Monday, March 31, 2008
cool
The website he mentions. That's Craig. He's the pastor at LifeChurch.tv.
And Rosa Loves is a pretty cool idea.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
delayed
I have seen The Passion of the Christ twice in my life.
The first time I was still Saul. It was a corny church out-reach effort and I knew it, but Holy Spirit was stirring something inside of me whether I liked it or not. I went. I squeezed my eyes shut for half of the feature, and wondered at Jesus being such a good-looking guy for the other half. I cried. Not because my Savior died in my place, but just at the inhumanity of what He - as a man - suffered for whatever reason.
I was pretty sure I didn't believe it, but after having seen that, "pretty sure" wasn't enough. I needed to decide if I believed it was real. It just seemed like a lot was at stake: not a lot of me, but a lot of Him. I wasn't frightened of hell in the least, but I was nervous about wasting His sacrifice.
The second time I was already reborn. I squeezed my eyes shut for half of the feature, and wondered at Jesus being such a good-looking guy for the other half. I cried. Then I got up to lead worship with seven people in the room - five of them on stage.
I did a mental survey of all the worship songs in our repertoire and none were enough. None said anything of value. How could I stand behind a mic, under pretty lights, and - after all that - sing, "Thanks, Jesus - Ya, ya?"
We tried, because it was all we could do. We played one song and then we just played those same four chords over and over and over again. All that I could think about was how ridiculous it seemed to stand on a stage and say "Thanks" for that.
"Thanks" is what you say when someone hands you a receipt. "Thanks" is what you say when someone tells you they like your haircut. "Thanks" is what you say when the bank teller dryly instructs you to have a nice day. "Thanks" is not what you say when the King of kings leaves heaven for a manger, is marred more than any other man, and breathes his last breath in your place on a lonely cross.
So we played the same four chords over and over and over again. And eventually all I could sing was all that was in my heart, "What can I say, and what can I do, but take up my cross, and follow after You?"
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
simon says
This is awesome. Granger Community Church in Indiana played Simon as one big team, as a sermon illustration last Sunday. You can really only see the green team on this, but there's a better version on GCC's website.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
worship
I think I worshiped God "in spirit and in truth" for the first time yesterday ... on accident ... in my car. Maybe it was the first time I really worshiped at all. Maybe not. Maybe it was a new depth of worship. Whatever it was I didn't expect it.
Yesterday was not my best day. It wasn't even my best Monday. I sat in my car for 10 minutes during lunch and cried. Not my shining moment.
After work I sat in my car outside our apartment. My keys are missing. I think I left them at church, but either way I couldn't get in at 5:16 yesterday when I got home. I sat in the parking lot and waited for Timothy, reclined the driver's seat, and skipped the CD to a slow track.
She started to sing, very quietly, with nothing but a piano. I want to play the strings of Your heart, God, come play the strings of mine. I want to sing straight to Your heart, God, come sing straight to mine.
My goal was not to encounter God in that moment. I did not even intend to "worship," as with singing and the lifting of hands, and I knew the next lines were a declaration of God's ownership of her heart.
And I couldn't relate. I have that problem with a lot of Misty's lyrics. Does He really have my heart, or is it just a nice song I sing? Does He really have my heart, or is it what I'm supposed to say when, really, I give parts of my heart to other things first?
As the song swelled she started to sing again and I sang along almost habitually. You have my heart. Lord, You have my heart. Lord, You have my heart, and I am searching for Yours.
As Condemnation began to whisper about what a liar I was, I gently remembered that my God "gives life to the dead and calls those things which do not exist as though they did," and I sang the rest of the song as a prayer - calling to life the passion, obedience, and desire that lay dead within me.
I'm so in love with You.
I didn't have to try to stuff down memories of the bad day I'd had. I didn't have to strain to temporarily forget the problems I'm facing. I didn't have to concentrate on exalting the name of Jesus above my circumstances because my circumstances were not even an issue.
This moment - this random moment, reclined in the driver's seat of my car - was about aligning my heart with the heart of God. It was about setting my steps to the rhythm of His pulse, chasing the vision reflected in His eyes. Somehow everything else just faded away
like I think it's always supposed to.
Yesterday was not my best day. It wasn't even my best Monday. I sat in my car for 10 minutes during lunch and cried. Not my shining moment.
