How to Stay Calm in the Midst of Chaos

Have you noticed the trees lately?

A lot has been happening in the world around us. Much of it has been invoking quite a bit of passionate discussion and argument from many people. There seems to be noise on every side. But trees are not bothered by any of it.

They watch and wait and stay stoically quiet as the world carries on around them. They do not waver. They do not falter. They cannot be provoked and never seem arrogant. They are like silent, wise and patient giants.

In a sea of uproar the trees hold their tongues, waiting patiently to be noticed, and--if given enough attention--heard. For if you listen long enough, you might find that the trees do indeed speak. They whisper with the wind as their branches wave to and fro in a slow, elegant dance.

The trees have seen much; plenty more than you and I. Some have been seeing since before we were born. Some, perhaps, since before our ancestors even set foot in our respective countries. They are waiting. They long to tell us their stories--for they have many. Tales of wisdom, tragedy, terror, and beauty are written, etched, and scribed into their bark.

If we would but sit and notice.


Be still.



Muzzle our minds and quiet our hearts.




We may hear the trees breathe.





Softly, gently, ever so gently, they may choose to share with us legends of old.







Harken to the trees. Heed to the sway of their boughs. Pay attention to the rustling of their leaves. They are waiting for us to listen and learn.








Have you noticed the trees lately?

The Scratching

It is as if my body were a coffin in which the holy spirit lay.  I am six feet separated at least from all manner of people.  Yet the holy spirit within me is alive and vibrant and full of a ferocious love.  It is clawing, biting, scratching and gnawing at the insides of my coffin-body.  But it can never break out, for I alone have been given the keys to the coffin, and the walls at which the holy spirit scratches are of its own design: impenetrable by none other than myself.

I feel the holy spirit throwing itself against my lid: it is desperate to escape.  Not for its own life or breath or safety, but for the life and breath and love of those who walk six feet above.

I know this because at certain instances I have opened the lid of my coffin.  I have never felt such joy as I have on those occasions.  I have never known elation like that of allowing the holy spirit out of my coffin and into the hearts of others.  Yet I have also never known such discomfort.  The hearts of others are six feet separate, after all; held apart from me by dirt and rock and root.

Have you ever dug a six foot hole by hand?  It is gruelling.  By the time you are done, your hands are bleeding, blistered, and raw.  Your shoulders ache.  Your arms feel like weights and your back screams in protest.  All for the joy and elation of love from the holy spirit working through me?  Surely not.

Must it not be better instead to simply endure the constant sound of fingernails on wood?  I am finding it is not.  The scratching is not only endless; it increases in volume with each passing day: building on itself with the momentous force of an orchestra that has no foreseeable crescendo.

To release the relentless force of love is like releasing a wild beast.  The energy used to contain it is suddenly free to run with it.  I know this, but whenever someone treads close to my coffin I endure the frantic scratching and attempt to quiet it with reason.

"Settle down"

"I'm sure she's fine"

"If he were really in a bad way he would ask me for help"

"Someone else will do it"

"If I ask about their day I'll have to have a conversation"

"I might upset them"

"They don't look friendly"

"They will think me strange"

As I let them walk away I feel a heart crack within my coffin.  I frantically begin to dig, suddenly realizing my foolishness.  What could have been a wonderful interaction is awkward and stilted as I leap, bloodied and aching, from my grave.  I shake the hand of the person the spirit desires to love and I walk away shortly after, thinking that it might be best to simply leave the coffin open forever.

"But not today" I think as I pour a shovelful of dirt back over my coffin-heart.

Cornucopia

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Persecuted? Or just a jerk?

Haters gonna hate. 

Have you ever had a conversation that goes something like the one below?

You: “I was listening to a great podcast by (some christian author) the other day—“

Friend: “Whoa..(some christian author)?  Careful, man, (some christian author) has some pretty iffy beliefs”

You: “Yea, I’ve heard, but this podcast really was quite good.  They were talking about (insert compelling topic here) and had some really interesting perspectives.”

Friend: “Hm.  I don’t know.  I heard (some christrian author)’s not even a pastor.”

Or perhaps you’ve had a conversation that has gone more like this one:

Friend: “I just have no patience for talking to non-christians about faith.”

You: “Why’s that?”

