Wasted Days

Today, perhaps the best that I can say is that when I am not mindful of you, you remain mindful of me.

I was lazy and selfish, as if comfort were life’s highest aim. I lounged and I read and I thought very little of anyone but myself, though I am called to do good to everyone whenever the opportunity presents itself. How many opportunities did I miss today?

But Father (which I am blessed to be able to call you still) you are not like me. You are constantly mindful of all those other than yourself, filling their lives with blessings and planting signposts to greater blessings still.

I am sorry for this day; and thank you for using it to your advantage despite me. Looking forward to tomorrow, I think that Emerson might say it best:

"I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred. I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant."

Upon a Stormy Night

The night moves in a cold wind. Its icy fingers splash small raindrops on my face. The rushing air and the convulsing trees and the flying drops pierce me, moving my inmost parts, perhaps my soul. And I want to run into the wind and rain until the wind can no longer blow and the rain falls in hot, sweaty drops from my forehead. I want to catch the night at its beginning and commune with it before it no longer cares. I want the entire storm to course through me before it disperses over the rest of the world.

God knew the world at its inception, and knew me before mine. And he knew that last night I would pace around my house in aimless anticipation, my entire being longing for something more, something outside, endless, intense, complete. Something, perhaps, that I shall only find when I have seen my last stormy night. Praise God, for He uses His creation to awaken His creature.

Galatians 3 - 4:7

First, by grace, you made us sons.

Then, by grace, you gave us the spirit of true sonship.

Finally, since we are now your sons, by grace you entitled us to a magnificent inheritance.

God, thank you for your grace and love.

When God Paints...

Two seats to my left in the back of a UCLA lecture hall, a girl in a tight pink shirt and a trucker hat mixed herself a drink in a styrofoam cup. She slouched into a position that was as near horizontal as possible and began fumbling with her cell phone, which she dropped, emitting a string of good-natured explitives to showcase her humorous outlook on the cell-phone-dropping situation. The professor droned through his canned, juvenial jokes, covering in an hour and a half what I could have read in 20 minutes, given a decent textbook. As he began to exceed the portion of my life allotted to him by the university I began to pack my bag and prepare for my release. If it was dark outside I would cry - who came up with this time change thing?

Shuffling to the door amidst the crowd of my fellow biz econ majors (whom, for the most part, I don't much respect), I made sure to avoid eye contact with that kid from my childhood that I don't feel like recognizing. His world is not my world, he would never understand.

Leaving the building, my eyes roving, hungry for something substantial, worthy, I saw with a touch of shame that God had been busy. The sky burned a bonfire orange on a dark beach, the softly undulating clouds glorified like the Son of Man in the evening sky. Faces darkened around me, became meaningless and dull, like economics in February. I walked and stared, long strides to show my transcendence. I planned my route specificially to maximize sunset viewing time, and rounded the final corner in time to be shocked by a burst of red slowly slipping behind the apartments. God had been painting. His pallette covered with colors that he invented, unduplicatable, like radiant-sun orange, and refractory pink. And he saw that his airy canvas was done, and was good, and displayed it before our weary eyes and unappreciative appetites.

I was ready for it, gracedly, and realized when I got home and was no longer disgusted by the trucker hat girl, no longer embittered by the slow pace of the class, that when God paints, it behooves us to watch.

Good Morning

By sunrise light I wake to You
In halls of rushing cloud
With morn's first breath I speak to You
A sigh my only sound.

Eyes closed upon the world around
Transcendent repose
When on my knees my self is found
Before Your mighty Throne.

This morning is a promise of
Grace ever renewed
All the colors fresh upon us as
The morn the stone was moved.

The Honor of Obedience

I wrote, not too long ago, about the gentleness of God - that despite his unquestionable power to force us into perfect submission he allows us instead to choose him, to love him. Not only do I praise Him for this character trait (which, given the corruption of those humans who have significant power, looks all the more stunning) but also for the opportunity that it leaves us as His followers.

Come with me for a minute, while I describe a person. He is a man of startling presence, not due to strange looks or manner, but rather the force of his character shines through his countenance and behavoir. When he enters a room people feel that they should look busy or important, or else they will pale in comparison to even his purposeful countenance. And that is what truly sets this man apart, not his countenance, but his purpose. He has vision. Not only vision, but motivation, energy - success seems to be waiting patiently for his arrival. And he has heart. It's not wealth, fame or power that he pursues, but good. He strives to do what is right and good, that right and good that people know intrinsicly, that strikes that chord in their soul that sounds either uncomfortable or beautiful, depending on their relation to good at the time.