After work I sat in my car outside our apartment. My keys are missing. I think I left them at church, but either way I couldn't get in at 5:16 yesterday when I got home. I sat in the parking lot and waited for Timothy, reclined the driver's seat, and skipped the CD to a slow track.
She started to sing, very quietly, with nothing but a piano. I want to play the strings of Your heart, God, come play the strings of mine. I want to sing straight to Your heart, God, come sing straight to mine.
My goal was not to encounter God in that moment. I did not even intend to "worship," as with singing and the lifting of hands, and I knew the next lines were a declaration of God's ownership of her heart.
And I couldn't relate. I have that problem with a lot of Misty's lyrics. Does He really have my heart, or is it just a nice song I sing? Does He really have my heart, or is it what I'm supposed to say when, really, I give parts of my heart to other things first?
As the song swelled she started to sing again and I sang along almost habitually. You have my heart. Lord, You have my heart. Lord, You have my heart, and I am searching for Yours.
As Condemnation began to whisper about what a liar I was, I gently remembered that my God "gives life to the dead and calls those things which do not exist as though they did," and I sang the rest of the song as a prayer - calling to life the passion, obedience, and desire that lay dead within me.
I'm so in love with You.
I didn't have to try to stuff down memories of the bad day I'd had. I didn't have to strain to temporarily forget the problems I'm facing. I didn't have to concentrate on exalting the name of Jesus above my circumstances because my circumstances were not even an issue.
This moment - this random moment, reclined in the driver's seat of my car - was about aligning my heart with the heart of God. It was about setting my steps to the rhythm of His pulse, chasing the vision reflected in His eyes. Somehow everything else just faded away
like I think it's always supposed to.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
religion
The Wildesign staff was having a conversation recently about the role of the Church in our turbulent society. Where is the line between relevant and Biblical? What do we do with the prevailing negative attitudes toward our faith? Vast questions to which there are no established answers.
Of a staff of 10, nine are Christians. One is Hindu. One of the Christians asked the Hindu what she thinks of "all this."
I wish I had a recording that I could now, days later, transcribe word for word because her response was astoundingly depressing.
She talked briefly and awkwardly about how she believes some of the things we believe. And Christians in India? Their religion is influenced by Hinduism. Religion is more about geography and tradition than unraveling the mysteries of the universe. It's more a facet of one's existence - a relatively inconsequential one as long as you're a nice person - than a foundation for one's existence. She believes what we believe, she just believes more. Jesus was probably just one of many times that god manifested on earth ... but whatever, "as long as you don't hurt anyone."
I sat there and three thoughts went through my head in rapid succession:
1. A quote from Seth Godin, "Religion is a tool human beings use to amplify faith ... and eventually we often forget about faith."
2. A statistic from UnChristian: Among young adults outside the Church, 84% say they know someone who is a committed Christian. Only 15%, however, thought the lifestyles of their Christian friends were different from the norm.
3. How do you communicate Christ to someone with that mindset?
Am I living like a disciple? Or is it just a job I do? I'm not a secretary when I go home. Do I leave my religion at church like I leave my inbox at the office? Am I in the 15% or the other 69?
Because it is important to live like a Christian. It is vital to build relationships with unbelievers, but as a pastor I admire once preached, "You build a bridge of love before driving a truckload of confrontational truths over it." Sometimes the bridge is enough - not that the bridge is even easy. Sometimes people will see the bridge and walk across of their own accord.
Sometimes you need the truckload of confrontational truths.
Of a staff of 10, nine are Christians. One is Hindu. One of the Christians asked the Hindu what she thinks of "all this."
I wish I had a recording that I could now, days later, transcribe word for word because her response was astoundingly depressing.
She talked briefly and awkwardly about how she believes some of the things we believe. And Christians in India? Their religion is influenced by Hinduism. Religion is more about geography and tradition than unraveling the mysteries of the universe. It's more a facet of one's existence - a relatively inconsequential one as long as you're a nice person - than a foundation for one's existence. She believes what we believe, she just believes more. Jesus was probably just one of many times that god manifested on earth ... but whatever, "as long as you don't hurt anyone."
I sat there and three thoughts went through my head in rapid succession:
1. A quote from Seth Godin, "Religion is a tool human beings use to amplify faith ... and eventually we often forget about faith."
2. A statistic from UnChristian: Among young adults outside the Church, 84% say they know someone who is a committed Christian. Only 15%, however, thought the lifestyles of their Christian friends were different from the norm.
