery on the windowsill.
I remember Pyrenees french bread left on the cutting board, a trail of crumbs left in the wake of the knife.
I remember piles of fall (and other) leaves lying in stacks on the TV tray: a current art project.
I remember a moody painting on the wall above Grandpa’s chair that drew me like moth to flame.
I remember “Poppycock” being the response to anything and everything.
I remember an insatiable smile, intelligence and will to live.

…

Her last words to me: “Nice knowing ya.”

Poppycock.

Basin

The mountains lie like a distant calico under meandering clouds.

Driving Home

Headlights from oncoming cars projected out into the intersection, illuminating the falling rain. Columns of clouds stood, chiseled from the very air into sculptures as firm as the earth below, slowly, crumbling in a stop-motion time lapse. Shadows cast from the rim of mountains hundreds of miles away crept up these shifting giants as they fell facewards into the setting sun.

Ahead: a fantastic wall of billowing rawness, pushed up against the hills where it would spill out guts of new life onto land emptied of itself—always up, up over and thinner into the distance. Behind: a golden haze of sunlight and diffused hues, all spun horizontal and slowly descending.

I spent the whole drive home staring at the sky—my camera locked in an apartment I would reach long after the moment of its need. My eyes and memory would have to suffice for these shifting scenes… and the only Take-Home worth unburdening was the mantra I’ve said a hundred times already: don’t ever leave home without your camera again.

Still, the value of the day lies not in what I saw, but in what I foresaw. That place I glimpsed full of monster clouds and prism brilliance, of shifting blues-in-shadow across standing golden-hued pillars. That, or somewhere above it, is my future home…

…and I can’t wait.

I even asked God for a hammock (for that day). I don’t think I’ll need it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

Brokedown Palace

Help me to feel complete in You—
in the way I think her love
will make me feel
in the way buying that
will make me feel
in the way knowing that
will make me feel
in the way realizing that
will make me feel
in the way having it
will make me feel
in the way being it
will make me feel.

I’d rather fight you for something
I don’t really want
than take what You give that I need.

You made me. I want You—
I just don’t know it or see it
most days. Help me.