So last night was house church. Such a sweet time...watching the evening orchestrated via a light facilitator's touch allowing Father to speak to us and minister. We are regularly giving time to have each person tell their life story, to better understand what all has gone into making each of the strands being woven into a glorious kingdom fabric.
Well, it was my turn last night. I approached the night with dread and angst. Behind these feelings was the conflicting pull of simultaneously yearning to be transparent while fearing that I would no longer be liked if I was. Thirty minutes to encompass, in my case, 65 years. Seems both reasonable and preposterous....certainly more of an espresso version than a 64oz Big Gulp!
In my time with Jesus this morning I was smitten by a couple of things. On one hand I am re-reading 1000 Gifts by Ann VosKamp. Listing my thanks has become a personal discipline since last April (#552) and it has been ever so good...building trust as I first notice, pause and appreciate, then give thanks for the myriad ways a loving Father shepherds me through my sojourn. The world scoffs at such things and incessantly encourages me to join in. But no, El Senor can be trusted, he indeed has my back and my hand in his is where it needs to be.
So, as I was saying, smitten. That's a pretty pungent word. It can be positive or negative (just ask the uncircumcised Hittites!). What got to me was the combination of reading powerful word combinations, seeing them unlock pearls of great price, coupled with flashes of my life story going on in my mind's background.
"Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me." That is just not true...another one of the deceiver's many lies put forth as truth. Words in fact can have a power that vies with the nuclear . They incite wars, dissolve marriages, they usher in healing and encourage others to summit their personal Everests. I am in awe of Ann's use of words and how they unlock and flesh out and poetically transport from darkness to light. I would love to be able to somehow send Ann into many situations/places to have her apply her word skills to bring to life the core of truth that there is be to be had.
Yes, words and my life story. Reflecting on a 30 minute, 500' flyby of the twists and turns called my life. Oh man, there is indeed a Hound of Heaven and a Wild Goose and my life is full of the evidence of their involvement, care, love and concern for me. Imagine that Santiago. You have been invited to the Triune dance and you get to move and participate and be loved and sustained by the very creator of whale songs and galactic star tones. Oh how I yearn to author words to describe my gratitude for the inexplicable grace of unconditional love and acceptance. Oh how I hunger to march in Father's army ministering words of life and freedom, calling out lies, tearing down strongholds and joining my Jesus in freeing the prisoners.
For I see that I have been freed. He says respond, respond! Oh give me words that might do justice to expressing my thanks Abba. You have seen me, you have kneeled down and picked me up, dusted me off and sent me back in. How can I express what screams from within? I let out a long, silent scream driven by what is unfathomable. I, the lowliest of saints (sorry, below you Paul!) have been called up and in. Up and in to co-reigning. Words, Father, words that for now escape me to even come close.....
I fold up my tent of effort and sit before you, at your right hand, where you have raised me up to dwell. I humbly surrender to the two best words that are mine to be had....Thank you!
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Sweet Alignment
When we speak of the twists and turns of life there's hardly anyone who doesn't immediately understand what you mean. We're in this story, there are all these characters, we are one of them, whatever plot seems a bit fractured, elusive, but we press on with the faint belief that someday all will make a bit more sense. And this from a guy who knows the larger story, who knows I have been rescued and who believes I am a beloved son. Nonetheless, that does not seem to prevent the fog of war from often obliterating any clarity from the details of the daily scenes.
But I come today not to write quite about this...some days are different and yesterday was one of those. A day when all the balls were falling into there respective slots, when the lights all were timed to go green and I got to live in one of those rare hurricane eyes where it just wouldn't go wrong. It's like I don't even know how to handle it. I shout out my praises to Father, for sure. There is this inner move to look inside to see if perhaps I have somehow tripped across some magical formula...maybe in my reading, maybe in my prayer, my actions.
But alas, no such luck. It appears to just be an inexplicable day of grace for one who believes that there is more to this life than what we can normally see. Check this out.... the first nine months of 2012 have brought decidedly mixed blessings. There have been some great missions, some significant movements in church and family life. Yet all of the good has also been set against a backdrop of unparalleled downturn in ability to earn a living. One of those years where you go from your best year ever to your worst and the whiplash of it all wants to taint every scene of this movie I have been cast in.
So a couple of months ago, a wind came blowing across my plains which at least brought a number of new things to work on. That is good, but doesn't necessarily translate into income. Part of my downturn was a sharp decrease in project volume but part of it was also coming from "if it can go wrong it does". Nonetheless, thankful for things to work on, I did what anyone would do....proceed....limping perhaps....but proceeding.
As time has gone on the projects are maturing and coming nearer that time which would tell whether there was a lady or a tiger behind the door of each. My "chosen" field (I guess I chose it although reflection shows it was more of a default choice than a particularly deliberate one) is a crazy world of bringing this small candle flame, of which you have no real control, through a gauntlet of high speed fans and needing it to still be burning at the end. So, after running through a number of gauntlets, yesterday dawned.
As a backdrop you just have to be playing a scene from Caddyshack....Chevy Chase in a golf match on a day when nothing could go wrong. There he was putting from every conceivable angle with crazy antics and all the balls find their way into the cup. And you have to hear him saying "Na,na, na, na......na,na, na na...."
We come into yesterday with storm clouds everywhere. Daughter in Haiti, very ill with the child they are seeking to adopt with her and very ill. Two very ripe potential placements with all the signs of fast going south. A smart phone that suddenly decides to die and this for a guy who makes his very living on the phone. And just to totally round things off, a SD ally calls in the middle of the day, in desperation having just had to evacuate his house because of wild fire and a plea for prayer. Yes it's another day, with more fog, filled with more uncertainty and me, tapping my way along as a sojourner with his white cane (not the picture that a warrior in the King's army likes to necessarily have).
But as the day proceeds boo-freakin-yah!
Folks, I am beside myself...I don't really know how to behave with such lottery-winning days. Best thing I seemed to come up with was to take a walk in the dark and jump and shout out my thanks like a crazy man for anyone watching.
Boy, I wish I could bottle such circumstances up and put them into a pantry so that I had an everlasting see/touch inventory of blessing and provision. Oh, but he is not a tame lion....I understand. And oh, this is a war zone I am in...I understand. The bullets are real not rubber....I understand. Your Father has your back....I am improving in my understanding.
And as if all of this is not enough.....as I look up I can't help but see another scene. At night, driving by the airport you can look up and see a long line of headlights spanning way out in the distance of jets in their final approaches for landing. As the maraschino cherry on yesterday's delicious sundae, I have additional projects that also appear as bright headlights headed their way to Santiago's little landing strip.
Heh, I am headed for my rooftop, for all I can do is shout out my praises in this particular part of the movie! Praise you Father in good times and in bad!!!
But I come today not to write quite about this...some days are different and yesterday was one of those. A day when all the balls were falling into there respective slots, when the lights all were timed to go green and I got to live in one of those rare hurricane eyes where it just wouldn't go wrong. It's like I don't even know how to handle it. I shout out my praises to Father, for sure. There is this inner move to look inside to see if perhaps I have somehow tripped across some magical formula...maybe in my reading, maybe in my prayer, my actions.
But alas, no such luck. It appears to just be an inexplicable day of grace for one who believes that there is more to this life than what we can normally see. Check this out.... the first nine months of 2012 have brought decidedly mixed blessings. There have been some great missions, some significant movements in church and family life. Yet all of the good has also been set against a backdrop of unparalleled downturn in ability to earn a living. One of those years where you go from your best year ever to your worst and the whiplash of it all wants to taint every scene of this movie I have been cast in.
So a couple of months ago, a wind came blowing across my plains which at least brought a number of new things to work on. That is good, but doesn't necessarily translate into income. Part of my downturn was a sharp decrease in project volume but part of it was also coming from "if it can go wrong it does". Nonetheless, thankful for things to work on, I did what anyone would do....proceed....limping perhaps....but proceeding.
