A Word of Praise

Consolidation!

2006-01-05T23:07:00.000-08:00

Hello my loyal reader. Thanks for hanging with me. From now on I'll be posting my devotional materials over at JamesTravels.com under headings such as "A Word of Praise" and "A Word of Thanks" and such.

After all, I believe in a fully integrated life, why not a fully integrated blog.

Enjoy the new digs!

The Least of These

2005-12-30T22:51:00.000-08:00

It's a good thing to be humbled, but difficult. Especially when humbled by another person - someone you look at and realize that they have it right, live it right, and I don't. Especially when that person is a 15-year-old Indian orphan.

Taken Care Of

2005-12-30T22:49:00.000-08:00

I've never experienced God's provision quite like the time I let myself need it.

An Unlikely Calling

2005-10-04T23:15:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I thought I was too good for missionary work - that God had bigger, better plans for me. I was to ascend to the 'high places' in this world, leaving the lower places to lower people.

Now I know that I am not good enough for missionary work. But God has brought me here, to this point of departure, and He has said 'Go.' I will go humbly, haltingly into His work, looking always to Him for guidance like a nervous child to his father.

I sit confused that God would use even me for His work. But grateful. I praise Him that He can use such as my selfish heart to call the hearts of those He has chosen.

God, the glory is yours. All of it. I am weak and distracted and ungrateful. I can do nothing, but Your Spirit can do so much through me. I give you myself tonight. All that I can. Use me well, keep me humble, be God.

Drowning in the Shallow End

2005-09-26T22:33:00.000-07:00

Often times I feel that the church lets herself get washed away by issues that should be easily waded through. And as with most criticisms, this comes from an indictment of myself.

Lately I've done some research on the emergent church. A child of a postmodern time I have asked many of the questions that the emergent church is acquiescing to. Sorry, I don't know how else to put it. Is scripture reliable? How well do we (can we) know God? What is God's plan for mankind? How exclusive is God in his plan?

Diving into those points of my faith that I have long known are the weakest (in terms of traditional protestantism) seemed like swimming into a riptide that I knew I couldn't swim out of. But I found, to my grateful surprise, that I could touch bottom, that still I could plant my feet on Solid Ground.

Jesus is alive, you see, and he is strong. The tide might have washed me away, but it cannot budge my Lord, and he holds me in place. Paul knew this as he told the Thessalonian believers to "test everything, hold on to the good, avoid every kind of evil."

We needn't fear being washed away by such things. We can wade through them and find the good, leaving the evil behind. We have been told to do so.

Praise be to Jesus, my living Lord, valiant protector, and doctrinal guide.

A Quick Word

2005-09-22T23:36:00.000-07:00

God has challenged me to search the depths of my depravity. It is a wonderful paradox of Christianity that as I dig into the mud and manuer of my sin, I am also probing the depths of His mercy. And from down here, you should see the heights of His grace.

To know myself in this way is to know the Gospel more clearly. It is good news because I am bad. And it is very good.

Begetting Grace, cont.

2005-09-14T12:00:00.000-07:00

The torrent of wrath and
Abundance of grace
That poured through your son
As he hung in his place
They flowed down like water
They flowed down like blood
From a spear in his side
And thorns in his head

His final day an archetype of pain
His death the moment of earth's surest loss
Yet also that of mankind's greatest gain
So great the hope that hung upon that cross

This morning I wake
Pull your grace off the shelf
Will I remember your wrath?
Will I die to my self?
Grace flows down like water
Wrath flows down like blood
From everlasting scars
And the truest of loves

His final day an archetype of pain
His death the moment of earth's surest loss
But I hail that moment as my greatest gain
So great the grace that hung upon that cross

continued from an earlier post.

Distant Shores, cont.

2005-09-12T23:56:00.000-07:00

Awake from deathlike sleep I stand
On beaches of the finest sand
And breathe at last, deeply in
Of potent scents and living wind.
Vitality, the end of rest
Engulfs my lungs and burns my chest.
Now sprint or fly but do not stay
Greet with life the coming day!

