Hunt me, terrible abyss
Eat my flesh and drink my blood
Thwart me, great Prometheus
Tear me limb from limb
Chase me, Aphrodite
Accost me, Thor of Ragnarok
Deal with me not lightly
O deities, grim
I have seen what becomes of men who hide from their lot in life
To many of these I have been a servant
The pleasantries of life so easily dull the hideous ache
Ruin me, Mars
Destroy me, Odin
Pry the teeth from my jaw
Rip tendons from my bones
Devour me, oh Kraken!
Drag me to the depths!
Eviscerate, maul, bludgeon, lacerate, trample, crucify!
Crucify.
"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."
Hunt me, terrible abyss
Eat my flesh and drink my blood
I have known the damning desire of self-satisfaction
I have worn the mask of self-deception
I have looked in the mirror and seen a good man
(or at least one with good intentions)
Thwart me, great Prometheus
Tear me limb from limb
Lest the dull, hideous ache consume me
I will chase it to the ends of the earth
I will follow it until the soles of my feet wear away and I tread on bare bone
It is poison, and all who eat of it shall surely die
So chase me, Aphrodite
Accost me, Thor of Ragnarok
Rip from me all meaning
Let my lips join the chorus
"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabbacthani!"
Ruin me, Mars
Destroy me, Odin
Envelope me, hideous void
Leave me not one morsel of meaning
Man who lives for greater good lives only for himself
Let my love be only for the other
Not for dream! Not for fantasy! Not for lust!
Crucify me, Christ
Show me
As the wise man said
All is vapor
Sweet, beautiful, terrible abyss
Grant me but this; so that I may eat, drink, and experience good in all the labor I do under the sun during the few days of life I have received, for that is my reward
Crucify me, Christ
Rid me of meaning, that I may be filled with joy
"A helpless conversation with a man who says he cares a lot, It's just a passive confrontation about who might throw a punch or not" - Bear Rineheart, Needtobreathe. It is my hope that this blog will not be summed up by these lyrics, but that they will motivate myself and anyone reading to put the words of this blog to action in our day to day lives. May we be more than just really good at sharing our opinions, no matter how strong they are.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Elijah and the Mountain
To the reader:
I have come to the end of my days at
last. I know not for certain when I
shall fall into the long sleep, but I know the occasion is closer than it has
ever been. I have spent these past few
days lying in bed and pondering out the nearest window. YahWeh has been gracious to reveal many
things to me in this life, but one thing I have pondered much of my days has—I
think—been revealed to me by YahWeh at last.
The occasion of which I have been pondering
is not from my own experience, though I will write of it as though it was. For I knew the one who experienced it as David
knew Jonathan. It is nevertheless my aim
to keep the story as preserved as is possible while still maintaining the
facets I hope to convey.
It is with the latter things in mind that I
hope the reader will approach the story.
I will leave the revelation to YahWeh.
- Elisha
I was weary and tormented. It was several days after the happenings at
Mount Carmel; where YahWeh showed His power to the people of Israel. Though the prophets of Ba’al—who encourage
and demand the sacrifice of infants—had been disproven and slaughtered, not all
were rejoicing.
I was at the gates of Jezreel when I
received word from Jezebel, the Queen.
All within me longed to hear that she, the king, and all of their house
had rebuked Ba’al and fallen in worship to YahWeh. It was not so.
“May the gods punish me and do so severely
if I don’t make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow!”
This was the word from Jezebel. She was speaking of the four hundred and
fifty prophets of Ba’al whom I had ordered be slain at the Wadi Kishon just
days before. Her words bred terror in my
veins.
Never has a man lived that was more cruel
and terrifying than the Queen Jezebel. I
had many brethren who were cut down at her command. From this, I knew her words were not given in
vain, so I ran. I know not why the power
of YahWeh at Mount Carmel was so quickly forgotten in my mind, but it was. I ran for several days; not stopping for food
or drink.
My servant accompanied me, but even he at
last grew too weary to carry on; so I left him at Beersheba and persisted: so
great was the fear of Jezebel in my being.
One morning I wandered off the road—hoping to lose any pursuers that I
was certain would be close behind. I
walked aimlessly through the wilderness that day. Always I sought to keep my path straight so
as not to suddenly end up walking towards my enemies. But when food and drink have left the body and
the sun is hot and fear is strong, one’s sense of direction is quickly lost.
It was during this time that I began to
wonder at how any of this had come to pass.
YahWeh had shown his power at Carmel.