As time has gone on the projects are maturing and coming nearer that time which would tell whether there was a lady or a tiger behind the door of each. My "chosen" field (I guess I chose it although reflection shows it was more of a default choice than a particularly deliberate one) is a crazy world of bringing this small candle flame, of which you have no real control, through a gauntlet of high speed fans and needing it to still be burning at the end. So, after running through a number of gauntlets, yesterday dawned.
As a backdrop you just have to be playing a scene from Caddyshack....Chevy Chase in a golf match on a day when nothing could go wrong. There he was putting from every conceivable angle with crazy antics and all the balls find their way into the cup. And you have to hear him saying "Na,na, na, na......na,na, na na...."
We come into yesterday with storm clouds everywhere. Daughter in Haiti, very ill with the child they are seeking to adopt with her and very ill. Two very ripe potential placements with all the signs of fast going south. A smart phone that suddenly decides to die and this for a guy who makes his very living on the phone. And just to totally round things off, a SD ally calls in the middle of the day, in desperation having just had to evacuate his house because of wild fire and a plea for prayer. Yes it's another day, with more fog, filled with more uncertainty and me, tapping my way along as a sojourner with his white cane (not the picture that a warrior in the King's army likes to necessarily have).
But as the day proceeds boo-freakin-yah!
- Three placements happen! Ka-ching for a drought- filled cash register. Oh most merciful God!
- A report from Haiti comes in with news that the corner is turned, health has returned and little baby boy once again is squealing with delight.
- And yes sir, no problema, you had purchased coverage and we will have a new phone over-nighted to you and oh, here is a free loaner in the meantime.
- A follow up report from SD comes in...thank you for prayer support...a close call but all is now well.
Boy, I wish I could bottle such circumstances up and put them into a pantry so that I had an everlasting see/touch inventory of blessing and provision. Oh, but he is not a tame lion....I understand. And oh, this is a war zone I am in...I understand. The bullets are real not rubber....I understand. Your Father has your back....I am improving in my understanding.
And as if all of this is not enough.....as I look up I can't help but see another scene. At night, driving by the airport you can look up and see a long line of headlights spanning way out in the distance of jets in their final approaches for landing. As the maraschino cherry on yesterday's delicious sundae, I have additional projects that also appear as bright headlights headed their way to Santiago's little landing strip.
Heh, I am headed for my rooftop, for all I can do is shout out my praises in this particular part of the movie! Praise you Father in good times and in bad!!!
Saturday, October 6, 2012
An Unexpected Gift
This sojourn as a believer has been such an ever-changing road. There is now enough in the rear-view mirror that I can look back and see the twists and turns and my often poor navigation through them. But now is all we have and there is no point on lamenting on the what-could-have-beens.
So now heh? I am currently burdened by being able to give an elevator speech that captures the point of being a follower of Christ. This post-modern world has thrown such a smothering blanket of irrelevancy over it all. I fear most never even have the opportunity to see beyond the merely religious, the broken ways of the average church and the pointlessness of a man who said he was God's son compared to the "thrill" of another season of fantasy football.
If I have an opportunity, I figure I have 2 minutes tops to make the case for "the Way" and why it is still the offer of a lifetime. And so I am developing this hook, this quick talk that gets to the very espresso essence of the message Jesus came to give. For now, I am smitten by the verses in 2 Cor, 2: 17,18. A rough paraphrase follows and provides the core of what will become my quick pitch: Yaweh came to free us from all bondage, to unveil our faces, to restore our minds. All so that we might come into all that we were created to be and to reflect the glory that results as he transforms us into his very likeness, one degree at a time. Whoa!! Who in the "H. E. double hockey sticks" would not want to step into such an offer?
It's in keeping with this offer and the restorative work underway in my life that I want to speak of today. It is a rare Saturday morning, there is a time block available that gives me the precious breathing room I seem to require when I write. So many pro writers talk about the pressure of having deadlines. Yowsa! That just wouldn't work for this guy who has so much time between posts that I have to look up how to get into my own blog every time I return.
So cowardice....that is a word I hate. Nonetheless, it is something that I have exhibited several times in my life and they have always haunted me. Above all else, I don't want to be a coward. I so respect the firemen who rushed up the steps of the burning towers to what was their last mission. That is the complete opposite of cowardice and the poster child for the attitude I want to emulate. Oh sure, there is the "counting the cost" aspects that are reasonable to entertain at such junctures. I get that but nonetheless, please let me error towards action now rather that the paralysis of analysis any day!
It seems I have seen a classic scene in several movies where the guy is on his death bed and says "I have no regrets". Man, that would be great to be able to honestly say that but it's not my story. I have stopped beating myself up about them (thank you Jesus!) but I have regrets, I have done things I wished I would have done differently. And some cowardly scenes are part of my movie. I would love to be able to edit them and see them just laying on the cutting room floor, quivering in their death throws.
And then ever so unpredictably, in my 65th, 'no-longer-a-spring-chicken 'year, many years removed from some cowardly moments, something happened that was such an amazing gift direct from the Father's hand, customized just for me. (Some anonymity needs to be preserved here so please, no names, times or places.)
It was at the end of an adventure, a mission, as a member of a team of men. Someone decided to take a last minute dip in the ol' swimming hole. Kind of odd timing but we all stood and watched. Suddenly the swimmer cried out "I need help". Really? Is he kidding? But then, seconds later another "I need help". This was not a drill, it was the real deal!! In my head I heard one word "Go!" and I went. At break neck speed, stripping off my clothes down to my whitey-tightys. Into the frigid water, aware that another was also headed out to the swimmer and would get there first. A brief thought of "I guess I got undressed for nuthin" (in a Scottish accent).
Then the first rescuer cries out "I can't do this anymore". He had run out of steam in the high altitude and cold water...a deadly combination. And so I continued and ultimately was able to engage the swimmer and take him back to shore, back to safety, utilizing the Water Safety Instructor skills learned 45 yrs earlier. Training, you gotta love it...it does indeed come back when you need it.
Many weeks have now passed and I have asked Father what that was all about. While I don't know how it figures into the lives of the others involved, I see clearly what was meant for me. You see, I have had these agonizing questions raised by some less-than-brave responses of mine in the past. As men, we are so desperate to know whether we have what it takes. Father provided this as an unexpected gift, the gift of a test that by his grace I was able to pass...maybe even get a good grade on it!
Oh my gosh....the dividends that this is paying off. The redemption that it has brought. The restored confidence that I can (and will) respond in a selfless manner given the transformation that has been going on (and continues) in my life. The wild, wild nature of the Wild Goose in the what and how of his orchestration of this unique event. Stunning to me on every level and I am ever so grateful.....ever so grateful.
Walking with God is not some pablum-filled, namby-pamby deal for the limp-wristed. It is nothing less than a live-ammo, daily walk behind enemy lines. At any moment we can be called on to redeem what the enemy has meant for evil into what God means for good. It's like the pilots say, "Hours of boredom and suddenly seconds of terror." Be ready in season and out has taken on new meaning for me. Father me Jesus, that I might stay ready, cupping the water and bringing it up to my mouth as my eyes search for you amidst the mundane.
So now heh? I am currently burdened by being able to give an elevator speech that captures the point of being a follower of Christ. This post-modern world has thrown such a smothering blanket of irrelevancy over it all. I fear most never even have the opportunity to see beyond the merely religious, the broken ways of the average church and the pointlessness of a man who said he was God's son compared to the "thrill" of another season of fantasy football.
If I have an opportunity, I figure I have 2 minutes tops to make the case for "the Way" and why it is still the offer of a lifetime. And so I am developing this hook, this quick talk that gets to the very espresso essence of the message Jesus came to give. For now, I am smitten by the verses in 2 Cor, 2: 17,18. A rough paraphrase follows and provides the core of what will become my quick pitch: Yaweh came to free us from all bondage, to unveil our faces, to restore our minds. All so that we might come into all that we were created to be and to reflect the glory that results as he transforms us into his very likeness, one degree at a time. Whoa!! Who in the "H. E. double hockey sticks" would not want to step into such an offer?