The soft white sand is met above
By firsttrees of a marv'lous grove
And further up 'gainst furthest skies
The silhouetted mountains rise.
Crowned with brightening rays of gold
They watch the land as rulers bold
But only in their master's stead-
You see! They bow before his head

All is humbled, still and small -
No lapping waves or bluejay's call.
A gasp of joy caught in my mouth
As I join West and North and South
In bowing to the priveleged East.
Ascending star, a sun at least
Parts the mountains, to their delight
And cracks the sky with morning light

Seconds, hours, or even years
A thousand longings, hundred tears
Passed before this sun had rissen.
I know not time, day, or season
But I know that I needn't know,
There is no cold here, and no snow
But always spring bursts forth from spring
Always a sweeter bird to sing.

A Moment's Carry

2005-08-30T22:35:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of weeks I have intermittently received short words of encouragement from brothers and sisters in Christ. This is what it is like:

Sore feet. My legs ache and tremble
with each step further up this graph
of limitless convexity.

But with a word I am lightened
and I soar upon the arms of
my brother. Ahhh, encouragement.

Praise God, by whose Spirit we are made into the type of people that care to encourage each other. I pray for community steeped in encouragement, where God smiles.

Distant Shores, continued

2005-08-25T01:31:00.000-07:00

(This poem, started below, looks like it will be an ongoing project. Hopefully you enjoy seeing this little bit of the process behind it.)

Awake from deathlike sleep I stand
On beaches of the finest sand
And breathe at last, deeply in
Of potent scents and living wind
Vitality, the end of rest
Engulfs my lungs and burns my chest
Now sprint or fly but do not stay
Greet with life the coming day!

The soft white sand is met above
By firsttrees of a marv'lous grove
And further up 'gainst furthest skies
The silhouetted mountains rise
And crowned with growing rays of gold
They watch the land as rulers bold
But only in their master's stead
You see! They bow before his head

All is humbled, still and small
No lapping waves or bluejay's call
A gasp of joy caught in my mouth
As I join West and North and South
In bowing to the priveleged East
Ascending star, a sun at least
Parts the mountains, to their delight
And cracks the sky with morning light

Beneath This Leaden Face

2005-08-22T23:38:00.000-07:00

I have heard that when Queen Elizabeth died her face was already buried beneath three inches of heavy white lead makeup. She began using it to cover the scars left behind by smallpox, but it turned out the stuff was toxic. After too many days the skin underneath the mask began to deteriorate and, all the while, the queen became known by her ghastly countenance. To remove the leaden stuff would have rendered her unrecognizable to her world. Her mask became her face.

So it is with my person, but with a startling difference. As God scrapes off the layers of accumulated 'personality,' 'reputation,' and 'identity' the true state of my self is being revealed. But instead of finding the ugliness of old scars and flaking skin I am finding a new creature, smooth and strong and swift. It is not the 'me' of emptiness and ugliness that I feared, to the praise of His glorious grace.

But neither is it a 'me' of comfort and complacency. Its newness and passion are frightening - who knows where I will take me when I am him. And so I find myself waking in the morning and smearing on that old makeup, trying to maintain some vestige of my leaden personality. Despite its smothering nature.

But daily, too, I pray God to remove those layers that I add, and those that remain from past years. It is a great credit to His patience that he has not left me to such neuroses. Instead he consistently scrapes away more than I can cake on, bringing his new creature more fully into this world every day, making me daily less 'of the world.'

God, please continue to scrape away that old semblance of personality that I called a self. I want to let your new creation shine in me - I want to be him.

The Distant Shores

2005-08-18T14:46:00.000-07:00

Awake from deathlike sleep I stand
On beaches of the finest sand
And breathe at last, deeply in
Of potent scents and living wind

Vitality, the end of rest
Engulfs my lungs and burns my chest
Now sprint or fly but do not stay
Greet with life this wondrous day!

