The Valleys and Hills

Just as a warning, this is a selfish post. Just some chest-lightening(is that a word?) I need to do for myself.

You know those days that you're systematically going through all the regrets you carry. It's kind of a mental task you have to perform every once in while, just to put them back in check and relinquish it all. It doesn't even say anything on how pleased or displeased you are with your life. I have a beautiful, godly wife, and three children I've been absolutely and undeservingly given. For me it's much more a struggle over myself. See, if you know me at all, then you know that my teen years were filled with either legitimate bouts of depression, or, much more often, times locking myself in my room feeling sorry for my "terrible" life. You know, the one with loving parents, a Biblical foundation, two awesome siblings, a healthy body, and a bright mind.

Luckily after getting out of that, and getting caught up in husband- and parenthood, God made it evident that I don't have the time to feel sorry for myself. Lives depended on me to get my head together. My studies(honestly by pure divine planning picking Biblical Studies) are what got me through it, by being forced to spend time in God's Word. Even though it was by proxy, by growing closer to the Lord His Word saved my life. It did. I was miserable before that.

But every once in a while I find myself faced with an old life. Regrets of stupid things I've done. People I've hurt or neglected, opportunities missed, wasted time, honest stupidity. We can all attest to the fact that I was immature and idiotic. Still am. But I have a Savior who gives hope to the future. A promise of eternity spent with Him. The hope of escaping death, as He did once. God willing, I'll have more opportunities ahead of me to give glory to Him. Of being someone that helps heal hearts instead of tearing them. Of doing right by God's will, because we've already seen what I'm capable of apart from Him.

Christ, you are my all in all, and I get to face you, my Savior, my Friend, my Beloved. I get to see what you look like. I get to behold Your hands. I get to look You in the eyes. I get to see what Your smile is like. I get to see what Your face shows when You look upon me with absolute joy. You've restored, You are restoring, and You will restore me. What a gracious, merciful God you are. I give my regrets to You, because I am dead to my old life. You've made me new. I am a new creature, with Your stamp on me. How great You are!

:) He is so good to us. Even in our times of seeming darkness, when we get lost in ourselves for a bit, He holds our hands and pours continuing grace on us. Let's not waste our lives. Let's give what little sacrifice we can to Him who changed our hearts forever.

Created

Do you know why you should be mindblown when you look around?

For His invisible attributes, namely, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made, so that they are without excuse. -Romans 1:20

The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork -Psalm 19:1

Think about it. Why do people find such serenity in nature? Because it's just one big accident that worked directly against every law of physics we know? Because we live on the one chunk of rock in the known universe that just happened to get all the toggles right to create a habitable planet? No, let's just reflect a bit:

Looking out on a cotton candy sunset in the desert, colors dancing through the clouds
or eagerly anticipating the sun rising, slowly filling the sky with flickering flames
Maybe it's the feel of soft sand in between your toes
or how warm your skin will keep after staying out in the sun
How on your day off you can hide beneath the shade of a large tree
and listen to the life around you exult in its joy
Try standing out under a starry sky, away from town
and try to convince yourself that you're in control
As you look at trillions of stars, mammoth in size and yet a speck to you
Maybe it's watching a boy and his dog lost in their pleasure as they dodge a sprinkler
Or a little girl setting up tea party with her stuffed fellows in the back yard
Thick grass, inviting sun, fresh air, and sprawling palm trees

These are not accidental. These are beautiful. They are creative. True art is never just happenstance. And this is just southern California we're talking about. What about the beauties of an entire world? And we haven't even brought up how they attest to God's attributes. It's not even the tip of the iceberg. It's the frost hovering off of it.

I have an extraordinary God. And even in the fallen world, with man doing all he can to live for himself, there's so much left to look at. So much we couldn't destroy, no matter how we might try. You owe it to your Maker on that count alone to praise Him. He's infinite more than you. You're a speck, a particle in this gargantuan universe. And yet He still takes the time to make Himself known to you, someone who mocks Him daily.

Exalt Him. Praise Him. Sing His name to the heavens. Dance with Him. Laugh with Him. Smile and be overcome in true, complete joy. He is a God worth all of that, and infinity more.

And now that I'm done speaking to myself, some advice to you:

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind."

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

The Full Life of a Boy

Yesterday a close family to Rachel and her parents lost their son, to a cancer he had been fighting for years. I hope I have the details right, but at five he was diagnosed with leukemia, and in the subsequent six or seven years it had been an on-again, off-again battle, from the edge of life back to recovering well.