3. How do you communicate Christ to someone with that mindset?
Am I living like a disciple? Or is it just a job I do? I'm not a secretary when I go home. Do I leave my religion at church like I leave my inbox at the office? Am I in the 15% or the other 69?
Because it is important to live like a Christian. It is vital to build relationships with unbelievers, but as a pastor I admire once preached, "You build a bridge of love before driving a truckload of confrontational truths over it." Sometimes the bridge is enough - not that the bridge is even easy. Sometimes people will see the bridge and walk across of their own accord.
Sometimes you need the truckload of confrontational truths.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
decent
And in the midst of it all I think I'm supposed to be learning how to rest in Him.
Because there may never be rest in anything else. Until He comes back and He is all there is, there will always be turmoil. There will always be unrest. Wars and rumors of wars. Unsatisfied longings and vacant desires. Wars and rumors of wars within me.
Because there is a part of me that seeks harmony.
Between body and spirit, flesh and Blood.
Between me and Love. Wars and rumors of
wars within me, but do not fear, He says.
Rest. Watch and wait and rest.
Because we are to be like men who wait for their Master. We are not to grow weary. And in the midst of anticipation and hesitation, uncertainty and disharmony, I am to rest.
Because what greater faith is there than this? That the wind and the seas roar around me and I stand in the midst of it because my eyes are focused on Him. All He requires is my unwavering gaze and He makes the waves firm beneath me.
Because there may never be rest in anything else. Until He comes back and He is all there is, there will always be turmoil. There will always be unrest. Wars and rumors of wars. Unsatisfied longings and vacant desires. Wars and rumors of wars within me.
Because there is a part of me that seeks harmony.
Between body and spirit, flesh and Blood.
Between me and Love. Wars and rumors of
wars within me, but do not fear, He says.
Rest. Watch and wait and rest.
Because we are to be like men who wait for their Master. We are not to grow weary. And in the midst of anticipation and hesitation, uncertainty and disharmony, I am to rest.
Because what greater faith is there than this? That the wind and the seas roar around me and I stand in the midst of it because my eyes are focused on Him. All He requires is my unwavering gaze and He makes the waves firm beneath me.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
pause
It's that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when a roller coaster just barely makes it over a peak. Not the first one, because that one you slowly clunk up to. The second one. The one that's designed to get as high as it can get and the cars get slower as they get higher and with just a moment to really capitalize on the anticipation
it dives.
And you know the dive is coming, that's why you don't freak out.
Or when you think you're at the bottom of a set of stairs but there's really one more waiting. You probably pull a funny face because it catches you off guard but you don't scream because it doesn't last that long. By the time you've inhaled you've also arrived so it's not a big deal. But there's that feeling.
Or when someone who calls himself a friend but who really wants to see you dead finds himself on one of those big trampolines with you. You're bouncing along, minding your own business: up and down and up and down. You know how long it will take to hit the mat again until your foe manages to time a jump just right and send you flying. You flail like an idiot and hopefully don't scream like a little girl, but you come back down. There's a moment, though, when you're as high as you're going to get and you just
stop
midair as gravity finally overcomes velocity and pulls you back down. And it's in that moment that you get that feeling.
The feeling is fun because it ends quickly. It's like a single hiccup, or the build-up to a really good sneeze.
But what's really awful is when the sneeze doesn't come. When you can feel it in your nose and you sniff and squint and rub your nose in all directions but it doesn't come.
The feeling is fun because it ends quickly.
Usually.
I've been living in that feeling for the past few days. Every moment I have to sit still I'm suddenly aware that the roller coaster never dropped, the last step never came, and I'm still - somehow- suspended parallel to the roof of the house. I can feel it in my stomach. That obnoxious anticipation.
It's everything. Yes it's the house, but it's so many other things - none of which I can or want to publish. I feel like my entire life got flung into the air and someone hit Pause.
it dives.
And you know the dive is coming, that's why you don't freak out.
Or when you think you're at the bottom of a set of stairs but there's really one more waiting. You probably pull a funny face because it catches you off guard but you don't scream because it doesn't last that long. By the time you've inhaled you've also arrived so it's not a big deal. But there's that feeling.
Or when someone who calls himself a friend but who really wants to see you dead finds himself on one of those big trampolines with you. You're bouncing along, minding your own business: up and down and up and down. You know how long it will take to hit the mat again until your foe manages to time a jump just right and send you flying. You flail like an idiot and hopefully don't scream like a little girl, but you come back down. There's a moment, though, when you're as high as you're going to get and you just
stop
midair as gravity finally overcomes velocity and pulls you back down. And it's in that moment that you get that feeling.