The soft white sand is met above
By first trees of a marv'lous grove
And further up 'gainst furthest skies
Platonic forms of mountains rise
...

This poem, like the one below, to be continued on another night.

The Acts of the Apostles

2005-08-15T23:22:00.000-07:00

You can almost hear the low hum of excitement coming off the page. Hushed voices punctuated by gasps of faithful disbelief.

"He's doing what? Where? The Holy Spirit? Who told you that? You're kidding? THE Saul?"

These disciples, apostles, appointed as the physical leaders of the burgeoning church, watch in amused awe as their Master spreads His message, their message, over their ancient world. The Holy Spirit is falling upon the gentiles, cripples are walking, the blind are seeing, and it's happening everywhere.

They almost got used to it from Jesus, and when they themselves were the conduits of such tremendous grace at least they were there to take stock of the ramifications. But this is getting out of control, certainly out of their control. I wouldn't be surprised if The Original "The Rock" Peter shook his head occasionally as the group of believers that he was to call his flock spiralled into the thousands, tens of thousands, and spread throughout the Roman world.

Peter: 'Feed my sheep,' he says. I should've asked for a head count!

But it's said with the wide-eyed smile of appreciation and wonder. Daily they were blessed by reports of God's grace. New churches forming, established fellowships growing and persevering, offerings taken, gifts given, possessions sold, prophecies fulfilled.

Excitement every morning. 'What will God do today?' they must have thought as they tightened their sandals, expecting the miraculous.

'What will God do today?' I ask.

Thanks, tonight

2005-08-12T23:49:00.000-07:00

Father, thank you for answering questions. Bluntly, unequivocally.

Father, thank you for granting wisdom. Quietly, generously.

Father, thank you for opening doors. Smilingly, insistently.

Father, thank you for closing the same. Stalwartly, unapologetically.

Father, thank you for being holy. Completely, unapproachably.

Father, thank you for giving grace. Abundantly, daily.

Father, thank you for pardoning me. Decidedly, eternally.

Father, thank you for changing me. Remarkably, continually.

Father, thank you for being my father. Tonight, thankfully.

For The End

2005-08-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

God, for the last year you have been teaching me a lesson that I have yet to learn, one that I may not fully learn until it is null. But I want You to know that I am beginning to understand its importance, and here tonight I will praise You in my utterly limited capacity for a blessing that deserves far more.

It is the promise of The End. The point of faith and hope that tells us that despite daily inequities and lifelong struggles, in The End, everything will be alright. It will be better, it will be All Right.

Jesus the Christ, my savior and lord whom you have set on a throne with universe and Heaven as his domains will return to this little planet. But this time there will be no starlit birth. This time there will not be thirty years of humble training. This time there will not be a quiet submission. This time there will be no cross. Instead of writing in the dirt, trumpets will call Your message from the skies.

That throne Christ so rightly occupies beyond our world will find its match upon the earth and Jesus will inhabit in bodily glory that place of lordship that we are setting ever so slowly aside in our own hearts. The Great Conquerer of death will conquer also this little outpost of biological life and will right those wrongs that have marred our species and their hearts.

And this End, my Great Father, is there for us to hope upon every morning. It awaits us in the day of your choosing, eons or seconds from now, but eternally present to your unblinking eyes. It is Your promise to Your children, another teeming measure of grace.

Tonight, LORD, I hope upon The End in my stunted way. I look through the fog of falty hopes and misplaced securities to a day that will surely come, when that curtain of fog will be torn from top to bottom and I will look upon the glorious face of Christ. The End, the Great Beginning. Amen.

A Night.

2005-07-23T22:29:00.000-07:00

There are times when the appropriate praises to God cannot be transcribed, when the Spirit must intercede with groans. Tonight’s groan is something like a sigh mixed with an utterance of wonder, but also of remembrance.