Now imagine this man whose presence is invigorating and whose success is assured comes to you and asks you to help him. He wants YOU to be his close working assistant. You will come to know his vision and feed off of his energy. This is a privelege.

This privilege (multiplied 100-fold) is the opportunity that God has created for us. God's presence is not only striking, it's awe-inspiring. He not only has purpose, He is the ultimate purpose. His vision is the only vision worth having in this world, because the good that He is working for is only a reflection of Himself. He is actually the pattern, the original Platonic form, of all things that man recognizes as good and right. And He has asked us to help him. He has given each of us the opportunity to share in His vision and His perfect perspective, to be quickened by His energy, and to fulfill the ultimate purpose that life has to offer.

Now, we will have to obey Him. We will have to submit. But think of the example of the remarkable man; it's HIS vision and HIS mission, submission to him is the privelege. But even greater is our chance to obey the living God of the universe.

This is the ultimate privilege. We cannot do better. Praise God.

A Thrilling God

God, you are exciting.

Your Spirit careens into unknown jungles and deadly ghettos, pulling your servants in His wake, assaulting the assumptions of men and women that explorers and politicians cower to meet. In acts of heroism, undocumented by those cameras who call it foolishness, You lead students and retirees upon battlegrounds in which the great polar forces of the universe clash in catastrophic subtlety.

You unleash barrages with weapons unique to Your almighty arsenal. You lead Your troops with wisdom and strategy unparalleled by the aggregate generals of the world. You call upon Your people to hold and press on when supplies have dwindled to naught - and then You burst upon the scene with fresh rations; giving strength, vitality and hope to all who trusted in You.

I praise You, Lord, for calling us to the excitement of Your cause for the glory of Your name. I ask that you will call me into battle, that you will integrate me into those omniscient plans, that I can see the Mightiest of warriors, the Wisest of commanders, and the Noblest of beings at work in this world and in my life.

My Snap

When comparing God’s designs to those of man, His purposes reach further in time and objective than we can imagine. But somehow he still integrates our feeble attempts into his plans. It’s as if all we can do is snap our fingers, but he takes our snaps and weaves them into the percussion of an eternal and beautiful melody.

Truly Yours

God of the universe; Creator of time/space, quantum mechanics, and cranberries; my amazing Heavenly Father,

You know me intimately. Even beyond stitching my parts together in the womb and breathing life into my fetal nostrils - you know the person that I have become. You know the result of millions of small choices, preferences that slowly changed and shaped my character. Like braces. A small tweak here, and a little tightening there, and slowly, ever so slowly and painfully and surely, the teeth align themselves with those small decisions. Such I am. And such you know.

You, Father, know me more fully than I do myself. You comprehend the myriad consequences of decisions made on whim and emotion. You see the scars that my eyes tend to avoid when I look into that great Holy mirror. And you remember fully the passions and potentials that you authored and stored deep within my heart.

And I am glad. I rejoice that you, above all others, above even myself, know me in such a way. Because you, Father, can provide for needs that I could not meet, even if I saw them as clearly. You alone can plan events to capitalize on innate passions; drawing your children from around the block or the globe to come together and encourage each other, and satisfy those longings that they only understand in glimpses and shadows. Father, only you can defend us from our own weaknesses - these maladies that would overcome us if we alone looked them square in their hideous countenances. But you are prepared for them, you know them deeply and personally, and before you only do they stand frail and humble.

And Father, I thank you tonight that you have known me, and cared for me, and prepared for me an encouragement that I did not realize that I needed, and that I could never have composed. It shows your compassion, especially to a prodigal such as me; it shows your insight; and it shows your power. You alone are to be praised for times such as this, and to you alone do I lift up this work.

A Glimpse of Infinite Patience

Every day I go to work and take care of an 11-year-old boy who has Tourette Syndrome. So he has little tics and spasms and whatnot, and sometimes he flies into a rage and cusses me out at the top of his lungs for an hour at a time; but I've learned to deal with that. After all, he has a disorder. When it gets to that point he has no more control over his behavior than I do.

But there is one aspect of his behavior that gets to me. You see, since his Tourette Syndrome manifests itself in the form of a rage disorder, any time that he gets angry the risk exists for his rage to kick in and send him over the deep end. So his parents, instead of teaching him to control his anger in the face of adverse situations, went the other route and tried to remove all adverse situations from his life. Now, if you've ever lived here on planet Earth, you realize that this is impossible, but they went ahead and tried anyway, and thoroughly spoiled the kid.