The feeling is fun because it ends quickly. It's like a single hiccup, or the build-up to a really good sneeze.
But what's really awful is when the sneeze doesn't come. When you can feel it in your nose and you sniff and squint and rub your nose in all directions but it doesn't come.
The feeling is fun because it ends quickly.
Usually.
I've been living in that feeling for the past few days. Every moment I have to sit still I'm suddenly aware that the roller coaster never dropped, the last step never came, and I'm still - somehow- suspended parallel to the roof of the house. I can feel it in my stomach. That obnoxious anticipation.
It's everything. Yes it's the house, but it's so many other things - none of which I can or want to publish. I feel like my entire life got flung into the air and someone hit Pause.
Monday, March 10, 2008
house update
We're not down for the count just yet. Our realtor is a very smart lady, and our God is a very big God. There is hope yet for the house we thought was lost, and in the meantime we've decided to be like Joshua and Caleb who gave a report based on the promises of God and not what they saw with their eyes.
Friday, March 07, 2008
i'm okay to talk about it now
Without crying at you. I know how awkward it is when I cry at you.
We're not getting the house.
The inspector found a bunch of problems. Many were little, two were big.
1. There's water in the basement. The back, cement patio is slanted toward the house, so water builds up and leaks in. The drywall going into the basement is as saturated as it can be. Fixing the problem means pouring concrete under the existing patio to slant it the other way, replacing the drywall by the back door, and removing the mold in the basement.
2. The bathroom is in similar condition. Grout was not maintained between the bathroom tiles, so the drywall around the shower is soaked as well. If you push the tiles, the wall caves in a bit. It's bad. It means tearing it all out and replacing the drywall and tile (which is all over the bathroom).
We said we'd take care of the little stuff if the sellers can lower the price so we can get the big stuff fixed when the weather permits. They refused. (And I just found out their realtor made a comment to ours about how they can't understand why we can't "work out" this stuff.)
So we canceled the appraisal this morning, canceled the insurance quote, and informed the landlord that we probably won't be moving out at the end of the month. And I just signed a form to cancel our contract with the sellers. We'll get our earnest money back, but we're out several hundred for the inspection and the attorney review.
And we're going to look at a couple new ones tomorrow.
I'm okay. I cried for about a minute, but I've been more confused about it than anything else - trying to figure out where God was in all this. We thought we were hearing from Him. Were we wrong? Were we robbed via free will? Is there a miracle coming still? I wish I knew, but I figure:
If we were wrong, His mercies are new every morning and He turns all things to good.
If we were robbed, our enemy must repay seven-fold.
If there's a miracle still on the horizon, we're reminded it's not by our strength.
I can say all this and sound really spiritual now because my husband deterred me from calling down plagues Moses-style on 118 Wisconsin last night. Everything's cool.
We're not getting the house.
The inspector found a bunch of problems. Many were little, two were big.
1. There's water in the basement. The back, cement patio is slanted toward the house, so water builds up and leaks in. The drywall going into the basement is as saturated as it can be. Fixing the problem means pouring concrete under the existing patio to slant it the other way, replacing the drywall by the back door, and removing the mold in the basement.
2. The bathroom is in similar condition. Grout was not maintained between the bathroom tiles, so the drywall around the shower is soaked as well. If you push the tiles, the wall caves in a bit. It's bad. It means tearing it all out and replacing the drywall and tile (which is all over the bathroom).
We said we'd take care of the little stuff if the sellers can lower the price so we can get the big stuff fixed when the weather permits. They refused. (And I just found out their realtor made a comment to ours about how they can't understand why we can't "work out" this stuff.)
So we canceled the appraisal this morning, canceled the insurance quote, and informed the landlord that we probably won't be moving out at the end of the month. And I just signed a form to cancel our contract with the sellers. We'll get our earnest money back, but we're out several hundred for the inspection and the attorney review.
And we're going to look at a couple new ones tomorrow.
I'm okay. I cried for about a minute, but I've been more confused about it than anything else - trying to figure out where God was in all this. We thought we were hearing from Him. Were we wrong? Were we robbed via free will? Is there a miracle coming still? I wish I knew, but I figure:
If we were wrong, His mercies are new every morning and He turns all things to good.