Friend: “Every time I’ve tried to talk to someone about being a Christian they’ve just called me judgemental”

You: “Why do you think that is?”

Friend: “They’re just ignorant and need Jesus.”

These are pretty dumbed down examples, but you get the idea. 

Living in Christian circles has forced me to have these types of conversations all my life.  Lately it has been bothering me more and more, and I think I may have finally figured out why.

There seems to be an incessant need amongst the Christian community to point out what is and isn’t worth believing or subscribing to, as well as a need to dictate what is and isn’t good theology, and who does or doesn’t know what they’re talking about.  I could write plenty about this being the result of an insecurity in our personal faith, but instead I’ll do this:

In his lifetime, Jesus is recorded as confronting and challenging many things about the Jewish faith of his day.  As a result, combined with his persecution/crucifixion and resurrection, we have modern Christianity. 

At first glance, this makes it seem that when we challenge, confront, or disagree with people or organizations who appear to sway from ‘the truth’ we are living like Jesus.  We think we are following Christ’s example when we confront others and are treated poorly for our faith. 

But let’s take another look. 

When Jesus challenged the religious leaders of his day, was he calling them out for being too forward thinking, or too religious?  When Jesus was persecuted, was it for being too religious, or too heretical? 

One of the most common words that gets thrown around when I hear my Christian friends criticizing well-known thinkers is exactly that: heretic.

I am by no means suggesting that every single author or speaker to come out with some new and challenging idea about God and Christianity is following after God’s heart, but what I am absolutely suggesting is that perhaps we have it backwards. 

Perhaps we are calling ourselves persecuted when we are actually just being a jerk and being treated as such.  Perhaps we are calling public figures heretics when they are in fact being persecuted for challenging us to stretch our religious bubbles.

Perhaps we think we are being like Christ, when in fact we are being much more like Pharisees.

“You are jealous of one another and quarrel with each other. Doesn’t that prove you are controlled by your sinful nature? Aren’t you living like people of the world?  When one of you says, “I am a follower of Paul,” and another says, “I follow Apollos,” aren’t you acting just like people of the world?

After all, who is Apollos? Who is Paul? We are only God’s servants through whom you believed the Good News.”

- 1 Corinthians 3:3-5 (NLT)

Something to Say

I hate that I’m doing this.  

I swore off blogging a few years ago.  There are a lot of reasons for that—some good and some bad—but that’s not what I’m here to write about.

Blogging is such a wonderful thing when it’s done well.  The best blogs I’ve read are ones that make observations on life, offer a possible take-away, and send you on your way.  Naturally, this is what I tried to do in the past with my own blog.

The trouble with taking my own observations and writing them down for others to read is that somehow, for one reason or another, once I had spent several hours trying to capture an observation and make it accessible for others it had turned sour: Every time I tried to help others grasp what I was grasping, I found I could no longer grasp it myself.  Not only that; I had no more desire to grasp it in the first place.

What part of writing precious observations down turned them sour? 

A couple weeks ago was Easter, and for a few weeks before that was the season of lent.  This year, for the first time in my life, I decided to partake in lent: I was giving up video games and social media for forty days.  The only social media outlets I would allow myself to engage in were ones that enabled actual, necessary communication with others(i.e. Facebook messenger).

To avoid going off on an unnecessary tangent, I’ll simply say that the reasoning for abandoning these things was because I felt I needed a good, long break from them.  Plain and simple: I felt like my life had an anchor around its neck labelled, ‘video games and social media’.  

I’m still unpacking the things I learned in that ‘lenten season’.  I won’t try to explain them to you.  See above.

Instead, I’ll do this:

There is a quote that floats around writing societies which has become a common phrase.  You may know it.  It goes like this: 

“You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Social media and blogs gave me the impression that I had something to say, and I’m fairly convinced I’m not the only one who gets wrapped up in that illusion.  

What I found when I partook in my lenten fast is that I certainly do have lots of good things to say; I have lots to say about love.  I have plenty to say about God.  I have so much to say about joy.  I have loads and loads on how our society could be so much better.  But when I took away the ability to say those things on a computer, I discovered the ability to say them without talking about them at all.

Rather than try to explain how deep and complex the love in a marriage is, I made dinner with my wife.  