It's in keeping with this offer and the restorative work underway in my life that I want to speak of today. It is a rare Saturday morning, there is a time block available that gives me the precious breathing room I seem to require when I write. So many pro writers talk about the pressure of having deadlines. Yowsa! That just wouldn't work for this guy who has so much time between posts that I have to look up how to get into my own blog every time I return.
So cowardice....that is a word I hate. Nonetheless, it is something that I have exhibited several times in my life and they have always haunted me. Above all else, I don't want to be a coward. I so respect the firemen who rushed up the steps of the burning towers to what was their last mission. That is the complete opposite of cowardice and the poster child for the attitude I want to emulate. Oh sure, there is the "counting the cost" aspects that are reasonable to entertain at such junctures. I get that but nonetheless, please let me error towards action now rather that the paralysis of analysis any day!
It seems I have seen a classic scene in several movies where the guy is on his death bed and says "I have no regrets". Man, that would be great to be able to honestly say that but it's not my story. I have stopped beating myself up about them (thank you Jesus!) but I have regrets, I have done things I wished I would have done differently. And some cowardly scenes are part of my movie. I would love to be able to edit them and see them just laying on the cutting room floor, quivering in their death throws.
And then ever so unpredictably, in my 65th, 'no-longer-a-spring-chicken 'year, many years removed from some cowardly moments, something happened that was such an amazing gift direct from the Father's hand, customized just for me. (Some anonymity needs to be preserved here so please, no names, times or places.)
It was at the end of an adventure, a mission, as a member of a team of men. Someone decided to take a last minute dip in the ol' swimming hole. Kind of odd timing but we all stood and watched. Suddenly the swimmer cried out "I need help". Really? Is he kidding? But then, seconds later another "I need help". This was not a drill, it was the real deal!! In my head I heard one word "Go!" and I went. At break neck speed, stripping off my clothes down to my whitey-tightys. Into the frigid water, aware that another was also headed out to the swimmer and would get there first. A brief thought of "I guess I got undressed for nuthin" (in a Scottish accent).
Then the first rescuer cries out "I can't do this anymore". He had run out of steam in the high altitude and cold water...a deadly combination. And so I continued and ultimately was able to engage the swimmer and take him back to shore, back to safety, utilizing the Water Safety Instructor skills learned 45 yrs earlier. Training, you gotta love it...it does indeed come back when you need it.
Many weeks have now passed and I have asked Father what that was all about. While I don't know how it figures into the lives of the others involved, I see clearly what was meant for me. You see, I have had these agonizing questions raised by some less-than-brave responses of mine in the past. As men, we are so desperate to know whether we have what it takes. Father provided this as an unexpected gift, the gift of a test that by his grace I was able to pass...maybe even get a good grade on it!
Oh my gosh....the dividends that this is paying off. The redemption that it has brought. The restored confidence that I can (and will) respond in a selfless manner given the transformation that has been going on (and continues) in my life. The wild, wild nature of the Wild Goose in the what and how of his orchestration of this unique event. Stunning to me on every level and I am ever so grateful.....ever so grateful.
Walking with God is not some pablum-filled, namby-pamby deal for the limp-wristed. It is nothing less than a live-ammo, daily walk behind enemy lines. At any moment we can be called on to redeem what the enemy has meant for evil into what God means for good. It's like the pilots say, "Hours of boredom and suddenly seconds of terror." Be ready in season and out has taken on new meaning for me. Father me Jesus, that I might stay ready, cupping the water and bringing it up to my mouth as my eyes search for you amidst the mundane.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Saturday Meanderings
It's amazing how reading writers I like makes me want to write. (Say that fast 5 times in a row!) Like back in my more serious running days, if I read a book about runners or saw a movie I would want to get right up and go for a run. I was reading Ann Lamott and she made me want to write. I love her transparency and her bold way of telling the truth. So it's home church tonight, the first coat of poly is drying on the wood entrance floor and I have an hour. So the time is available to write...but I just don't feel pregnant with anything that just has to come out.
Regardless, here I am at this keyboard and I desire to engage in the transformation of mental meanderings and fragmented thought through the "work" of writing. It requires energy to take this mental vagueness and coax it into the level of concreteness required to actually become "writing". This is a lot easier to do when there is something inside of me just bursting to be expressed. Not so much when the radar is for the moment empty of blips. But heh, writers write so it's time to get busy livin' or get busy dyin'.
I guess it has been a long time since I just wrote about some random observations. OK, you talked me into it Santago.....
I drive a lot (27 milies one way to office). Here's some things involving driving that have crossed my mind"
Merging: Now granted, I am a fairly aggressive driver. I don't like to be namby pamby on the road but tend to like crisp, decisive moves. So you might imagine that merging has caused me a couple of blood pressure points over the years. Too often there is this person that tries merging into the freeway going just slightly slower than the traffic. They put their signal on and drive alongside you, just a few feet ahead but really going almost the same speed. They don't start to come over into your lane though. Oh no, they continue driving straight ahead seemingly waiting for some sort of traffic permission slip that will give them the go ahead to come on over. I say merge hot, keep your speed up and get into the lane carefully but decisively. Product idea: an extra light by the turn signals, maybe a periwinkle color, that you could flip on to let the other driver know that you are hereby giving them permission to merge into your land ahead of you.
I'm Sorry: Now truth be told, as a guy who likes crisp, decisive moves while driving I do, from time to time, make a bone-headed move. Many times in such situations I have wished there was an internationally accepted sign one could make to communicate to another driver: "I am so sorry for that display of hack driving just now. It's all my fault, please forgive me." But what would that sign be? Let's face it, in this day of road rage you have to be careful about the manner in which you offer a sign to another driver. I mean, he or she is already vexed with the dumb thing you just did and then if they misinterpret the sign you use to try and communicate, suddenly you can be immersed in an unintentional, rapidly-escalating road rage incident. Product idea: A little placard on a short stick that you could hold up to the other driver which would instantly communicate that you accept full blame and apologize for your stupidity. What could be on that placard that could in no way be misinterpreted? My idea would be for a picture of a face, slightly bowed down with hands covering the face in utter humility and shame. Please submit your ideas to the management of this blog....
NASCAR for amateurs: Road racing is an interesting phenomenon. You know it when you see it.
Suddenly you notice a car in your rear view mirror approaching at a very high rate of speed. They go whisking by and then boom, here comes another car doing the same thing in fast pursuit of car number one. Here are two grown persons, normally always men, who have tripped one another's competitive trigger and have entered a realm of temporary insanity. They weave and bob, picking this lane then the next in a desperate attempt to either stay ahead or get ahead. Otherwise reasonable people, I'm sure, but once they click into this mode all the built-up frustration of life comes pouring out into this race for supremacy and a chance to get even with this crazy world.
I have succumbed myself in the past...a bit. One of the benefits of age is that the testosterone levels smooth out and the raw fuel for such shenanigans is diminished just enough not to get sucked in. Or does it? My true confession is that just before getting to my office in Bloomington, I go through a shortcut that goes between a TCF bank and a Target. You can be proper by taking a right and taking the short road that has a 90 degree curve to the left. Or, you can be a rebel and cut diagonally through the Target parking lot in an effort to get to the exit before the slow moving "proper" cars. Too many times, the guy ahead of me goes the rebel route. If there is no one ahead of me, I often proceed to prove to the rebel that I can still beat him on the "dead mans curve" proper route. How satisfying it is to get to the exit ahead. Caveat: This is just too silly, it's the game of a juvenile and I for one have no business entertaining such foolishness. And yet it happens even to this guy pushing 66. Jesus, what must you think when you have to witness this???