Since the purpose of my writing this, though, is that some might share in my praises I will try to describe the night that led to such groans. And perhaps the Spirit will groan for you as well.

The heat of the day lingered in my house, especially around the computer monitor into which I had been staring for too many minutes. I could feel coolness sifting in through the screen door.

I followed it outside.

The moon lounged brightly in the Southeastern sky polishing the backyard to a shine. Such a quiet as man rarely knows hushed the voice even in my mind.

I walked slowly through firm, wet grass to a back fence that I have known since childhood, its white paint made young again in the moonlight. Leaning there I was serenaded by a chorus of crickets, prolific in its breadth, if not its harmony. As with most choruses the number and variety of voices more than compensated for their lack of training.

Over my right shoulder, to the northeast, a flash. A low cloud that I had thought unworthy of attention was actually the expanding top of a distant thunderhead. Lightning rebuked my judgment and for separate moments detailed the intricacies of a boiling storm.

Now sitting on the wooden fence I cherished my own stillness and smallness. The nearest crickets, silenced by my approach, took up their song again and joined the harmony, a song now punctuated silently by cymbals of popping fire.

How content I was to watch and wait for the next flash! How utterly satisfied with God’s sovereignty – His choices of when to snap a lightning bolt and in which chords his crickets would play.

And then, groan. Sweet groan.

Minefield

2005-07-12T23:13:00.000-07:00

God had it in for me the last two days. He knew every step that I would take and he wired the path perfectly. Landmines and tripwires and holes covered with palm fronds. There was no trap that I wouldn't hit and He sat watching and smiling, just waiting for the fun to begin.

Little did I suspect, as I fumbled through my morning routine yesterday, the volatile reality that awaited me. I walked right into it.

Explosions of grace and freefalls of joy. Arrows of hope that pierced and opened my heart. Ropes that took me by the foot and yanked me to heights of thankfulness.

His timing, as they say, is perfect. And his grace is very, very good.

Foreign Exchange Siblings

2005-06-27T00:23:00.000-07:00

The fire was small and orange, caged in by a rectangle of bricks, but its light was warm and rich and free. It waltzed on faces that were becoming familiar. Five of us sat in this light, trying to know each other without sharing a thought. Tom and I spoke very little Russian, the three girls spoke very little English. And it was only the five of us in the middle of a Ukrainian forest.

Vika was the first to speak, her words like a held breath released. “We sing for you?” A question to which the only answer was yes, enthusiastically yes, with heads nodding. Vika began a song, the other two followed. It was beautiful.

The words, if there were any, escaped me but the tune was unmistakable. The three orange, dancing faces sang a song of praise to the God that the five of us together called Father. Melodies and sweet harmonies, their words encrypted to my ears but their hearts lain open before me as picture books.

Tom and I thanked and praised them for their performance.

Vika: “Now you sing.” How could we say no?

We began a duet of the same song that the girls had just finished so beautifully. Their flickering faces showed us that the connection was complete. We, the five of us, knew each other because God had first known us, adopted us, and shaped us.

Because we called upon the same Father, the words that we called with ceased to matter.

The Greatest Auto Mechanic

2005-06-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

I’ve driven a certain Jeep Cherokee for the last seven years. Someone else (supposedly the dealer’s son) drove it for 10 years before that. My car, though I call her classic, is just plain old. About four years ago she started to show her age. She needed a new alternator, a catalytic converter – one time the harmonic balancer, a five-pound piece of metal, just fell off. Clang. It got to the point that I would not feel comfortable driving anywhere over three hours away; she didn’t do well over three hours.

Then I got optimistic. A friend and I wanted to go camping. He drove a little sports coupe at the time and we all know that you don’t go camping in a sports coupe. We took the Jeep. I have to hand it to her, she did well driving north to the Sierras. It’s a long way up that 395 and she chugged through it. Then we turned off and headed up the mountain. Soon something was wrong. She wasn’t idling right, she wanted to cut out. We got to the campsite, turned her off and I decided not to worry about it for a week. We were camping.