Rather than try to explain how God is found in the low places, I spent time with people in low places of life.

Rather than attempt to capture joy in a sentence, I ate meals with good friends.

Instead of telling society what was wrong with it, I started asking strangers how their day was going.

Did you catch it?

What am I saying about marriage or love when I make dinner with my wife?

What are you saying about God when you spend time with people in “low” places?

What are we saying about joy when we laugh with friends?

I want to write so much more; to bottle up what I’m trying to communicate in a perfect little package, but I can’t.  

I think that’s because the things really worth communicating are far, far bigger than words.

Are You a Threat?

There's a story in the bible about seven dudes who are called the sons of Sceva.  According to the story Sceva was a Jewish chief priest, and his sons seemed to be attempting to impress him by casting out a demon.  The story is found in Acts 19:11-16, and takes place during Paul's ministry.  We are told that it was well known that Paul was doing some pretty intense stuff.  Miracles like casting out demons and healing were happening regularly.

Because Paul did such, "cool" and, "impressive" things, and because he talked about Jesus, it looks like the Sons of Sceva put two and two together: Paul talks a lot about Jesus and he does miracles like casting out demons, therefore in order to cast out a demon we must have to mention Jesus.  So that's what they did.

The story goes that the Seven Sons of Sceva approached a man who was demon-possessed, and addressed the demon, saying these words: "I command you by the Jesus whom Paul preaches to come out!".  Different versions arrange the words differently from time to time, but the idea and command is the same.  The demon, in what I imagine was a terrifyingly confident and mocking voice, replied with this: "Jesus I know, and Paul I recognize--but who are you?" The story then tells us that he leaped upon them, and beat the living daylights out of all seven of them.  All seven.  The bible literally says they ran out of that house, "naked and wounded".

Whenever I used to read this story, or heard pastors talk about it, the focus always seemed to be on the method.  Everyone always seems to bash the Sons of Sceva for not knowing how to properly perform an exorcism, or for not having enough confidence, authority, and faith in Christ.  Up until recently I believed that this stuff really was the root of the problem, and spent my life living in fear that if I ever came across someone who was demon-possessed I might not have the confidence, authority, or know-how to, 'scare away' the demon.

But is that really the issue with the Sons of Sceva?  Were they really just not schooled enough in the, "Art of exorcism"?

About a month ago I was reading a book called Love Does by a man named Bob Goff(excellent read, highly recommend it).  In one of the chapters he very briefly mentions the Sons of Sceva, and alludes to the fact that he thinks the root of the problem is exactly what the demon said: it had no idea who they were.

They had done nothing for the enemy to take notice of.

Christians talk a lot about Spiritual Warfare.  And we do it in a lot of big words.  We make it sound like a very complex, intense, CRAZY thing that only happens when we are praying for people who are demon-possessed, or when we hear about huge catastrophes happening around the world.  Or, we just straight up say its only happening between the angels and demons, and that we have nothing to do with it except that we're the prize they're all fighting for.  While I do not at all refute the fact that so much of spiritual warfare takes place where we can not see it, and that it is indeed happening when exorcisms are performed or when children are being slaughtered by ISIS, I don't think this war is only happening when it is plainly visible.  And I don't think that any human at any point in time is just a bystander.  If anything, those catastrophes and exorcisms are skirmishes and diversions that result from the main part of the war: Everyday life.

Every single day we are faced with decisions.  Every single day we have opportunities to speak words of either love, hate, or indifference(which, for anyone who has been ignored or treated as irrelevant, can be just as bad--if not worse--than words of hate) to each and every person we interact with whether it's a coffee barista, a co-worker, our kids, or our spouse.  Each decision and word takes a step in one of two directions: the direction of the enemy, or the direction of God and His love.  There is no in between.  I think this is one of the reasons that Jesus has such a hard time with people who are, "Luke-warm"(Revelations 3:14-21). 