Ba’al was routed. Israel was on
its knees before Adonai. I saw no better
course of action than to do to the prophets of Ba’al what they coerced Jezebel to
do to my brothers. Was it not the
justice of YahWeh? Should not the king
and queen of Israel have seen their wrongdoing and repented?
Perhaps it was the heat of the day and the
hunger in my bones, but I was no longer certain.
This uncertainty was the final blow to my
resolve. I lay down under a broom tree
and prayed for death. Had death been
granted, it would not have been so miraculous, considering. At some point I fell asleep.
I was awakened by a most unpleasant
start. A light brighter than that of the
sun was piercing my eyelids. Something
not unlike a human hand touched my shoulder and a deep, ringing voice—I call it
a voice, though voices come from somewhere distinct. This sound came from all around, including,
it seemed, from within myself—commanded me to get up and eat.
I looked first to see if I could find the
one who had awoken me, but I saw none: The brilliant light and ringing voice
vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Instead, I found a few feet away a loaf of
warm, fresh bread and a jug of water.
This was the first time since hearing Jezebel’s message that I thought
of hunger. So I ate, and the effort of
eating was so exhausting that soon I was asleep again. Again the light, hand, and voice came to me,
commanding me to eat.
This time the effort of eating was not
exhausting, and in fact I finished the meal feeling incredibly
invigorated. It occurred to me at this
point that I knew not how long I had been sleeping, and that Jezebel’s men
could have gained significant ground on account of my tarrying.
So I arose and walked for 40 days and 40
nights to the mountain Horeb, where YahWeh first appeared to our father, Moses. This may seem strange to the reader, and
indeed it is strange to me now to think back upon it, but during those 40 days
and nights I took no more food than what was given me under the broom
tree. It was not for lack of availability:
I passed many an edible plant. Rather,
it was for lack of hunger. Because of
this, I thought nothing at all of not eating.
The reader again may find this strange, but think back to the days of
one’s childhood: when did we think of hunger but when we were offered
food?
Nonetheless, I remained in great turmoil
during this long walk. For though I
thought nothing of food, I thought much of everything else. I wondered at the prospect of being cut into
pieces by Jezebel. I wondered at the
might of YahWeh displayed at Mount Carmel, and I wondered at the people of
Israel. Their hearts were swayed by the
terrifying rule of Jezebel when she slaughtered my brethren, and their hearts
were swayed again when YahWeh sent fire from heaven. Would they be swayed when another came to
demand their attentions? Was YahWeh so
different to them from Jezebel? Was His
power not even more terrifying?
It shames me to say that I resented Israel
for much of that journey. My anger for
her grew with each step, and my contempt inflated with each breath.
When at last I arrived at Horeb, I entered
a cave and spent the night.
Again a deep, ringing voice woke me from my
sleep. This time there was no dazzling,
penetrating light.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
Believing I held an audience with one from
the heavens, I withheld nothing in my reply.
“I have been very zealous for the Lord God
of Hosts, but the Israelites have abandoned your covenant, torn down Your
altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are looking for me
to take my life.”
It is worth noting here the vanity and
blindness of contempt. I knew of 100
other prophets of YahWeh who were kept hidden and safe from Jezebel by our dear
brother Obadiah. In my anger and pain,
they were blotted from my mind.
“Go out and stand on the mountain in the
Lord’s presence.” The voice replied.
Had I been of sound mind, this command
would have brought great trembling over my being. None have seen the face of YahWeh and
lived. As it was, I remained determined
to plead my case and thought nothing of it. I was making ready to get on my feet when a
terrible wind tore across the face of the mountain. It knocked me to the ground and ripped great
pieces of rock from Horeb’s cliffs. The
falling rocks shook the earth so that I thought for certain the cave would
collapse upon my head.
Then, like the day on Mount Carmel, fire
rained from heaven. The noise and heat
and movement of the three events was so tumultuous and sudden that I believed
it would never end. Indeed it felt like
an eternity until it was over, at which point it seemed only a moment. When it was finished, I lay stunned on the
floor of the cave. For a brief period
the only sound was that of my breath.
The silence was broken by a soft, gentle
whisper. Would that I could tell you
what that whisper said, but as soon as I heard it, it escaped me. All I can recall is immediately rising to my
feet and moving to the entrance of the cave.
Here the voice that woke me came again.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
My anger burned like the fire that had
fallen from heaven. Were the angels of
the Lord not listening? Was His council
no different than that of man? I gave my
reply through gritted teeth:
“I have been very zealous for the Lord God
of Hosts. But the Israelites have
abandoned Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with
the sword. I alone am left, and they’re
looking for me to take my life.”