If we were robbed, our enemy must repay seven-fold.
If there's a miracle still on the horizon, we're reminded it's not by our strength.
I can say all this and sound really spiritual now because my husband deterred me from calling down plagues Moses-style on 118 Wisconsin last night. Everything's cool.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
the rumors are true
I haven't been here as much and, yes, I've disabled the comments. Why? Because I don't value your opinion.
Just kidding.
I cut off comments for purposes of my own spiritual growth. Please don't email me about my blog. You can email each other about it, you can twit it, digg it, link it to your own blog ... just please leave me out of it.
Thanks. I'll post some real content perhaps tomorrow.
Just kidding.
I cut off comments for purposes of my own spiritual growth. Please don't email me about my blog. You can email each other about it, you can twit it, digg it, link it to your own blog ... just please leave me out of it.
Thanks. I'll post some real content perhaps tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
thoughts
I am being matured. I really dislike it. But sometimes you do what you know God is telling you to do. Even if it's not glamorous. Even if it doesn't look practical. Even if He doesn't confirm every step along the way with miraculous signs and wonders.
We know that it's "a wicked and perverse generation that seeks after a sign," but we do it all the time anyway.
I sat at my piano last night and realized that my ability to love God is based wholly in my understanding of His love for me. I love Him "because He first loved us." So if my only understanding of God's love is His saving grace, then I will only love Him enough to be saved. Loving God more means coming to a revelation of how much more He loves me (first). It's a lovely thought that I put to a mediocre chord progression.
And then I pulled out the old Mozart Urtext I used to frequent. I stared at the pages of pieces I used to perform and could not begin to imagine how I must have done it. People sometimes ask about your biggest regret, and I could never really think of one until last night. My life's biggest regret is that I left ten+ years of training to rot. Maybe it wasn't God's plan, and maybe it is for the best, and maybe that's a really worldly biggest regret ... but I'm really unhappy with myself for it.
So there. It's not prose (except, perhaps, for that bit of intentional alliteration), but today I'm tired of prose. I'm tired of sensual language and passionate declarations that do nothing more than make for good reading. I'm tired of spewing my spirit in HTML and considering it satisfied.
Tomorrow I'll probably disagree.
We know that it's "a wicked and perverse generation that seeks after a sign," but we do it all the time anyway.
I sat at my piano last night and realized that my ability to love God is based wholly in my understanding of His love for me. I love Him "because He first loved us." So if my only understanding of God's love is His saving grace, then I will only love Him enough to be saved. Loving God more means coming to a revelation of how much more He loves me (first). It's a lovely thought that I put to a mediocre chord progression.
And then I pulled out the old Mozart Urtext I used to frequent. I stared at the pages of pieces I used to perform and could not begin to imagine how I must have done it. People sometimes ask about your biggest regret, and I could never really think of one until last night. My life's biggest regret is that I left ten+ years of training to rot. Maybe it wasn't God's plan, and maybe it is for the best, and maybe that's a really worldly biggest regret ... but I'm really unhappy with myself for it.
So there. It's not prose (except, perhaps, for that bit of intentional alliteration), but today I'm tired of prose. I'm tired of sensual language and passionate declarations that do nothing more than make for good reading. I'm tired of spewing my spirit in HTML and considering it satisfied.
Tomorrow I'll probably disagree.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
eternity in Your voice
I sit down and pull a blanket over my head and I have so much to say. I wrap my toes around the edge of the wooden bed frame and let my forehead thump against the prayer map stapled to the wall. The roledex of regular petitions and prayer requests spins through my head and none of it feels like Your presence so I wait.
I wait and I struggle to pin down my wandering mind. I listen for Your voice and then I start to think about my brother. I resume listening for Your voice and I start thinking about the worship team. I force myself to listen for Your voice and I start to think about the student ministry. And there's so much there to think on that I stray a bit until You call me back.
And I start to wonder why You always seem to wait until I'm not listening to speak to me, and then You speak to me.
And all it takes is five words from You and I am reborn.
The sound of Your voice sends a wave of peace rolling through me and I can feel my spirit breathe You in. Five words from You is all it takes to free me from myself and from this world. Five words from You puts eternity in order again in my heart, and I am released from a burden I didn't even know I carried.
I wait and I struggle to pin down my wandering mind. I listen for Your voice and then I start to think about my brother. I resume listening for Your voice and I start thinking about the worship team. I force myself to listen for Your voice and I start to think about the student ministry. And there's so much there to think on that I stray a bit until You call me back.