If Satan and his demons are as real and evil as we claim to believe they are, then we can be sure of the fact that they are an army hell-bent(no pun intended) on the complete obliteration of all love and goodness, and they most definitely communicate with each other.  And if Satan is as cunning and smart as the bible claims him to be, then you can be sure he makes it a priority to identify his biggest threats in the war.  I'm sure that list has plenty of exorcists on it, and no doubt there are more than a few pastors on there.  But do you know who I think makes the top of that list?  Loving mothers and fathers.  Nurses who work extra hard just to make sure their patients are comfortable AND getting healed.  People who go out of their own way to be kind, gentle, patient, giving, and loving.  People who live a lifestyle that stems from--and, as a result, proclaims--love.  These people won't be found seeking out demons to exorcise or arguing with athiests.  They'll be found in their kitchens making meals for friends who are low on income.  They'll be seen having actual conversations with the homeless guy on the corner that everyone else just throws money at or ignores.  They'll be overheard laughing with people, crying with people, and singing with people.  They are the real threats to Satan's battle strategy: they are the ones who make conscious decisions every day to love people.

Now, if someone like that did come across a demon-possessed person, I can't say for sure whether or not the demon would listen to them.  Honestly I can't.  There's a lot about exorcisms, demons, and the spiritual side of things that I truly DON'T know.  But I'd be willing to bet quite a lot of money that the demon would at least recognize who that person is, and it would probably be feeling anxious.

The issue with the Sons of Sceva wasn't that they, "did it wrong".  The issue is that they weren't a threat.  They didn't live lives that were concerning to the enemy or disastrous to his plans.  He wasn't worried about them, and he certainly wasn't afraid of them.

The title of this post has become a question that I now try to integrate into my life and ask myself every single day: Are you a threat?  Are you a living, loving, frustrating threat?

Letter to The Government

So a while ago I wrote a letter to the government that accompanied a bill that had to be paid.  According to my bank account, the CRA received our payment over a week ago, but we still haven't had the pleasure of finding a letter of reply in our mailbox.  I have a great fear that this letter never made it past the eyes of whoever opens mail at the CRA, or even that the letter was thrown out upon seeing that it was of no monetary value to the government.  Because of this fear I have posted the letter here on the internet, in hopes that someday it might reach the eyes it was intended for. 

In the meantime, feel free to give it a read!
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To Whom it May Concern,

Hi there.  I apologize if you are reading this as an everyday labor man/woman whose job is simply to open letters and pass them on to the right person or file them or deposit the checks sent in or whatever.  This letter is not meant for you, though you are more than welcome to read it and even get a good chuckle from it as well—if they let you do that kind of thing in big important government offices. 

If you are the sort of person this letter is intended for—the kind who wears fancy suits and talks about the sorts of things educated people talk about—please do not be offended by any of the above comments.  I do not write this letter to attack you.

As a matter of fact, I am beginning to realize that I have simply written this letter to make you laugh.  In all honesty my original intentions were to be quite rude and belligerent about owing the government money that they shouldn’t have given me in the first place, but as I sat down to write I’m pretty sure I heard a twinkle shoot from my eye and a smile crack my lips.  Why?  The hell if I know. 

But I digress.

You probably want to know what in the world this letter is about and whether it’s worth your time to continue reading.  I can assure you that it probably isn’t in the grand scheme of things, but I imagine you’re usually reading normal, boring, regular government things all day or doing math or something.  So perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing to take a five to ten minute break and continue reading.  Or two minutes.  Maybe you’re a better reader than I assume.  Sorry about that.  Maybe you hate reading and by just sending you this letter I have offended you.  How un-Canadian of me(though may I suggest that if you hate reading you should really look at getting a different job…I mean…you DO work for the government...not exactly a position to be found void of tasks that involve reading). 

As I was saying, we’d all love to know what the point of this letter is, and why I’ve used several precious sheets of paper to get it to you.  Though if we want to talk about a wasteful use of paper, we should probably talk about you(damn, what a good segue!  You’ll see what I mean in a moment).  But in order to talk about you, we’ll have to start at the beginning of the story…

My wife and I were married in July of 2013 at the very irresponsible ages of twenty and twenty-one.  It was an exciting time full of joy, laughter, and adventures in obtaining a marriage certificate—license—permit—thing.  Because we were—and are—so irresponsible, we both decided to be in university and college at the same time as being newly married.  This actually turned out to be an advantage because we got plenty of OSAP grants.  In order to get those grants, however, we needed proof that we were married.  In order to prove that we were married, we needed our marriage certificate-license-permit.  We were told it would take six weeks to arrive in the mail, to which we both irresponsibly—and somewhat ignorantly—replied, “No big deal!”