So now, when he comes home from school, he expects me to bend and cater to his every whim, he wants me to anticipate his wants and needs and provide for them in the appropriate way; the term 'appropriate way' meaning whatever way he has personally deemed acceptable that particular day, which I am supposed to be able to ascertain from the way that he yells 'Shut up!' when I ask him how his day was. Moreover, he will not be imposed upon. He will not be imposed upon to throw his fruit-roll-up wrapper in the trash (though he will throw it any number of other places); he will not be imposed upon to wipe up the milk that he spilled on the counter; he will not be imposed upon to even consider feeding one of the myriad small, caged animals that his parents have purchased for him; he will not be imposed upon to go rollerblading when he has, for the day, decided that rollerblading is no longer cool; he will not be imposed upon to do his homework; and he will certainly not be imposed upon to listen to the likes of me. He is, undisputedly, the most spoiled, self-centered creature that I have ever come into contact with, and sometimes I can't take it. I assert my will, my fleeting authority, and he shrugs it off and flagrantly disobeys, and when this happens so many times in a day I have to stop. I have to retreat into myself, pull back from all interaction from him, lick my wounds, and try, oh the wonder that I haven't yet failed, not to burst through my skin and scream at him and march him to whatever task he's neglecting that any self-aware human being should do instinctively and show him just how little power he actually has.

Today I wonder, how many times has God wanted to do that with us? Where I am overwhelmed trying to deal with one such rebellious creature, God has billions on his hands. And He's not just our caretaker, as I am to this child, but He is our creator. When we disobey Him, we are not thwarting the authority of some arbitrary figure placed over us, we are rejecting the one that knows precisely how we should be acting and what we should be doing. After all, He created us to do it.

What patience God must have. What remarkable patience to create a being to act a certain way, to generously give him every faculty and circumstance to do just that, and then to hear him say that he would rather watch TV. What amazing patience to watch him 24 hours a day as a he goes about his life in willing and unflinching disobedience. What patience not to rend the skies in two and hurl down fiery moons upon the earth at those little, prideful creatures, going about their lives with no respect for the authority to which they owe their existence.

Praise God for his patience. Praise Him, that despite our frustrating disobedience and enraging pride, He has not given up on us, He does not read silently in the corner and let us go about our lives, but He continues to struggle for us, to the point of sacrificing His perfect Son so that we could share eternal life with Him.

Praise to the Great Listener

The pastor speaks. Verses and interpretations - engaging, cerebral, meat. I chew and digest. I pick apart. I play with my food. It's all very good, though that part's a little tough, and that last comment was a little undercooked, for my taste. But on the whole it's all very satisfying, very filling. But then comes desert.

A true story, from a true life, lived and recounted by a true believer. The anecdote presented like a wedding cake, beautiful, ornate. The ideas within are refined like sugar, presented as experiential fact, easily digested. He had a struggle, no he had a question or a request, but maybe a struggle. He wanted something from God. So he dropped to his knees one afternoon and he prayed, and tears came into his eyes as he spoke to God, and he asked and pleaded and hoped... and had faith. And then - this is the frosting on the cake, this is the part that sends an excited shiver up my back when I hear it on a Sunday morning - God answered.

He answered with an emphatic and practical "YES" as requests were granted and struggles were overcome like Nintendo games, with smiles. He answered with events that had been set in motion years ago, perhaps decades. His voice echoed from distant cities and long forgotten months. His handprint in the concrete past is inscribed with, "All you had to do was ask."

But that's not all. He answered, and that means something. That means He heard. That means that the God who formed the heavens, the God whose voice begot galaxies, He who parted waters and sent plagues and protected Daniel from the carnivores, this God whose wisdom defies our greatest libraries and whose power is only dimly reflected in lightning and hurricanes and solar flares, this mighty, majestic, self-existent God bent His great ear to one like us, and He heard him.

He heard one like us! This God stooped to listen to the ignorant questioning of a human being! The mighty general allowed an ex-traitor into camp to ask for provisions. The exhausted teacher saw the hand of that self-absorbed, spoiled kid shoot up, and she called on him, and listened patiently. The wounded father wrapped his arms around his rebellious son and, after eight years of his treachery, when the son begged for forgiveness and more, told him, "All you had to do was ask." The Holy God of the universe, who watches meteor showers in unknown galaxies and knows black holes in the far reaches of space, who can count the atoms in the rose petals lying in the garden, who inspires poets and philosophers and musicians to concoct praises for Him, this God looked down upon our miniscule little planet, at one member of our absurd species as it kneeled near an open window in a box made of wood and drywall, and He listened. He heard, and He listened, and He answered.
Praise be to God.
And when we call out to Him, He will hear, He will listen, and He will answer.
Praise be to God.