The voice replied by telling me to return
by the way I had come, and gave instructions on what to do when I arrived
there.
The instructions and what became of them
can be read about in the 1st book of Kings at the end of the 19th
chapter. They are not the reason for
which I tell this story.
My rage upon realizing my complaint would
not be heard by YahWeh was so great that I could do naught but stand in
silence. Did Adonai have no
compassion? Would the Lord not hear my
suffering? I ALONE was left! There were none in Israel who would stand for
YahWeh! Not like I would! They had turned
from Ba’al at the sight of the Lord’s power on Carmel yesterday, but they would
turn to some other god tomorrow! The
children of Abraham were like waves in an ocean or wheat in a field! Only I—Elijah the Tishbite—was righteous and
steadfast enough to remain faithful to the Lord of Hosts! I ALONE!!
--
I had been standing and trembling angrily
so long that the moon replaced the sun in the sky. Somewhere in the passage of time while I
stood at the mouth of the cave of Horeb, a stillness came over me. Within that stillness, I again heard a
whisper. Perhaps it was the same soft,
gentle whisper I had heard in the cave hours before. Perhaps not.
Who can discern the ways of the Almighty?
Whichever it was, these words I remember
with clarity, for I had heard them twice before in the deep, ringing voice.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
The Lord is great. His wisdom is boundless and everlasting. At last, the Almighty’s question had worked
to examine my soul.
When my heart was weakened and grieved with
the loss of my brothers at the hands of Jezebel
YahWeh remained steadfast and true.
He used his faithful servant Obadiah to
rescue whomever He could.
When my heart was rent with anger and power
at Carmel
YahWeh remained steadfast and true.
He rained fire from heaven to demonstrate
the futility of Ba’al.
When my heart was filled with vengeance and
I ordered the slaughter of the four hundred and fifty prophets
YahWeh remained steadfast and true.
He grieved the continuous bloodshed.
When my heart was overcome with fear and I
fled at the message from Jezebel
YahWeh remained steadfast and true.
He fed me and provided me with shade.
When my heart was blackened and embittered
with hatred for His people
YahWeh remained steadfast and true.
He did not come in the wind. He did not come in the earthquake. He did not come in the fire.
He came in the soft, gentle whisper.
My trembling anger turned to trembling
sobs. I fell on my face, wept before the
Almighty on the face of Horeb, and repented.
When there were no more tears to shed, I stood, turned, and carried out
the instructions of YahWeh.
Sunday, March 10, 2019
The Greatest Single Cause of Atheism
Once upon a time there was a christian band that went by the title 'DC Talk'. They wrote a song that had an incredible impact on me as a preteen titled, 'What if I stumble'. The song wrestled honestly with the question of hypocrisy within Christianity and the kind of pressure one can feel to not screw up.
I'm sure that as one of the most popular North American Christian artists of the time, this question was all too real for the members of DC Talk, but it is intended to be real for us as well.
The most chilling and gripping part of the already intense song is the very beginning. It opens with a quote by Brennan Manning that sounds out like a gong amongst an already stand-out album.
"The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians; they acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."
This rocked me at 12 years old, and in many ways still rocks me today. It's convicting to be reminded that as an ambassador of Jesus Christ, my actions will be perceived as direct reflections of the character of Christ.
And why shouldn't they? Certainly a part of the journey of being human is learning to have grace for ourselves and others amidst our brokenness and ideals; but a mark of responsibility, authenticity, and maturity in a person is how strongly they hold to their convictions.
Do pilots not believe in jet fuel? Do doctors not believe in medicine?
Of course their practice goes much further than belief. It has to! Their lives revolve around those beliefs being true and practical and real. Doctors lay their reputation on the line with every diagnoses. Pilots place the lives of many at the feet of the altar of turbine engines and aerodynamics.
Do we do the same with Christ?
I'm not talking about bold-faced, conversion-centered evangelism. I'm talking about allowing our belief in Christ to shape our every action and thought.
As the pilot engages the throttle, so shouldn't we engage the poor, the sick, and the needy? As the doctor examines the patient with precision point criteria for health, so shouldn't we examine our hearts with precision point criteria for the fruits of the spirit?
Why would our belief in Jesus warrant any less practical, visceral responses than a surgeon to her stitches or a captain to his instruments?
Unless, of course, we don't actually believe.
I'm sure that as one of the most popular North American Christian artists of the time, this question was all too real for the members of DC Talk, but it is intended to be real for us as well.