After a wonderful few nights in the mountains we headed back down the hill. Something was definitely wrong. Anytime that my foot wasn’t on the gas she would die. To brake I had to shift her into neutral, keep my foot on the accelerator and hit the brake. It was an interesting style of driving.

I asked the mechanic in the nearest town if it was something easy – a busted hose, a lose gasket, anything. It wasn’t.

I drove her all the way back to L.A. in her limping, wounded state. My mechanics patched her up, but she would never be the same. To this day she dies if I don’t give her the right amount of gas in first. And she’s an automatic.

But that being said, she hasn’t had a problem in two years.

There was a year or so where I was dumping a few hundred dollars a month into her to keep her running. Soon I was broke and had little faith in my car to get me anywhere. It’s amazing how much trust we put in our cars. We are very, very dependent.

Finally, at the end of my rope, or exhaust system as it may be, I broke down and prayed to God. I told Him that I needed a car; that I wanted to do things for Him and myself that required transportation. I told Him that I couldn’t afford a new car. I asked that He either keep my car running or provide some new means of transport.

Since then it’s just been brakes and oil. Praise God! Not only for His faithfulness, which is what I now trust rather than my car. But also for his aptitude under the hood.

God does not discriminate

2005-06-21T22:53:00.000-07:00

A young, energetic missionary trekking through the hills of Northern India… God will use him.

A wise old pastor, seasoned with the endless questions, problems and issues of his flock… God will use him.

A compassionate mother who finds herself burdened with a love for Romanian orphans… God will use her.

A sophomore in high school, recently saved and on fire for his Savior… God will use him.

An old married couple living in the suburbs on retirement money… God will use them.

A young woman who recently married an ambitious man, and who more recently found a loving savior… God will use her.

A confused twentysomething, searching for meaning and direction in life… God will use her.

A recovering alcoholic whose family remains broken and hurting… God will use him.

A traitor, a prostitute, a Pharisee, a cynic, a cripple, a beggar, an adulterer, a murderer… God will use them - he has before.

God will use you. God will use me. God will use us all.

Praise God.

I, The Obstinate Instrument

2005-04-30T03:10:00.000-07:00

My Lord Jesus, and my Father God, how can you use me? Even as you finish a magnificent work through me I slip out of your hands and into my own selfishness. Like a dog, the moment that I find myself cleansed but free I sniff out the nearest mud and roll myself in it.

God, never stop using me, that I might never find myself in such a place again.

The Best of Friends

2005-04-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to have a friendship with God? Looking up from my little room in Jamul, squinting to see that all-powerful Creator staring unceasingly down from his enormous throne, the prospect of friendship is meaningless. No one with a hundredth part of His power would care to listen to the happenings of my day. No one with a minute fraction of His wisdom could bear to see me blunder as I do through my life. In fact, no part of my life merits the least moment of His attention.

But His perspective is not high above me, looking down as I, in miniature, toddle through my days. For He has come to this world as a man and can look me in the eyes. He has made His home in my very heart, looking out upon me as I do the stars. He has humbled Himself, knowing that I am nothing, and yet making me his world. And so, although I merit nothing of His friendship, He has made me important to Himself and extended His hand to me. I take it gladly today, gratefully and gladly.

Wasted Days

2004-12-08T01:24:00.000-08:00

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

2004-11-21T22:21:00.000-08:00

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

2004-11-16T23:56:00.001-08:00

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...

2004-11-16T22:01:00.000-08:00

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

2004-10-09T01:14:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-26T18:55:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-23T01:25:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-20T23:54:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-15T23:32:00.001-07:00

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

2004-09-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-12T22:32:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-12T01:30:00.000-07:00

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"

2004-09-11T23:50:00.000-07:00

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.