Well, that's it for now. Kind of fun to articulate what is normally just mental background static. And yet it is there nonetheless and is part of the panoply of how one experiences life. (I have wanted to use panoply for some time....ahhhh, got er' in!) Time to head out into a community of fellow sojourners who are hankering after the things of the Kingdom and its eternal light, Jesus. And in the future, "please listen carefully for our voicemail options have changed"...sorry, we can take up that pet peeve another time.
Regardless, here I am at this keyboard and I desire to engage in the transformation of mental meanderings and fragmented thought through the "work" of writing. It requires energy to take this mental vagueness and coax it into the level of concreteness required to actually become "writing". This is a lot easier to do when there is something inside of me just bursting to be expressed. Not so much when the radar is for the moment empty of blips. But heh, writers write so it's time to get busy livin' or get busy dyin'.
I guess it has been a long time since I just wrote about some random observations. OK, you talked me into it Santago.....
I drive a lot (27 milies one way to office). Here's some things involving driving that have crossed my mind"
Merging: Now granted, I am a fairly aggressive driver. I don't like to be namby pamby on the road but tend to like crisp, decisive moves. So you might imagine that merging has caused me a couple of blood pressure points over the years. Too often there is this person that tries merging into the freeway going just slightly slower than the traffic. They put their signal on and drive alongside you, just a few feet ahead but really going almost the same speed. They don't start to come over into your lane though. Oh no, they continue driving straight ahead seemingly waiting for some sort of traffic permission slip that will give them the go ahead to come on over. I say merge hot, keep your speed up and get into the lane carefully but decisively. Product idea: an extra light by the turn signals, maybe a periwinkle color, that you could flip on to let the other driver know that you are hereby giving them permission to merge into your land ahead of you.
I'm Sorry: Now truth be told, as a guy who likes crisp, decisive moves while driving I do, from time to time, make a bone-headed move. Many times in such situations I have wished there was an internationally accepted sign one could make to communicate to another driver: "I am so sorry for that display of hack driving just now. It's all my fault, please forgive me." But what would that sign be? Let's face it, in this day of road rage you have to be careful about the manner in which you offer a sign to another driver. I mean, he or she is already vexed with the dumb thing you just did and then if they misinterpret the sign you use to try and communicate, suddenly you can be immersed in an unintentional, rapidly-escalating road rage incident. Product idea: A little placard on a short stick that you could hold up to the other driver which would instantly communicate that you accept full blame and apologize for your stupidity. What could be on that placard that could in no way be misinterpreted? My idea would be for a picture of a face, slightly bowed down with hands covering the face in utter humility and shame. Please submit your ideas to the management of this blog....
NASCAR for amateurs: Road racing is an interesting phenomenon. You know it when you see it.
Suddenly you notice a car in your rear view mirror approaching at a very high rate of speed. They go whisking by and then boom, here comes another car doing the same thing in fast pursuit of car number one. Here are two grown persons, normally always men, who have tripped one another's competitive trigger and have entered a realm of temporary insanity. They weave and bob, picking this lane then the next in a desperate attempt to either stay ahead or get ahead. Otherwise reasonable people, I'm sure, but once they click into this mode all the built-up frustration of life comes pouring out into this race for supremacy and a chance to get even with this crazy world.
I have succumbed myself in the past...a bit. One of the benefits of age is that the testosterone levels smooth out and the raw fuel for such shenanigans is diminished just enough not to get sucked in. Or does it? My true confession is that just before getting to my office in Bloomington, I go through a shortcut that goes between a TCF bank and a Target. You can be proper by taking a right and taking the short road that has a 90 degree curve to the left. Or, you can be a rebel and cut diagonally through the Target parking lot in an effort to get to the exit before the slow moving "proper" cars. Too many times, the guy ahead of me goes the rebel route. If there is no one ahead of me, I often proceed to prove to the rebel that I can still beat him on the "dead mans curve" proper route. How satisfying it is to get to the exit ahead. Caveat: This is just too silly, it's the game of a juvenile and I for one have no business entertaining such foolishness. And yet it happens even to this guy pushing 66. Jesus, what must you think when you have to witness this???
Well, that's it for now. Kind of fun to articulate what is normally just mental background static. And yet it is there nonetheless and is part of the panoply of how one experiences life. (I have wanted to use panoply for some time....ahhhh, got er' in!) Time to head out into a community of fellow sojourners who are hankering after the things of the Kingdom and its eternal light, Jesus. And in the future, "please listen carefully for our voicemail options have changed"...sorry, we can take up that pet peeve another time.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Lazy, lazy river.....
Transformation (Metamorphosis)
Believing it’s
possible
Still believing…..
Desire for that
which self abhors
Elusive, resisting
all frontal assaults
Tangentially
approached
Like a star only
seen
While looking
slightly aside it
Others needed, individualism
bristles
If not done solo
then how via neighbor?
Abandonment,
surrender, the currency of such change
From inside out,
for me, by One greater than I
With my assent,
for sure, in attitude of humility
Exasperation ever
lurking
Monotonously urging
Toss in that towel
and join Jimmy Buffet
But you've already
traveled such cul-de-sac routes
No light there…. no
light there
So open clenched
hands and catch
The dripping grace
of Abba’s patience
Who suffers long
for his child’s journey
Never tiring,
endless love, offering what’s sought
Enter my child,
keep joy as you pursue
End of self, rich
life, outward focused
Time has come, so
very worth it
Shared cross,
receiving all that’s broken
Yes indeed, it’s all
so possible
Still believing,
still believing……
Thirty some days since last posting, the summer blazes on, seeking to fry all in its path. I guess I actually have a dream. Alert the media! And that from a guy who has always sucked at dreaming. There's a lot I don't care for regarding my wiring and being overly pragmatic is one of them. For me, it tends to shut down possibility thinking about as fast as a young hosta in the presence of deer!
But I do want to write. It's a mode of expression that resonates with me. As I read good writers I never cease to be amazed at how good written words can move a reader into the whole spectrum of emotion. It can inspire, convict, encourage and spawn dreams of doing so myself.
Last night at home church I saw something familiar about me that is one of several items in dire need of transformation.....a lazy streak. We were discussing simplicity and simplifying both conceptually and practically. Several shared how written lists can be so freeing. Getting things down on paper, out of the mind so that there is more bandwidth for mental free thinking/concentration. Some keep paper by bed, by where they read and pray, and on several counters. I really don't need to be convinced of how effective this can be....I already am a believer. But why don't I more frequently utilize such tools....??
Because writing takes effort. Too often I allow the illusion that just putting a thought into some kind of short term memory folder will suffice..call it the power of compartmentalizing. But it's all a ruse...it really doesn't work for me.
Some aspects of my work require skills that come into play in the old game of Concentration...remembering where the matching picture is on a grid. Who was that guy with OR spine experience that called me last week in Oklahoma? I was so sure I would just remember at the time...didn't take the time to make him discover-able in the database. Freaking laziness my man.....
Out on the screen porch early this Saturday morning, listening to the day come alive. First birds that decide to break the night silence with their fresh songs for the new day. I so love that time and the feeling of being a privileged observer of the natural kingdom of which I have no control. Started thinking about what I should bring to home church that evening for our offering time. Father graciously prompted me to write a poem and call it Transformation. A seemingly crazy prompt to a Santiago who is certainly no poet (as I said in my head as He prompted me). But I have no paper and nothing to write with and that was almost that. Except in this instance the prompting wouldn't go away and I was able to raise my lazy butt out of the chair to go downstairs and steal from the printer.
Nonetheless, a character trait that is troubling to me. It gets in the way. Good things like dreams of writing take effort and laziness too easily derails. In saying this, by the way, I am not beating myself up...nope, I have declared a truce on that crap. Nonetheless, a non-helpful trait like laziness needs to be dragged out into the hot sun of the day, be named, be found guilty and sentenced to being banished. And so I do....