Our marriage thing finally arrived in the mail sometime in October of 2013.  The key thing to remember is that we were married in July of 2013, and we were told it would arrive in six weeks.  Another key piece of knowledge is this: had my darling wife not paid a visit to our local MPP(whose name is The Honorable Liz Sandals by the way.  Super helpful lady.  She is awesome) we would probably still be waiting!

Now, what does this have to do with an employee of the CRA?  Excellent question!  You get ten points.  Points can be redeemed at the home of my wife and I at any time.  They are redeemable in the form of food, drink, and laughter.  It’s a three in one combo.  And no I’m not kidding.  We live at the address listed above.  Basement apartment.  Side entrance.  If you need help with directions my number is ________________.  It would also be nice if you called ahead to let us know you’re coming.

Moving on.

After all the work of signing roughly ten separate documents,—some in the church where we were married, some at home—sending off an envelope to an office in good ole T’under Bay, and then talking directly to officers of government to get the process sped up and fully legalized, you would think that someone from the Office of the Registrar General would mention to someone in the CRA that Jessica Joy Liggins was now Jessica Joy Golle, and that they need to stop sending her HST returns because only one person per marriage can get those.  But, lo and behold it did not happen!  And come tax season my wife and I received several letters informing us of several cringe-inducing sums of money that our irresponsible selves owed to the very responsible and professional government.  To most, it would be a small amount of money.  But like I said, we are an irresponsible newly married couple of students who sometimes wonder if we’ll make the rent. 

But that’s not why I’m writing this letter.  That part doesn’t bother me.  I expect the government not to care about how responsible or irresponsible my wife and I might be, and I expect the government to take relatively unreasonable amounts of money from people—no offense…you just have a bit of a track record with…everyone.

What bothers me is this: my wife’s tax return resulted in her owing money to the government.  Fine.  My tax return resulted in the government owing ME money.  AWESOME!  We filed our returns at the same time, and I sent no letters reminding the government to make sure they sent me my money.  Not even once a month.  I trusted that, although they are notorious for finding ways to tax you at every turn, the government honors their debts when they have them.  And you did!  For that I thank you.

Then there is the story of my wife’s return(this is where you get to see the segue about paper).  Almost every two weeks since we have filed our returns, we have received an individual letter for each amount owing to the government.  There were three amounts.  As of last week, there is now one. 

As previously stated, I am not bothered by owing the government money; I expect it to happen.  But when it is a struggle to find the funds to pay the amounts off before they collect an amount of interest equal to the original balance, and when the government takes sweet, precious time in paying me what I am owed by them, I find it agitating to receive a letter every few weeks reminding me that I owe our trusted government money.  Believe it or not, I only need you to send me one remittance voucher.  The rest got torn up and thrown in the recycling.

You may or may not be familiar with one of the most unanswered and over-posed questions in the galaxy.  There has even been a movie titled after it.  It is uttered on almost every corner of the continent by many a disgruntled and uncomfortable child.  It is groaned, moaned, whined, yelped, mumbled and screamed.  And the reply of every parent is almost always accompanied by a long and irritated sigh.  The question, as you may have guessed, is this:  “Are we there yet?”

I am writing this letter because I feel much akin to the sighing, steering-wheel clenching, teeth-gritting parent, who is doing all in their power to simply not explode every time the question is posed—which is, as previously stated, about every two weeks.  It is with great relief that I am pulling the vehicle to a halt at our destination and replying to the question with a bedraggled, “We’re there.”

Along with this letter I have sent the final payment, and hope to receive no more letters until next tax season, at which time my wife and I will probably be even more irresponsible and have less to show for it.

As I said earlier on, dear reader, I wrote this letter to help you laugh in the midst of a busy schedule and no more.  I understand the world is not perfect, and not everyone sets out to make payments upon receiving the first letter.  But I sincerely hope you did laugh, and if not then I sincerely hope you get a better sense of humor.  And if neither of those then I sincerely hope you breathe a sigh of relief with me for a moment as we can both say, “We’re here!” (the wording of that is different because it’s a metaphor for life…in case you didn’t catch it…ok I’m done now).

With all sincerity and the greatest of loves,

Isaac James Golle