The most chilling and gripping part of the already intense song is the very beginning. It opens with a quote by Brennan Manning that sounds out like a gong amongst an already stand-out album.
"The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians; they acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."
This rocked me at 12 years old, and in many ways still rocks me today. It's convicting to be reminded that as an ambassador of Jesus Christ, my actions will be perceived as direct reflections of the character of Christ.
And why shouldn't they? Certainly a part of the journey of being human is learning to have grace for ourselves and others amidst our brokenness and ideals; but a mark of responsibility, authenticity, and maturity in a person is how strongly they hold to their convictions.
Do pilots not believe in jet fuel? Do doctors not believe in medicine?
Of course their practice goes much further than belief. It has to! Their lives revolve around those beliefs being true and practical and real. Doctors lay their reputation on the line with every diagnoses. Pilots place the lives of many at the feet of the altar of turbine engines and aerodynamics.
Do we do the same with Christ?
I'm not talking about bold-faced, conversion-centered evangelism. I'm talking about allowing our belief in Christ to shape our every action and thought.
As the pilot engages the throttle, so shouldn't we engage the poor, the sick, and the needy? As the doctor examines the patient with precision point criteria for health, so shouldn't we examine our hearts with precision point criteria for the fruits of the spirit?
Why would our belief in Jesus warrant any less practical, visceral responses than a surgeon to her stitches or a captain to his instruments?
Unless, of course, we don't actually believe.
Thursday, April 19, 2018
How Firm a Foundation
There is a rock
Beneath all the dancing, flowing water
There is a rock
Beneath the turbulence, the stillness, the choppy storms
There lies a rock
Below the sand, the soil, the clay
There is a rock
Beneath the veil and underneath the mountain; a rock
It tends the forest
It watches the clouds
It is not moved
This rock
Always
This rock
Hold it
Feel it
Be held by it
"How firm a foundation"
Do we at all comprehend the words?
--
Every day brings new challenges. I seem to experience consistent confrontation with new-ness lately, and that can be overwhelming. Yet always, always, always, there is one who stands as the bedrock of all existence. None of the overwhelming new-ness is new to Him. None of the change is daunting. None of the pain is too much. There is no wave that topples His ship. He is steadier than I can describe, and I learn a little bit here and there how to rest in that steadiness. It is a truly beautiful calm and joy amidst the chaos. May we all learn to embrace the one who embraces.
Beneath all the dancing, flowing water
There is a rock
Beneath the turbulence, the stillness, the choppy storms
There lies a rock
Below the sand, the soil, the clay
There is a rock
Beneath the veil and underneath the mountain; a rock
It tends the forest
It watches the clouds
It is not moved
This rock
Always
This rock
Hold it
Feel it
Be held by it
"How firm a foundation"
Do we at all comprehend the words?
--
Every day brings new challenges. I seem to experience consistent confrontation with new-ness lately, and that can be overwhelming. Yet always, always, always, there is one who stands as the bedrock of all existence. None of the overwhelming new-ness is new to Him. None of the change is daunting. None of the pain is too much. There is no wave that topples His ship. He is steadier than I can describe, and I learn a little bit here and there how to rest in that steadiness. It is a truly beautiful calm and joy amidst the chaos. May we all learn to embrace the one who embraces.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
Still Waters
I was in a car with a friend. We were talking about purpose and meaning and contentment and fullness and joy and passion and heart cry and how it relates to work.
It was a stimulating conversation at first, but halfway through the drive I found myself feeling exhausted and irritated. There were some other factors at play that had to do with energy and hunger levels, but the dialogue was losing ground for me fast.
It wasn't until several hours after our discussion ended and I had a moment to process my thoughts that I realized where the issue lay.
I am content.
The thought was like inhaling the freshest, cleanest air I had ever tasted, and it caught me completely off guard.
Rewind a little bit.
Several months before this conversation with my friend, I had a talk with another friend where they challenged me on my perception of contentment. I was(and am) working in a job that I didn't dream of doing when I was planning out my life. This was several months after starting that job.
Rewind some more.
Two weeks short of a year ago, I finished working somewhere that helped me discover my heart's cry and passion. It was amazing. I only left because we felt it was time to move to another town for various reasons.
Fast forward to the second friend.
I had become a little bitter and hugely frustrated: Right after discovering what I felt I was made to do, I found myself stuck in a job that didn't fit. It was(is) a good job, and I work for good people, but I wanted to be doing what I wanted to be doing.