Monday, June 11, 2012
Home Church...more stuff
It has been interesting to be in this place of waiting to take next steps for our entry into the home church initiative. Presently we are in the midst of a break to allow those having just completed the last series of meetings/classes to sort out whether or not to proceed. Sandi and I have grieved a bit at the loss of momentum that had been established by weekly meetings with our group of 30+ brother and sisters. I confess to some amazement at the closeness I felt in our group as we pondered and discussed the elements involved in doing church differently.
It seems good to continue exploring a couple of things that have come across my radar during this quiet, waiting period. On one hand it seems the height of hubris to write about something that I have yet to embark upon. On the other hand, holding up items to the light and naming them helps me bring greater clarity to this amorphous thing we are calling home church (HC for want of a better name).
Recently I became aware of an attitude/outlook that was somehow attempting to take root during this waiting period. Namely, that I had somehow come to an erroneous assumption in my thinking that HC in and of itself offered some panacea. That is, that the very act of becoming part of a group and contributing to it's launch would somehow bring along with it a fresh dose of transformative elixir. In other words, my decidedly Western orientation (heh, since birth, what can I say) was well on it's way to declaring a quick fix to my desire to be further transformed. As if just starting to meet in a smaller group, with a new format would bring with it an almost magical re-calibration of those bits of me in need of a re-do.
How like the enemy to want to sell the lie that if your simply wrap the present differently it will entirely transform what is inside. As I saw this tendency and how it wanted to grab hold, I was a bit stunned at the eagerness of my hedonistic old man as he sat whimpering in the background, hoping to find a type of "cheap grace" and a road less arduous. Perhaps at times you too have found yourself wanting to believe that by merely attending church on a Sunday automatically produced true progress. Although it may well contribute to the process of transformation, it holds little to no intrinsic value outside of Jesus.
Looking from the outside in, I believe HC is mainly just a different venue, a different crucible that may offer more opportunity for it's participants to work out their salvation among one another with fear and trembling. A venue where each person is expected to bring some type of truth each week. The gathering itself offers no magic in it's smallness other than allowing for a more fuller participation of each of the priests that gather. The real value is what is appropriated in the quiet of each person's walk with the living Christ and subsequently brought to the gathering to share and edify. Just as with a potluck, if no one brings anything to share the time together suffers greatly. The dynamics of not being a hidden, anonymous attendee allow the Holy Spirit all kinds of new, more organic, opportunities to work out our position in Christ among others.
So HC is not magical in and of itself...it mainly offers a different format with the heightened expectations that are possible, even achievable in a smaller group of like-minded ones. I mean anybody can go out and buy a pro-jersey and sport it about town but that doesn't make one a pro. It's the work (and talent in the case of the pro athlete) that goes on behind the scenes that causes the person underneath the jersey to function as a pro. The small gathering we are calling HC allows for but does not all by itself produce life changes
On a somewhat separate note, I feel some excitement in the background of my life, just outside my cognitive reach, apparently caused by the very recent entry and awareness of the Anabaptist tradition. As I have begun to study this historical stance on imitating Jesus, I have sensed early signs of a possible "homecoming". And the convergence of this with the upcoming launch of HC carries tantalizing appeal.
The adult believer vs infant baptism is an obvious plank of this homecoming platform which I have believed in throughout my walk with Jesus. But there are other avenues that are typical elements of the Anabaptist tradition that are both encouraging and that may well scratch some long-standing itches. The whole aspect of community is one in particular that I both resist and desire. So far, my experiences have been involved in small breakout groups from the large gathering that, to date, have been experienced as less than genuine. But to make the small group the actual core of the community provides entirely new possibilities for an authentic experience of doing life together
The Anabaptist emphasis on mission also converges nicely with the small, organic nature of the HC. Additionally, the values of simplicity, stepping away from Christendom, robust discipleship, a focus toward social justice and activism, combine to present a position warranting further consideration. What is particularly encouraging is that the Anabaptist elements are part of a tradition not necessarily a denomination. This conveniently allows for a HC to explore such Anabaptist dimensions without having to conform to or jettison any particular denominational affiliations thus keeping present alliances intact.
Heh, I am so aware of seeing through a glass darkly regarding these things. I fully expect to read all of this in 3 or 4 years and be embarrassed at the naivety or overly simplistic inferences. Nevertheless, it is good to pause and say that it looks and appears that Father is guiding our household into turning a new bend in the river as He guides us along further up and into His Kingdom. And to that, I say Glory!!
It seems good to continue exploring a couple of things that have come across my radar during this quiet, waiting period. On one hand it seems the height of hubris to write about something that I have yet to embark upon. On the other hand, holding up items to the light and naming them helps me bring greater clarity to this amorphous thing we are calling home church (HC for want of a better name).
Recently I became aware of an attitude/outlook that was somehow attempting to take root during this waiting period. Namely, that I had somehow come to an erroneous assumption in my thinking that HC in and of itself offered some panacea. That is, that the very act of becoming part of a group and contributing to it's launch would somehow bring along with it a fresh dose of transformative elixir. In other words, my decidedly Western orientation (heh, since birth, what can I say) was well on it's way to declaring a quick fix to my desire to be further transformed. As if just starting to meet in a smaller group, with a new format would bring with it an almost magical re-calibration of those bits of me in need of a re-do.
How like the enemy to want to sell the lie that if your simply wrap the present differently it will entirely transform what is inside. As I saw this tendency and how it wanted to grab hold, I was a bit stunned at the eagerness of my hedonistic old man as he sat whimpering in the background, hoping to find a type of "cheap grace" and a road less arduous. Perhaps at times you too have found yourself wanting to believe that by merely attending church on a Sunday automatically produced true progress. Although it may well contribute to the process of transformation, it holds little to no intrinsic value outside of Jesus.
Looking from the outside in, I believe HC is mainly just a different venue, a different crucible that may offer more opportunity for it's participants to work out their salvation among one another with fear and trembling. A venue where each person is expected to bring some type of truth each week. The gathering itself offers no magic in it's smallness other than allowing for a more fuller participation of each of the priests that gather. The real value is what is appropriated in the quiet of each person's walk with the living Christ and subsequently brought to the gathering to share and edify. Just as with a potluck, if no one brings anything to share the time together suffers greatly. The dynamics of not being a hidden, anonymous attendee allow the Holy Spirit all kinds of new, more organic, opportunities to work out our position in Christ among others.
So HC is not magical in and of itself...it mainly offers a different format with the heightened expectations that are possible, even achievable in a smaller group of like-minded ones. I mean anybody can go out and buy a pro-jersey and sport it about town but that doesn't make one a pro. It's the work (and talent in the case of the pro athlete) that goes on behind the scenes that causes the person underneath the jersey to function as a pro. The small gathering we are calling HC allows for but does not all by itself produce life changes
On a somewhat separate note, I feel some excitement in the background of my life, just outside my cognitive reach, apparently caused by the very recent entry and awareness of the Anabaptist tradition. As I have begun to study this historical stance on imitating Jesus, I have sensed early signs of a possible "homecoming". And the convergence of this with the upcoming launch of HC carries tantalizing appeal.
The adult believer vs infant baptism is an obvious plank of this homecoming platform which I have believed in throughout my walk with Jesus. But there are other avenues that are typical elements of the Anabaptist tradition that are both encouraging and that may well scratch some long-standing itches. The whole aspect of community is one in particular that I both resist and desire. So far, my experiences have been involved in small breakout groups from the large gathering that, to date, have been experienced as less than genuine. But to make the small group the actual core of the community provides entirely new possibilities for an authentic experience of doing life together
The Anabaptist emphasis on mission also converges nicely with the small, organic nature of the HC. Additionally, the values of simplicity, stepping away from Christendom, robust discipleship, a focus toward social justice and activism, combine to present a position warranting further consideration. What is particularly encouraging is that the Anabaptist elements are part of a tradition not necessarily a denomination. This conveniently allows for a HC to explore such Anabaptist dimensions without having to conform to or jettison any particular denominational affiliations thus keeping present alliances intact.