And I start to wonder why You always seem to wait until I'm not listening to speak to me, and then You speak to me.
And all it takes is five words from You and I am reborn.
The sound of Your voice sends a wave of peace rolling through me and I can feel my spirit breathe You in. Five words from You is all it takes to free me from myself and from this world. Five words from You puts eternity in order again in my heart, and I am released from a burden I didn't even know I carried.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
chef boyardee with a plastic fork
If I close my eyes right now, all I hear is the gentle, rhythmic hum of the 40-inch printer in the corner of the office.
The silence is sterile.
My black, square computer monitor sits on its black, square base on the black, square desk. Two black, square speakers adorn its shoulders, as it enjoys its prominence over the black, square phone; the black, square stapler; and the black, square inbox.
Just yesterday it seemed that the bright pink, potted flower was smiling at me. Just yesterday it seemed stronger than me, a bearer of hope. Today it hates me. Today it begs me to bring it home or to church or anywhere but here. So I pour a little of my water around its base and think, as loudly as I can, "Not a chance." Misery loves company after all, and we're in this together ... Yes, that's self-centered of me, but you're a house plant.
Just yesterday it seemed I was eternal. Just yesterday it seemed we were partnering with Holy Spirit to breathe fire into a handful of teenagers, to bring about His purposes for the last five seconds of lifeasweknowit, to renew ourselves, to tear down strongholds. Today eternity has paused in order to allow me to suffer the black square.
So here I sit. With a plastic tub of microwaved mac 'n cheese, a plastic fork, and a plastic cup of room temperature drinking water. Here I sit, trapped by everything temporal, everything fading, everything mundane. Here I sit with a dozen lasting, fascinating things I could be doing, counting down the last 20 minutes of a lunch break that hasn't been a break from anything I'd like a break from.
The silence is sterile.
My black, square computer monitor sits on its black, square base on the black, square desk. Two black, square speakers adorn its shoulders, as it enjoys its prominence over the black, square phone; the black, square stapler; and the black, square inbox.
Just yesterday it seemed that the bright pink, potted flower was smiling at me. Just yesterday it seemed stronger than me, a bearer of hope. Today it hates me. Today it begs me to bring it home or to church or anywhere but here. So I pour a little of my water around its base and think, as loudly as I can, "Not a chance." Misery loves company after all, and we're in this together ... Yes, that's self-centered of me, but you're a house plant.
Just yesterday it seemed I was eternal. Just yesterday it seemed we were partnering with Holy Spirit to breathe fire into a handful of teenagers, to bring about His purposes for the last five seconds of lifeasweknowit, to renew ourselves, to tear down strongholds. Today eternity has paused in order to allow me to suffer the black square.
So here I sit. With a plastic tub of microwaved mac 'n cheese, a plastic fork, and a plastic cup of room temperature drinking water. Here I sit, trapped by everything temporal, everything fading, everything mundane. Here I sit with a dozen lasting, fascinating things I could be doing, counting down the last 20 minutes of a lunch break that hasn't been a break from anything I'd like a break from.
Friday, February 15, 2008
take off your shoes
Revelation 4:2-11
Immediately I was in the Spirit; and behold, a throne set in heaven, and One sat on the throne. And He who sat there was like a jasper and a sardius stone in appearance; and there was a rainbow around the throne, in appearance like an emerald.
Around the throne were 24 thrones, and on the thrones I saw 24 elders sitting, clothed in white robes; and they had crowns of gold on their heads.
And from the throne proceeded lightnings, thunderings, and voices. Seven lamps of fire were burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God. Before the throne there was a sea of glass, like crystal. And in the midst of the throne, and around the throne, were four living creatures full of eyes in front and in back.
The cheap, dorm room lamp that hangs above my piano doesn't turn on anymore. It's probably the bulb, but I'm just as satisfied in the shadows.
So I sat in the darkest corner of our apartment. Alone. I sat in the black office chair with the kind of posture that only a decade of piano lessons can cultivate in a person's subconscious. I sat, eyes closed, and listened for eternity.
Eyes opened. Piano. The piano is not eternal, so I closed my eyes again. And listened. I reached out for the plastic keys that I knew were just in front of me and played the chord my fingers fell on. The only decision I had to make was whether to go to a minor third or up a fifth. My hands know the math that comes after the second measure. I don't remember what I chose.