Exponential Blessings

When God gives gifts to His children he does it right. Have you ever opened that perfect present on a shining Christmas morning? You look into the red and green trimmed box and find just what you were hoping for. It's that shirt, or tennis racquet, or the great new book. You pull it out and immediately put it to its intended use, and months later you are still reaping the benefits. The shirt is worn in, you're used to the new racquet, the book is even BETTER the second time through. Not only is the gift still giving, it's even better now than it was when you first unwrapped it.

Such are God's blessings. Beyond that, though, they multiply, they reproduce, they spread and grow and reap harvests. Tonight I went to an evening church service at my old home church. It's just a small church in a little town, but this summer it sent out 15-20 missionaries to locations all over the world. I was one of them. I got to travel to Ukraine and Romania, meeting distant members of God's family and ministering to ex-communists, Romanian orphans, and all other manner of eastern Europeans. So tonight myself and the other missionaries from the church gathered to share our experiences with any of the congregation that wanted to come and listen.

Many of those who showed up to hear our thoughts and memories were those that had supported us, either financially or with prayer and encouragement. So they had a part in our stories, they were part of the background, the setup, if not for them there would have been no stories. As we shared our experiences and reflections those listening nodded and "hmmm"ed and sighed. They were affected by what we had to say, they got to take part in our joys and insights. Although they weren't there when Sophia came to Christ, they now get to share in it, because they played a part in making it happen, and because they are part of the family of believers in this little church.

I got to take part in amazing things in Ukraine. From ministering to 60 year old ex-communists, to teaching through the entire Bible in 2 weeks, to swimming with kids whose families were disrupted by Chernobyl. I have been immensely blessed by this experience - I've learned and felt and grown - but God didn't stop there. Whether through my emails from Ukraine, or conversations after my return, or nights like tonight, God has multiplied those blessings, planting them in the hearts of those close to me. And in the same way I get to share in the blessings of the others who went out and traveled to different countries and ministered in such different ways.

And it's all because we are family. When your brother, or grandmother, or daughter is happy, you are happy. Through the bond of family we share in each others' lives and emotions. Successes are multiplied and burdens are shared. So when God decided that those who believed in His Son would become family, he created a way to multiply blessings. Instead of slowly accumulating in the lives of individuals, God's blessings are exponential. Praise be to God for his abundant blessings and his marvelous wisdom in spreading them throughout his family.

Praise Him for His gentleness

God is a gentle God. This is an idea that, although I had heard it before, first crystallized in my mind in Kiev, Ukraine. My team taught English lessons using the fruits of the Spirit as curriculum - one fruit per night. When we came to gentleness I listened intently, knowing that my understanding of this fruit was shallow. The idea was raised that God is gentle, and thus engenders gentleness in his children.

So what does it mean that God is gentle? Well, what does it mean to be gentle. Here is a working definition: Not overwhelming one that you have to power to overwhelm. Who could this describe better than God himself? God is the Almighty; He has the power to, at any time, force any person into His exclusive service. He could make us slaves, robots who do His bidding compulsively, unquestioningly, in utter submission. But instead, this mighty God quietly asks us, the weak and vulnerable, to love Him - and not without reason.

He created us, He created a world for us to inhabit and enjoy, He created all the beauty and pleasure and love that we enjoy; and then, in His great love, He sacrificed His Son so that we could come to Him and be loved in person. All He asks of us is to love Him back. That, my friends, is gentleness.

Praise the Lord, for He is gentle and does not overwhelm us. He allows us to live and strive and make decisions, and He asks us to love Him, because he first loved us.

A word about "A Word of Praise"

Every Sunday I get up relatively early and take part in a church worship service. Of the three churches that I have attended regularly, all of them have opened their services with a time of praise - meaning a time of music and singing. I think that this is wonderful, and appreciate it thoroughly, but I also find it a bit limiting.

I love writing, stringing together words into poignant - and hopefully original - thoughts. So singing other peoples' thoughts every Sunday morning is not my ideal form of praise. And unfortunately, I find that most people limit their concepts of praise and worship to exactly this - singing whichever songs their local worship team has chosen for that particular month.

Thus, A Word of Praise. I find that I praise God best in writing. And, in hopes that some might benefit and God might be glorified, I decided to share this writing in a blog (though I still don't like that word).

The idea is that I will write something new every day. Every day I will put my fingers to the keys to praise and glorify our Heavenly Father, and if you find that you can praise him along with me, then by all means, visit this site as much as possible.