Heh, I am so aware of seeing through a glass darkly regarding these things. I fully expect to read all of this in 3 or 4 years and be embarrassed at the naivety or overly simplistic inferences. Nevertheless, it is good to pause and say that it looks and appears that Father is guiding our household into turning a new bend in the river as He guides us along further up and into His Kingdom. And to that, I say Glory!!
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Home Church
So the "class" is over.... After 13 weeks of meeting on Sundays with 30+ in the coffee shop called Sojourners, we have completed an overview of what lies behind/under the who, what, why's and wherefores of doing church differently. And it was so good. So good to gather with like-minded people who shared a heart for what is difficult to articulate. A yearning really, to go beyond what the current walls of church seem to foster.
So writing is naming things and part of the 'rule and subdue' mandate given way back in the beginning. At least that is how I am seeing it right now and seems right to me. So we'll keep rolling in that direction (until a more clear correction or re-direct comes visiting). By the way, I love how my own blog allows me to just interrupt, to return to a previous thought or theme to add an additional ounce of further clarification right smack dab in the midst of an entirely different subject. A blog is, if nothing else, certainly self-accommodating.
OK, I seek to exercise this naming as regards to what I will simply call home church (HC). Standing on the threshold of this new direction feels like a profound thing. Doing church so differently after a self-pattern followed for 30 or 40 years is, to me, no small thing. Desiring to write around it before actually doing it seems at least novel, perhaps naive, but worth some key strokes nonetheless.
The traditional, well-accepted approach.... we gather together in small or larger groups, rows of seats/pews all facing forward and participate in a formatted service. Mostly passive participation...yes, singing of course, but no inter-relating with those to the left or right (unless the fleeting greeting of one's neighbor holds more value than I am aware). And we watch what's on the screen, listen to the speaker(s), perhaps pray from our seats, maybe take some notes. Someone has somewhat harshly boiled it all down to "a concert and a speech". And then it is over except for maybe 15 minutes of fellow shipping in one type of 'gathering area' or another. And this mostly done between the same people with those they already know. And then we go home with a check mark in the 'Do Church' box, hoping ourselves more ready for the Wednesday challenges to be dealt out by the world that undoubtedly loom ahead.
Perhaps an over-simplistic, pessimistic re-presentation of the essence of it all....OK, I'll give you that. No judgement intended and really I am mainly aiming my comments at me. But no matter how you cut it, if you pour all the transformation that has occurred in all the lives going through this weekly drill over the last 50 years into a big beaker, I submit that the volume of "he must increase but I must decrease" that could be poured out would be unimpressive at best. The New Testament lives we read about were dramatically changed and their radically different approach to life was more than just noticed. It was infectious, firmly resisted and it cost, cost, cost. Today.... not so much. What up?
Several others have done a great job measuring and quantifying the end result of today's Christianity. Guys like Barna and Gallup give us the "read it and weep" bottom line results of where a couple thousand years of the institutionalized versions of "following Jesus" has delivered us. It's so not pretty. No real difference in the way of doing life, none, nada, between the worldly secular guy and the member of Hosanna 1st Baptist. Yikes! Again, this is not about "them"...I am looking at the man in the mirror and if you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make the change....
End result, a hunger to go beyond this now normalized version of today's average church. A sense that what lies ahead and what it will demand will never be able to be navigated via this status quo version of "work out your salvation with fear and trembling." Thus, at the tender age of 65, what has kind-of-worked for so long has, over the last year or so, been found to be a cracked cistern that simply cannot be relied upon to hold sufficient life water.
So I hear myself telling others that "I am ready" to turn the Etch-a-Sketch upside down, give it a good shake and start all over. Start meeting with a smaller group of 15-20 or 30....kind of vague-ish on the number but you get the point. Jesus had his 12, had Peter, James and John as a special sub-group of 3 and they all did life together 24-7. And a non-homogenized group it was, full of disparate professions, zealots, hot-heads, a tax-collector thought to be too cozy with the Romans and a thief who stole from the treasury he was assigned to manage. Nothing too idealistic about them.
And so off we go to emulate some of the same features of what our New Testament brethren laid down as an example. To go on a kind of camping trip where all of life's normal props and diversions are nowhere to be seen and things get organic real quick. Sand in the food, bugs in the sleeping bags. And the proximity of other eternal souls with their irritating ways of doing things, their incessant overuse of certain words, how they chew their food and why can't they see how ridiculous they look sporting Culpeppers old jersey number. Smallness brings an instant level of increased transparency, being more or less leaderless, listening to the Spirit for Him to be the guide of conducting our church is edgy and can put on edge. A perfect environment for misunderstandings and petty disagreements galore. Organic, messy, no convenient closets to hide your stuff which lies strewn all around your tent for all to see. Doing dishes with river water, starting fires with damp wood. You get the picture....If you can have Dylan or Clapton un-plugged then this is church down and dirty.
Jeesh, here I am saying all this and the HC boat is still at the dock, yet-to-embark. One can only imagine that their will be sufficient things to "name" as the little dingy of 453 Carol Lane joins with some other little dingys, happily bobbing along on the dark waters, seeking more robust transformation but really having little idea what it is they are asking for. We remind ol' Santiago to be mindful of what he asks for. Mas tardes padron....mas tardes.
So writing is naming things and part of the 'rule and subdue' mandate given way back in the beginning. At least that is how I am seeing it right now and seems right to me. So we'll keep rolling in that direction (until a more clear correction or re-direct comes visiting). By the way, I love how my own blog allows me to just interrupt, to return to a previous thought or theme to add an additional ounce of further clarification right smack dab in the midst of an entirely different subject. A blog is, if nothing else, certainly self-accommodating.
OK, I seek to exercise this naming as regards to what I will simply call home church (HC). Standing on the threshold of this new direction feels like a profound thing. Doing church so differently after a self-pattern followed for 30 or 40 years is, to me, no small thing. Desiring to write around it before actually doing it seems at least novel, perhaps naive, but worth some key strokes nonetheless.
The traditional, well-accepted approach.... we gather together in small or larger groups, rows of seats/pews all facing forward and participate in a formatted service. Mostly passive participation...yes, singing of course, but no inter-relating with those to the left or right (unless the fleeting greeting of one's neighbor holds more value than I am aware). And we watch what's on the screen, listen to the speaker(s), perhaps pray from our seats, maybe take some notes. Someone has somewhat harshly boiled it all down to "a concert and a speech". And then it is over except for maybe 15 minutes of fellow shipping in one type of 'gathering area' or another. And this mostly done between the same people with those they already know. And then we go home with a check mark in the 'Do Church' box, hoping ourselves more ready for the Wednesday challenges to be dealt out by the world that undoubtedly loom ahead.
Perhaps an over-simplistic, pessimistic re-presentation of the essence of it all....OK, I'll give you that. No judgement intended and really I am mainly aiming my comments at me. But no matter how you cut it, if you pour all the transformation that has occurred in all the lives going through this weekly drill over the last 50 years into a big beaker, I submit that the volume of "he must increase but I must decrease" that could be poured out would be unimpressive at best. The New Testament lives we read about were dramatically changed and their radically different approach to life was more than just noticed. It was infectious, firmly resisted and it cost, cost, cost. Today.... not so much. What up?
Several others have done a great job measuring and quantifying the end result of today's Christianity. Guys like Barna and Gallup give us the "read it and weep" bottom line results of where a couple thousand years of the institutionalized versions of "following Jesus" has delivered us. It's so not pretty. No real difference in the way of doing life, none, nada, between the worldly secular guy and the member of Hosanna 1st Baptist. Yikes! Again, this is not about "them"...I am looking at the man in the mirror and if you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make the change....