I rock back and forth between two chords, there in the doorway, and He smiles at me. I feel the flame in His gaze and I want it. He waits for me. Two chords. Two chords is safe, and I can do it with my eyes closed without the risk of hitting an incorrect key.
Because right now He is utterly unapproachable. That throne is terrifying in its beauty, and the kind of love that waits for me in the center of it will consume me. I still want it, and He waits for me.
I glance down at my two chords and my stomach turns. I rock back and forth between pride and disobedience. Between apathy and false humility. Between selfishness and hatred. My feet, my shoes, my pant legs, are soaked through with mud. And He waits. I rock back and forth between the sea of crystal before Him and the stain on my walk. And I see Him waiting.
And I don't hear the notes I'm playing but I hope in that moment they're minor. Because I want to yell at Him. I want to make Him come out. I can't go in there! How can I go in there? Can't He see me? Can't He see where I've been? Can't He see the stain on my clothes? How can He call me in there like this? Doesn't He know I'll ruin it? I can't go in there!
And He waits. And I know that He knows. So I wipe my feet as best I can, add a third chord, and step out of the doorway. Eyes still closed I try to step lightly as though I can't feel clumps of filth landing softly on the floor beneath me. This is so embarrassing, but He knows. I want to be there and He knows and He waits so I go.
I add a fourth chord to complete the phrase and I run. I'm already in. I've already ruined His splendor. I've already burdened eternity with dirt it was never meant to endure. And I wonder if I'll survive. I wonder if He'll look at me when I get there. He can't look on sin. It can't stand in His presence and about the moment I'm sure I'll never endure Him I'm close enough to want nothing more than to try and then I'm there and all I can do is fall at His feet.
And He waits.
And I play, and I open my eyes. I'm playing in D, and as I turn to look behind me at mistake after mistake that I so boldly smeared all over Revelation 4 all I see are the last few, blood-red footprints fading to a pure, crystal finish.
Immediately I was in the Spirit; and behold, a throne set in heaven, and One sat on the throne. And He who sat there was like a jasper and a sardius stone in appearance; and there was a rainbow around the throne, in appearance like an emerald.
Around the throne were 24 thrones, and on the thrones I saw 24 elders sitting, clothed in white robes; and they had crowns of gold on their heads.
And from the throne proceeded lightnings, thunderings, and voices. Seven lamps of fire were burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God. Before the throne there was a sea of glass, like crystal. And in the midst of the throne, and around the throne, were four living creatures full of eyes in front and in back.
The cheap, dorm room lamp that hangs above my piano doesn't turn on anymore. It's probably the bulb, but I'm just as satisfied in the shadows.
So I sat in the darkest corner of our apartment. Alone. I sat in the black office chair with the kind of posture that only a decade of piano lessons can cultivate in a person's subconscious. I sat, eyes closed, and listened for eternity.
Eyes opened. Piano. The piano is not eternal, so I closed my eyes again. And listened. I reached out for the plastic keys that I knew were just in front of me and played the chord my fingers fell on. The only decision I had to make was whether to go to a minor third or up a fifth. My hands know the math that comes after the second measure. I don't remember what I chose.
I rock back and forth between two chords, there in the doorway, and He smiles at me. I feel the flame in His gaze and I want it. He waits for me. Two chords. Two chords is safe, and I can do it with my eyes closed without the risk of hitting an incorrect key.
Because right now He is utterly unapproachable. That throne is terrifying in its beauty, and the kind of love that waits for me in the center of it will consume me. I still want it, and He waits for me.
I glance down at my two chords and my stomach turns. I rock back and forth between pride and disobedience. Between apathy and false humility. Between selfishness and hatred. My feet, my shoes, my pant legs, are soaked through with mud. And He waits. I rock back and forth between the sea of crystal before Him and the stain on my walk. And I see Him waiting.
And I don't hear the notes I'm playing but I hope in that moment they're minor. Because I want to yell at Him. I want to make Him come out. I can't go in there! How can I go in there? Can't He see me? Can't He see where I've been? Can't He see the stain on my clothes? How can He call me in there like this? Doesn't He know I'll ruin it? I can't go in there!
And He waits. And I know that He knows. So I wipe my feet as best I can, add a third chord, and step out of the doorway. Eyes still closed I try to step lightly as though I can't feel clumps of filth landing softly on the floor beneath me. This is so embarrassing, but He knows. I want to be there and He knows and He waits so I go.