I remember as I was dating Rachel and into our marriage each time her mom would give us updates on little Riley. I remember each time hope laced her words, and when a reserved pain edged through. The strange thing about this is I had never met Riley. By the worlds standards he should have no affect on my life. Yet hearing of his family's godliness and never ending patience, and his outlook on his own life and situation, is hitting me in an unexpected way. He is(not was) the youngest of a house of brothers, and I know earlier this week all of his brothers stayed with him at the hospital overnight. I'm picturing pillow feathers and Jell-o, but I can't verify these claims.

Hearing of his parents constant faithfulness to God is a vivid example of not only their undying love for Him, but how He fully transforms us make Him our first love. I have Kara and Noah, and, granted, I've only been given two years with Kara, but I am so absolutely head-over-heels in love with that little girl. I know that as time goes by that love will only grow, and has multiplied with Noah being brought into the mix. Hearing of a family of(I believe) five boys, I simply cannot imagine the pain they are bearing right now. My heart simply gives up, because you would never imagine life without those two little squirrels in my home. How simple it would be to blame God, to turn our backs on Him.

And yet I think of what I have heard of a family I've never met. The only consolation I could think is that Riley is not only NOT in a constant pain anymore, but he is gazing on our most holy Savior right now. He has accepted his inheritance, and is in the presence of the Creator of the universe. Now we can envy his life. Now we can sit and weep for joy at what he has before him, and what we(as believers) have before us. And we are so blessed that we don't need to worry about his destination. That lucky little boy, to meet our Saving Grace! And to spend eternity with him. He has a never ending joy in his life now. But we should keep Riley's parents and brothers in our thoughts and prayers, that God give them a supernatural grace in their day-to-day lives, and that they more and more understand His undying love for them at all time. A prayer we should ask for ourselves as well.

Praise be to God for Riley's life.

A Convict Like Me

The sun is beating down on his shoulders. With downcast, squinted eyes he surveys his surroundings. A group of onlookers gather, looking curiously at the man and his outcome. Led by two large men on either side, he slowly staggers up the walkway, to stand before the throne. He shakily raises his eyes to the being sitting before him. The King looks down on him, with a knowing and ever watchful eye, expertly peeling back the layers of his psyche, and seeing this man's base desires and character. With a stoic and steady gaze, this King holds command of an immeasurable host. This is a King who has watched him since the inception of his being, watched him grow and lead his own life.

A King who watched this man turn his back on Him.

The man plead innocent, but his testimony was in the life he led, not the expertly-constructed speech he had prepared. He was unsurprisingly found guilty, after the King had reviewed his life, and recorded who he had lived his life for: himself. Now he found himself staring at his own end.

He heard a noise behind him. Turning, he sees a Man walking up beside him, in a circle meant only for traitors. He was a normal enough looking Man, one who had seen his share of pain and the tolls taken in a full life. Hardened soles from extensive walking, lines about his eyes from countless smiles in a joy-filled life, and an innate regal standing about Him. This Stranger looks at the King, a sense of knowing between them. The convict sees the look the King has watching at this Stranger. He recognizes this look. That King loves this new Man, in an indescribable way. What is He doing standing next to a filthy traitor to the Crown?

The Stranger gently lifts the convicts hands, and unclasps his shackles. Shaking, but deliberate, He locks them around His own wrist. The convict looks around wildly, trying to understand what is transpiring. The guards beckon him to leave his place before the King. As he turns his back and walks to a safer position, he hears the King suddenly call His judgment. When the convict glances back again, he sees the Stranger's body lying motionless on the floor. The convict races back to Him, to see what has happened, and who this Man was, that He might take this man's stead. On His still face, the Stranger has a quiet smile played on His lips. One of an inside joy, that others would be hard-pressed to decipher.

Looking up, the convict sees the King's face. Instead of seeing a wrathful gaze upon him, as before, he sees a smile too big for description, the kind that lose control of the tears building on the edge of the eye. A gaze he is sure of that is not meant for looking upon him. A gaze he saw given to the Stranger before His deliberate decision.

As understanding slowly comes to the convict, he recognizes the body on the floor. A man that likewise commands the very forces of nature. A man who's place belongs next to the King. His very own Son. His Savior, from the brink of death itself.

His life, a useless waste of selfishness and ignorance, has been traded for the life of the Perfect Son, the only one to live up to the standard of perfection. He has been granted a life not worthy of him. He has been given a second opportunity to bring glory to his King.



Obviously this comparison has its limits, but I can't shake knowing full well that I have been given an inheritance beyond my understanding. We should all just spend a few moments right now, soberly mulling over the fact that a King has sent His Son, to take the place of sinners, for the sole fact that He chose it to be so, that He might be glorified, and that we might fall to our knees in awe of Him.