End result, a hunger to go beyond this now normalized version of today's average church. A sense that what lies ahead and what it will demand will never be able to be navigated via this status quo version of "work out your salvation with fear and trembling." Thus, at the tender age of 65, what has kind-of-worked for so long has, over the last year or so, been found to be a cracked cistern that simply cannot be relied upon to hold sufficient life water.
So I hear myself telling others that "I am ready" to turn the Etch-a-Sketch upside down, give it a good shake and start all over. Start meeting with a smaller group of 15-20 or 30....kind of vague-ish on the number but you get the point. Jesus had his 12, had Peter, James and John as a special sub-group of 3 and they all did life together 24-7. And a non-homogenized group it was, full of disparate professions, zealots, hot-heads, a tax-collector thought to be too cozy with the Romans and a thief who stole from the treasury he was assigned to manage. Nothing too idealistic about them.
And so off we go to emulate some of the same features of what our New Testament brethren laid down as an example. To go on a kind of camping trip where all of life's normal props and diversions are nowhere to be seen and things get organic real quick. Sand in the food, bugs in the sleeping bags. And the proximity of other eternal souls with their irritating ways of doing things, their incessant overuse of certain words, how they chew their food and why can't they see how ridiculous they look sporting Culpeppers old jersey number. Smallness brings an instant level of increased transparency, being more or less leaderless, listening to the Spirit for Him to be the guide of conducting our church is edgy and can put on edge. A perfect environment for misunderstandings and petty disagreements galore. Organic, messy, no convenient closets to hide your stuff which lies strewn all around your tent for all to see. Doing dishes with river water, starting fires with damp wood. You get the picture....If you can have Dylan or Clapton un-plugged then this is church down and dirty.
Jeesh, here I am saying all this and the HC boat is still at the dock, yet-to-embark. One can only imagine that their will be sufficient things to "name" as the little dingy of 453 Carol Lane joins with some other little dingys, happily bobbing along on the dark waters, seeking more robust transformation but really having little idea what it is they are asking for. We remind ol' Santiago to be mindful of what he asks for. Mas tardes padron....mas tardes.
Friday, April 27, 2012
WHY? (not by the Accents)
So let's give this a crack. Sitting here not feeling "inspired" to write like I have been know to feel when blogs used to fly off my fingers. Last post ended with something about now that I have the WHY of writing let's get on with it. But hold up kimosabe, hold up. I would like to develop this all a bit more. Specifically, to get more clarity, punch, succinctness around this concept of writing as Edenic, writing as naming things, writing as taking a raw, undefined lump of clay and letting the statue come out of the mass (there is a quote about this out there somewhere).
As I learn and practice slowing down in order to see the graces and give the thanks, I am more aware of ignoring a lot of "passing" thoughts. Assorted unnamed fears, fledgling observations and vague concepts are simply left by the roadside as I speed along happily multi-tasking. Writing absolutely doesn't allow such aimless, mad speeding. Choosing words that describe foggy thoughts is intentional as intentional can be. Writing is the parachute that pops open on the pointless dragster and beckons one to get close in and clip on the macro lens. Gosh, even the title of my blog is in opposition to such methodicalness. Just a quick flyby is hardly going to nail down any nebulousness. Nope, need to drop down onto the forest floor and sort through those acorns and pine cones in order to develop a canadian-water-clear thought.
So naming things is Edenic. And it is part of subduing the earth which is a mandate I continue to share as a son of Abba. OK, got that. And writing is a process of 'naming' things...at least describing them, articulating the parts and pieces of concepts in the effort to make them understandable, communicable and life-giving. If this is in fact true, if I am not taking too much license in applying 'naming' things to writing, then I get very excited about writing because it takes on a purpose that is part of my Kingdom job description and therefore worthwhile to do and spend time on. It is not just some frivolous, narcissistic form of mental masturbation. It is authorized from above, it honors God my creator, it fulfills at least a portion of my calling as an eternal citizen and a member of the royal priesthood of believers. I am authorized, I have a delegated authority to subdue confusion, to bring clarity, to replace mushy, ill-conceived, harmful notions and to identify all lies, root and renounce them out and to install truth in their place. That is a glorious undertaking, is it not? Come on, look at this! If this is true then I have a mission to bring this part of the gospel into all I do and writing is at least one of the ways to promote such restoration in this fallen world as it courses it's way towards freedom and full redemption.
Phew! That felt good to say!! Father, am I barking up an OK tree here? Am I smelling what you are cooking correctly? I am humbled by the recollection of how easily I can be misled or self-deluded but I refuse to just stay in my cell as a compliant prisoner of my own making. I have heard myself say and I have felt hungry for more "transformation". Well bunky, I believe that these thoughts about writing are involved with that process as a discipline, a tool to bring healed, restored thought and definition to what has been previously put out of joint, mangled and made ineffective. Gosh, that elevates writing to a holy act, at least when submitted to God, an opportunity for me to act as an heir of God and Christ. "To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace." (R8,6)
And whom, might I ask, is this writing intended for? Are you suggesting the world is breathlessly on standby as it awaits these pearls of truth that dribble out this blog spigot? Au contraire tater salad , au contraire. The only person's transformation that I can ultimately participate in to any significant extent is my own. My writing is not to be geared for any segment of the outside. I am both the preacher and the congregation and I believe that if I keep that in mind, write honestly, with no aspirations or yearnings for broader audiences, then I should be just fine. Being intentional is asking God to transform me, writing in and around personal subluxations is very much a part of subduing this world one member at a time.
So for future posts, it seems appropriate to name things (write) in those categories of life that cause me to regularly limp. Exploring the forest floor of fear, anxiety, being hard on myself, selfishness are all possibilities. A search and destroy mission against the most un-transformed Santiago bits. I suggest we just let this all sit in the pot on simmer until our next visit. We can check back in on it then, take a taste and see if time away brings sense or not to the above discussion. Until then.....empty to fill. And continued thanks to Ann Voskamp!
As I learn and practice slowing down in order to see the graces and give the thanks, I am more aware of ignoring a lot of "passing" thoughts. Assorted unnamed fears, fledgling observations and vague concepts are simply left by the roadside as I speed along happily multi-tasking. Writing absolutely doesn't allow such aimless, mad speeding. Choosing words that describe foggy thoughts is intentional as intentional can be. Writing is the parachute that pops open on the pointless dragster and beckons one to get close in and clip on the macro lens. Gosh, even the title of my blog is in opposition to such methodicalness. Just a quick flyby is hardly going to nail down any nebulousness. Nope, need to drop down onto the forest floor and sort through those acorns and pine cones in order to develop a canadian-water-clear thought.
So naming things is Edenic. And it is part of subduing the earth which is a mandate I continue to share as a son of Abba. OK, got that. And writing is a process of 'naming' things...at least describing them, articulating the parts and pieces of concepts in the effort to make them understandable, communicable and life-giving. If this is in fact true, if I am not taking too much license in applying 'naming' things to writing, then I get very excited about writing because it takes on a purpose that is part of my Kingdom job description and therefore worthwhile to do and spend time on. It is not just some frivolous, narcissistic form of mental masturbation. It is authorized from above, it honors God my creator, it fulfills at least a portion of my calling as an eternal citizen and a member of the royal priesthood of believers. I am authorized, I have a delegated authority to subdue confusion, to bring clarity, to replace mushy, ill-conceived, harmful notions and to identify all lies, root and renounce them out and to install truth in their place. That is a glorious undertaking, is it not? Come on, look at this! If this is true then I have a mission to bring this part of the gospel into all I do and writing is at least one of the ways to promote such restoration in this fallen world as it courses it's way towards freedom and full redemption.