I add a fourth chord to complete the phrase and I run. I'm already in. I've already ruined His splendor. I've already burdened eternity with dirt it was never meant to endure. And I wonder if I'll survive. I wonder if He'll look at me when I get there. He can't look on sin. It can't stand in His presence and about the moment I'm sure I'll never endure Him I'm close enough to want nothing more than to try and then I'm there and all I can do is fall at His feet.
And He waits.
And I play, and I open my eyes. I'm playing in D, and as I turn to look behind me at mistake after mistake that I so boldly smeared all over Revelation 4 all I see are the last few, blood-red footprints fading to a pure, crystal finish.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Sunday Night
We drove home.
It snowed the day before and got bitterly cold that day, so what was once a fresh matte now appeared hard and plastic. I stared out the passenger side window for 22 minutes, appalled at the fake snow and the time of day.
Sunday nights are difficult for people who were never meant to work desk jobs but have to because no one pays waitresses more than $3 an hour. And tips on lunch shifts don't make up the difference after college.
There are few cars on the road late on Sunday nights. The isolation and sense of impending doom can be overwhelming. The fake snow didn't help.
Street lights bled onto frozen intersections as dark building after dark building shuffled past my window, hoping I wouldn't see. And I didn't really see, until one seemed to cave in on itself a little.
The next one was fine.
The one after that quivered a bit as we drove past and probably collapsed as soon as it was out of sight.
The next one was fake. I don't know how I always thought it was real, but even glancing at it briefly in that moment, it screamed of everything temporal. Everything fleeting. It confessed it had lied to me for years and was really nothing more than a prop. What I once believed to be a piece of reality, one that would stand longer than myself, laughed at me for being so foolish. I was betrayed.
I couldn't see them, but I knew they were toppling. I knew we were leaving a wake of rubbish behind us because each one that fell left me feeling more exposed. I knew when a fresh batch of debris finally settled because I felt more eternal, and my heart in light of eternity is tiny. Each one reduced to rubble left me more alone with the Beginning and the End, and I groped to find a place somewhere in the middle.
One by one I'm sure they crumbled just as soon as I couldn't see them anymore.
It snowed the day before and got bitterly cold that day, so what was once a fresh matte now appeared hard and plastic. I stared out the passenger side window for 22 minutes, appalled at the fake snow and the time of day.
Sunday nights are difficult for people who were never meant to work desk jobs but have to because no one pays waitresses more than $3 an hour. And tips on lunch shifts don't make up the difference after college.
There are few cars on the road late on Sunday nights. The isolation and sense of impending doom can be overwhelming. The fake snow didn't help.
Street lights bled onto frozen intersections as dark building after dark building shuffled past my window, hoping I wouldn't see. And I didn't really see, until one seemed to cave in on itself a little.
The next one was fine.
The one after that quivered a bit as we drove past and probably collapsed as soon as it was out of sight.
The next one was fake. I don't know how I always thought it was real, but even glancing at it briefly in that moment, it screamed of everything temporal. Everything fleeting. It confessed it had lied to me for years and was really nothing more than a prop. What I once believed to be a piece of reality, one that would stand longer than myself, laughed at me for being so foolish. I was betrayed.
I couldn't see them, but I knew they were toppling. I knew we were leaving a wake of rubbish behind us because each one that fell left me feeling more exposed. I knew when a fresh batch of debris finally settled because I felt more eternal, and my heart in light of eternity is tiny. Each one reduced to rubble left me more alone with the Beginning and the End, and I groped to find a place somewhere in the middle.
One by one I'm sure they crumbled just as soon as I couldn't see them anymore.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
narnia
That's a lot of snow. CITW is cancelled for this evening, and the office is closing. I came to Panera to get some work done, and because I couldn't get into the parking lot at home because it hadn't been plowed. I think I need to leave Panera soon, though, or I'll be stuck here. Gotta keep moving ...
The Lord and I are doing better, in case you were worried. We had a nice talk last night. We took back some ground in China together too. It was like a little reunion.
So I'm going to go work on Switch stuff from home, and probably spend some time with my God, and probably zine a bit. Hooray for snow days - however delayed.
The Lord and I are doing better, in case you were worried. We had a nice talk last night. We took back some ground in China together too. It was like a little reunion.
So I'm going to go work on Switch stuff from home, and probably spend some time with my God, and probably zine a bit. Hooray for snow days - however delayed.
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