This Is Me Watching

Sweat, spit, dirt, and blood
Scornful looks and derisive laughter
Shamed and embarrassed faces turn away
Blazing sun with no respite
Traded in for a murderer
A whip lies on the floor, as abused as its victim
Bits of metal and flesh lashed to its many tails
A bottle of vinegar lies empty, upended
to quench the thirst of the Thirst-Quencher
A bush lies barren
After its branches and thorns have been stripped
To make a crown
Foot marks track up a hill
followed by the deep groove of a pole dragged
Blood stains on a felled tree
And His Kingship declared
in a sign written in all languages
A body risen up

This is me watching my Savior die.


An earthquake
Sundering the world beyond the physical
The temple and the Temple
destroyed
The veil ripped in half
The partition in rags
A tomb lies open
Empty of the limp body once inside
Messengers sent to declare
The Triumph
A new body breathing
Bearing the scars of old
My namesake feeling the hands
Pierced for me
Seeing the side
Where a spear declared death
That face smiling
Knowing what's been accomplished
A body risen up

This is me watching my Savior live.


This is me watching my Savior love.
This is me watching my Savior laugh.
This is me watching my Savior cry.
This is me watching my Savior pay the debt.
This is me watching my Savior given glory.
This is me watching my Savior risen up.
This is me watching my Savior.

Some Kind of Zombie

There's a song by Audio Adrenaline(they had some awesome stuff) called "Some Kind of Zombie". For some reason that song has been stuck in my head, even though it was my bro Jon's CD, and I haven't even heard it in a couple of years. But it has a fantastic and unique perspective on what the Christian life is.

First off, it doesn't shy away from the obvious. From the outside, we look like freaks. We change our speech, our desires, our bearings. We still retain our personality, but we're definitely changed. Like a zombie, raised from the dead. Looks the same, but has a different desire. They desire flesh, and we desire to remember that Christ's flesh was pierced for us. We are zombies, for Christ. I'm not afraid to say that. We are dead to our old lives. We don't have to live in sin, despair, hopelessness, and ultimately, complete and absolute Death. We're dead to being dragged around by the desires, lusts, and lies like specks of dirt caught in a current. We've put on the shackles of Christ only because He took off the shackles we were born with. We found something so beautiful,so complete, so different from the failed promises of this world. Why would we go back to that emptiness?

What's better yet is that after this change, we look at this world. The one that hasn't been transformed yet. Do you know what I see? Zombies. People wandering through life, chasing these goals promising fulfillment. Popularity, money, drugs. Healthy living, a strong family life, good morals. They all lead to emptiness, because they give nothing back, even if they seem 'right'. Christ gives. He's different from this rat race.

I'm the same on the outside. I still react in serious situations with jokes. I still like weird clothes and shaggy hair. I still hate shaving, and I still would rather be looking in from the outside(as opposite as that is from what people think). But I don't live for myself anymore. I don't need to be laughed at. I don't need to be distinguished by how I look. I don't need to be walking with the rest to say I'm different. I've walked away from the grave. Just another zombie. I'm changed. Forever. Christ's work can do that. He restores. He fulfills.

'here they come
they're all up on me
but I'm dead to sin like
some kind of zombie.'

These Aren't My Genes

Okay, so a long-time hiatus, but I need to get back into this. It’s way too beneficial. I just had been thinking of an idea/story thingy(technical term, and apparently “thingy” is a real word since spell check didn’t do the “Angry Red Underline Showing You Screwed Up” thingy. Heh.) that is just convicting and encouraging to me, and hopefully it’ll be the same for you.


Out on the front patio, an old man rocks slowly back and forth in a large wicker chair. His eyes casually survey the neighborhood, a thoughtful look betraying the peaceful environment. “Pops”, as he’s lovingly called(by a good portion of the community), looks down at the garden by the steps. He’s quite proud of it, truth be told. The time he put into planning and planting it, the excitement he felt as he saw life spring up from the ground. Flowers abundant wrap around each other in a show of pure serenity and unscathed paradise.

Pops raises his eyes back to the street as he hears the school bus pull up at the corner. Irrational excitement and anticipation speed his heartbeat up. Child after child file out, coiled up with energy after the long twenty minutes spent on that large Twinkie. Some children run off to their houses, planning on smashing toy cars together or planning a tea party with their favorite stuffed friends, or for the responsible ones, trudging up their house steps for an afternoon of homework. Some children stay by the patch of lawn they stepped out on, and try to squeeze out the last remaining minutes with their friends.

Finally, though, Pops sees his son step out. Shaggy blonde hair and a wide smile, Tom jokes with his friends and good naturedly pushes one with his shoulder. Living fully in the throes of childhood, Tom is completely unaware of his dad’s eyes on him. One of his friends, Luke, catches Pops looking over, however, and openly points and laughs at Tom being a “Daddy’s boy”. The smile fades away, and Tom turns to slowly walk toward his dad. Pops disregards the other children’s actions. They aren’t like his boy. One Tom is worth a million Lukes in his mind.

“Hey Dad”, Tom says half-heartedly.

“How was your day?”, Pops asks, eager to connect with his son after the whole day.

“It was fine”, the replay comes, “I’ll be upstairs doing schoolwork.” Not even a glance back as Tom climbs the stairs quietly. One of the reasons the others make fun of Tom is that he’s adopted. Pops took him in as a baby, as he has with countless others before Tom. He knows his son is obedient, but it’s a chore for him. He occasionally gets out of line, and Pops gently but forcefully uses these times to guide his son back. There are times when Tom cares nothing more than to spend all day out back with his dad, wrestling or running through the sprinkler, but it eventually dies away to a sullen obedience, like having his dad in particular is limiting. The other dads, like Luke’s, let him cause havoc on the street, ripping off mailboxes and tipping over trash cans. But Pops heart is broken by Tom, because this is his son. So Pops continues to guide and teach Tom, knowing one day he’ll fully understand how Pops thinks of him. Tom will grow up, but right now Pops is still giving him the basics.


Obviously analogies can’t be taken too far, but I think this is a pretty good analogy of me for far too much of my life. How many Christians feel that we are limited by an unlimited God? We subconsciously beg for our old life, in this dying world. We turn a blind eye to the fact that the unsaved around us are miserable. They act like people panicking in the water when they can’t swim. They’ll naturally grab the man next to them and push him down for the next two breaths. But we think they live the good life. I mean, fame and fortune have already proven themselves, haven’t they? Rockstars, comedians, A-list actors are all completely in the sweet spot, right? I hate that I’m ashamed of my Father sometimes. He gave me a life I couldn’t dream of, and the best part is, I’m not even in it yet. Already I have promises others are lacking in. Peace, patience, true joy, and best of all hope. I know where I’m headed, and I can’t believe I get to spend eternity with my Savior and the Father. So let’s live this life to it’s fullest, truly, by spreading how great my eternal Dad is. A Father who adopted me, raised me, nurtured me, and made the way to save me, by sending His only perfect Son. The one who can call me friend.

“Grace is but glory begun, and glory is but grace perfected.” -Jonathan Edwards