Phew! That felt good to say!! Father, am I barking up an OK tree here? Am I smelling what you are cooking correctly? I am humbled by the recollection of how easily I can be misled or self-deluded but I refuse to just stay in my cell as a compliant prisoner of my own making. I have heard myself say and I have felt hungry for more "transformation". Well bunky, I believe that these thoughts about writing are involved with that process as a discipline, a tool to bring healed, restored thought and definition to what has been previously put out of joint, mangled and made ineffective. Gosh, that elevates writing to a holy act, at least when submitted to God, an opportunity for me to act as an heir of God and Christ. "To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace." (R8,6)
And whom, might I ask, is this writing intended for? Are you suggesting the world is breathlessly on standby as it awaits these pearls of truth that dribble out this blog spigot? Au contraire tater salad , au contraire. The only person's transformation that I can ultimately participate in to any significant extent is my own. My writing is not to be geared for any segment of the outside. I am both the preacher and the congregation and I believe that if I keep that in mind, write honestly, with no aspirations or yearnings for broader audiences, then I should be just fine. Being intentional is asking God to transform me, writing in and around personal subluxations is very much a part of subduing this world one member at a time.
So for future posts, it seems appropriate to name things (write) in those categories of life that cause me to regularly limp. Exploring the forest floor of fear, anxiety, being hard on myself, selfishness are all possibilities. A search and destroy mission against the most un-transformed Santiago bits. I suggest we just let this all sit in the pot on simmer until our next visit. We can check back in on it then, take a taste and see if time away brings sense or not to the above discussion. Until then.....empty to fill. And continued thanks to Ann Voskamp!
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Santiago Returns
Wow, you know it's been a long time when it took me about 30 minutes to find my own blog and then actually get access to it. Password had aged out I guess. It's like the health care system....what's supposed to be for you can actually seem set against you.
So it's been a year, over a year. Kind of lost my way on blogging. The first 34 posts were done during a time when there was a bit of a blogging community that I was a part of. I would often lose my way, lose the WHY? of writing/posting. And then there was the whole thing of wondering who might read and what they might have to say by way of comment. Although kind of exciting in the expectancy that came with it, all in all in wasn't helpful for me. I would like to write with no audience in mind, to have the writing process be an end in itself. With that in mind I believe I have turned off the ability for others to comment (if I did it correctly). Now, only members of this blog can comment and I am the only member....brilliant!
Rather than try and recap the 15 months or so that has gone by, I really just want to start fresh. Being present, seeking the transformation that has in large part been elusive (at least measured by me, which I'm not certain you can really do all that adequately). We are pursuing this exploration of missional discipleship community right now in the effort to explore doing "church" differently. I am hungry to live these career twilight times with less fear and trepidation. If perfect love does in fact cast out fear then I have a lot more need for more perfect love!
Reading Ann Voskamp's 1000 Gifts has been quite inspirational....it even set me down to write tonight. On my 2nd read which is fairly rare. I was watching a You Tube of one of her interviews and several things stood out that parallel what I have found in writing. Things like not even knowing what you thought about something until you write about it. About the power of naming things and for me writing is naming fuzzy thoughts and birthing them into articulated substance. Even heard the quote from Eric Little in one of the interviews, the very line that I have used to describe writing....Yes, when I write (and later read it) I too feel the pleasure of God. It's somewhere in the strange co-mingling of my self-familiarity with the presence of someone else that I believe to be Christ in me. The resulting product can often be like reading something fresh, not at all something that I actually wrote. So very strange and yet absolutely exhilarating!
Writing is work and I have a very lazy streak in me. I like to check things off my list, keep things moving, accomplish in some volume. But I can't do that with writing...it leads me to only writing when I am in a certain mood which is on the same cycle as 'blue moons'. Everything of value is work, good and lasting things come through intentionality, through honest effort, focus. One doesn't birth anything without expending plenty of energy and for me, thrashing around until I name it is a messy, tiring exercise that keeps me totally in the dark until it is over and done.
So I have returned with a desire to exercise a gift God gave me to communicate with written words. I want to exercise this for Him, because He gave it to me. I want to derive clarity and increased freedoms for myself by being honest, by exploring 2' fears casting 7' shadows. I desire to form a discipline in writing even when I don't feel like it because "writers" write. If I want to get better at writing I must write. This is my first, renewed step to write, to feel the pleasure of God and do at least part of what I was created to do. All this but with no thought of it having any purpose other than allowing a James/God dialogue, to grow in Christ, to be a more thankful, courageous member of the Kingdom community.
So, welcome back ol' friend. Thank you for taking some time to dust off the old cobwebs and clack the keys. I choose to glory in having no idea where to go from here. The words above have established sufficient WHY. Now it's time for some DO!
And oh by the way...let's skip the search for clever pictures to accompany the posts...as they say on American Idol..."this is a singing contest". So no superfulous efforts on prettifying the blog....just write from the heart and all will be well compadre!
So it's been a year, over a year. Kind of lost my way on blogging. The first 34 posts were done during a time when there was a bit of a blogging community that I was a part of. I would often lose my way, lose the WHY? of writing/posting. And then there was the whole thing of wondering who might read and what they might have to say by way of comment. Although kind of exciting in the expectancy that came with it, all in all in wasn't helpful for me. I would like to write with no audience in mind, to have the writing process be an end in itself. With that in mind I believe I have turned off the ability for others to comment (if I did it correctly). Now, only members of this blog can comment and I am the only member....brilliant!
Rather than try and recap the 15 months or so that has gone by, I really just want to start fresh. Being present, seeking the transformation that has in large part been elusive (at least measured by me, which I'm not certain you can really do all that adequately). We are pursuing this exploration of missional discipleship community right now in the effort to explore doing "church" differently. I am hungry to live these career twilight times with less fear and trepidation. If perfect love does in fact cast out fear then I have a lot more need for more perfect love!
Reading Ann Voskamp's 1000 Gifts has been quite inspirational....it even set me down to write tonight. On my 2nd read which is fairly rare. I was watching a You Tube of one of her interviews and several things stood out that parallel what I have found in writing. Things like not even knowing what you thought about something until you write about it. About the power of naming things and for me writing is naming fuzzy thoughts and birthing them into articulated substance. Even heard the quote from Eric Little in one of the interviews, the very line that I have used to describe writing....Yes, when I write (and later read it) I too feel the pleasure of God. It's somewhere in the strange co-mingling of my self-familiarity with the presence of someone else that I believe to be Christ in me. The resulting product can often be like reading something fresh, not at all something that I actually wrote. So very strange and yet absolutely exhilarating!
Writing is work and I have a very lazy streak in me. I like to check things off my list, keep things moving, accomplish in some volume. But I can't do that with writing...it leads me to only writing when I am in a certain mood which is on the same cycle as 'blue moons'. Everything of value is work, good and lasting things come through intentionality, through honest effort, focus. One doesn't birth anything without expending plenty of energy and for me, thrashing around until I name it is a messy, tiring exercise that keeps me totally in the dark until it is over and done.
So I have returned with a desire to exercise a gift God gave me to communicate with written words. I want to exercise this for Him, because He gave it to me. I want to derive clarity and increased freedoms for myself by being honest, by exploring 2' fears casting 7' shadows. I desire to form a discipline in writing even when I don't feel like it because "writers" write. If I want to get better at writing I must write. This is my first, renewed step to write, to feel the pleasure of God and do at least part of what I was created to do. All this but with no thought of it having any purpose other than allowing a James/God dialogue, to grow in Christ, to be a more thankful, courageous member of the Kingdom community.
So, welcome back ol' friend. Thank you for taking some time to dust off the old cobwebs and clack the keys. I choose to glory in having no idea where to go from here. The words above have established sufficient WHY. Now it's time for some DO!
And oh by the way...let's skip the search for clever pictures to accompany the posts...as they say on American Idol..."this is a singing contest". So no superfulous efforts on prettifying the blog....just write from the heart and all will be well compadre!
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