My friend that challenged me on my lack of contentment said some very poignant words that stuck like glue. He told a story that ended with an angry, frustrated prayer which was followed by a striking response from God:
Is being with me not enough for you?
My friend said it wasn't at the time, but now he can honestly say it is.
I nodded, smiled, pretended this was a new revelation, but truthfully I(and probably you) have heard this kind of story many times before. Interpret how you will, but I felt like this was a concept I already understood: true contentment comes from being content in the present with what you have regardless of circumstance. As long as you are at peace with God, you are at peace with everything and everyone.
I thought I got it, until I got it.
I am content.
Nothing has changed. My circumstance still isn't everything my heart cries out for. There are things I desire to do with my skills and passions, and I'm working towards those when I have time.
But what do I have now? What do I have right here?
A wife(her eyes go deeper than the deepest wells). A daughter(her laugh and her smile obliterate all darkness). A roof over my head. A job that pays our bills. Friends. Family. A 10 month old that sleeps through the night(hallelujah!).
Don't get me wrong, contentedness didn't magically happen. There were some rough steps along the way. I started trying to fill all my extra time outside of work with active steps toward doing what I love. I still do this sometimes, but I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.
I'm gonna say that again. It's important and I don't want you to miss it.
I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.
So I took a step back, focused on being present, and a few weeks later I was in a car with a friend; talking about purpose and meaning and contentment and fullness and joy and passion and heart cry and how it relates to work.
--
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures(perhaps because we don't have enough sense to do it ourselves?)
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table for me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever."
- Psalm 23
By the way, I don't place any blame for my exhaustion and irritation on the friend in the car. They are near and dear to my heart and always will be.
It was a stimulating conversation at first, but halfway through the drive I found myself feeling exhausted and irritated. There were some other factors at play that had to do with energy and hunger levels, but the dialogue was losing ground for me fast.
It wasn't until several hours after our discussion ended and I had a moment to process my thoughts that I realized where the issue lay.
I am content.
The thought was like inhaling the freshest, cleanest air I had ever tasted, and it caught me completely off guard.
Rewind a little bit.
Several months before this conversation with my friend, I had a talk with another friend where they challenged me on my perception of contentment. I was(and am) working in a job that I didn't dream of doing when I was planning out my life. This was several months after starting that job.
Rewind some more.
Two weeks short of a year ago, I finished working somewhere that helped me discover my heart's cry and passion. It was amazing. I only left because we felt it was time to move to another town for various reasons.
Fast forward to the second friend.
I had become a little bitter and hugely frustrated: Right after discovering what I felt I was made to do, I found myself stuck in a job that didn't fit. It was(is) a good job, and I work for good people, but I wanted to be doing what I wanted to be doing.
My friend that challenged me on my lack of contentment said some very poignant words that stuck like glue. He told a story that ended with an angry, frustrated prayer which was followed by a striking response from God:
Is being with me not enough for you?
My friend said it wasn't at the time, but now he can honestly say it is.
I nodded, smiled, pretended this was a new revelation, but truthfully I(and probably you) have heard this kind of story many times before. Interpret how you will, but I felt like this was a concept I already understood: true contentment comes from being content in the present with what you have regardless of circumstance. As long as you are at peace with God, you are at peace with everything and everyone.
I thought I got it, until I got it.
I am content.
Nothing has changed. My circumstance still isn't everything my heart cries out for. There are things I desire to do with my skills and passions, and I'm working towards those when I have time.
But what do I have now? What do I have right here?
A wife(her eyes go deeper than the deepest wells). A daughter(her laugh and her smile obliterate all darkness). A roof over my head. A job that pays our bills. Friends. Family. A 10 month old that sleeps through the night(hallelujah!).
Don't get me wrong, contentedness didn't magically happen. There were some rough steps along the way. I started trying to fill all my extra time outside of work with active steps toward doing what I love. I still do this sometimes, but I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.
I'm gonna say that again. It's important and I don't want you to miss it.
I was doing it so much that I didn't have any energy left for my wife and daughter.
So I took a step back, focused on being present, and a few weeks later I was in a car with a friend; talking about purpose and meaning and contentment and fullness and joy and passion and heart cry and how it relates to work.
--
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures(perhaps because we don't have enough sense to do it ourselves?)
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table for me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever."
- Psalm 23
By the way, I don't place any blame for my exhaustion and irritation on the friend in the car. They are near and dear to my heart and always will be.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
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?
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?
Sunday, January 8, 2017
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.
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.
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