At first sight

Im certainly not a cynic. I truly and deeply believe in love above all things. Every so often you hear those stories about love that take your breath away. Books, movies, poems...I find myself with a sudden lack of curiosity for moments like those. Their various depictions, although true and relevant for some, have begun to bore me. Really love? You want to shout from a mountain top? I want to shout from a mountain top every time I get a new pair of shoes. Do better.  

Schadenfreude/Belle-lettres

Dear [insert social security number here],
You are dispensable. If you died tomorrow I assure you that the world wouldn't mourn for you. Sure, a few people might wallow in their grief and waste tissue for you, but all in all--you're replaceable. I can get someone else to fill your position at work. Someone else will surely buy your car. Your clothes will be given away or sold at a garage sale. Thats if your family hasn't decided to box it all, as if you were coming back--HA. Don't worry if you get fired, chances are someone was better suited. Oh you dropped your cell phone carrier? They don't mind. They just pocketed $200 from you and someone else will be taking your line in no time. See? I told you, you're dispensable. You're just a number. If the world knew you by name you wouldn't need a SSN. You'd be able to walk into the dmv and say hi, my name is [Wah wahhh, they really don't care.] It hurts doesn't it? Fighting to live a dispensable life? Going day by day according to what society tells you to do. Fitting their happy little mold and chasing the dream. The dream that well, lets face it, will all come crashing to an end once you end up in a hospital or a coffin. You my friend are worthless.

Sincerely
lovingly
affectionately 
unfortunately yours,
World.




Dear [insert full name here],
You are indispensable. There is no one like you in all the earth. Even if I ran around a million times and interviewed every person on the planet, there'd still be no other you. I understand that its a bit cliche, letters of encouragement or inspirational quotes. But just so you know: if you died tomorrow there would be a gaping hole inside of me. My world would be forever changed. Your place in the kingdom is one only you can fill. Do you think I want another you? No. I want YOU. Exactly as you are. Every curve, every roll, every chin, every hair, pimple, wart, scar, bruise, and broken bone. I want it all. It's strange isn't it? Knowing that someone cares so disgustingly about you. Every hair on your head accounted for. Every bone and blood cell kept record of. Its comforting once you get passed the eery vibe of a stalker. I assure you that not a moment goes by that you are not kept guarded. Not a second where you're alone. You are indeed a masterpiece created after perfection. You my love are worth anything and everything.


Sincerely
affectionately
wholly
adoringly
ardently
forever yours,
love.

persona non grata

Dear Love, 

Let me start by acknowledging your prominence in my life. Sure, miles didn't help. But your relevance goes undiminished. No, I'll never forget you. I'll never forget the broken pieces you left behind. But I'll sweep them up and throw them in the trash so no other love feels the sting of the shards. I'll make sure that there are no remnants left. No bits or pieces of you. 

A joke. A fallacy. All I ever had were your words--thats all you ever gave me. A bunch of words. Words over the phone, words over text, words over the internet, all just words. Nothing tangible. Nothing credible.
Just.Your.Words.

Dear Love, 

At one point you meant everything to me. At one point I could barely breathe at the thought of you. It was all so unreal. But as quickly as you came, you left. Here, in this blog, I'm leaving you. Letting you go to rot in whatever life you'll create for yourself. Cause well--you were always so independent. 

Dear Love,

You weren't real.
You weren't true.
You weren't love at all. 

Dear You,

You.....
You were a cop-out. 

I don't mind if I step alone

"Whatever your work is, do it gladly. Do it as you would do it unto the Lord and not for people." Colossians 3:23

Perhaps I'm taking this verse out of context when I apply it to things such as my writing. Within the context of previous verses it's actually referring to slaves; giving them reason to do their work with joy and zeal--as if it were unto the Lord. But I can't help but personalize it and make it for me and what I do. 

My mind is constantly on "write" mode. I tend to think as though I'm sitting at my computer writing rather than just speaking. Of course I have other passions, other desires, and other loves--but this, this is perhaps one of my greatest treasures. I often forget why I do it, which is why posts are so infrequent. I always find myself getting frustrated that no one reads these, even after I sweat and weep as I write them. I have so many things running through my head at any given time that I always consider "blogging" but never do. See, I hate knowing that I spend hours on these things--these insecurities. I hate knowing that I can write a million words and no one would even know. But I love knowing that I at least have an audience of one.

He's my biggest fan. None of my words ever go unread or un-noted. If He keeps count of the hairs on my head, which aren't life changing to me, I can only imagine how much esteem He gives to my words. If He gives regard to when a sparrow falls, then I know His eye is focused just as intently on me. I have the hardest time getting passed that, don't you? The creator of the UNIVERSE has His eye on you. To Him you're a celebrity. To Him I'm a famous author, I'm His treasure. I like to imagine that when the thunder claps it's His exclamation to me that I've done a good job in His eyes. The lightning is His camera flash, He's such a proud parent--such a beautiful father. He'd show off my picture if He could. Brag to all His friends that He's got a daughter who's completely smitten by Him and would do anything to make Him proud. What a gracious King--that He would come eat at the table with me. That He would choose to be my audience. 

So--I don't mind if I step alone. I don't mind if I write a book that never gets published or a song thats never sung. I don't do it to make a name for myself. The Lord of all already knows my name.

The snack bar will keep these hunger pangs at bay.

There are moments in worship where my heart wants to beat right out of my chest, and moments where it sinks to the pit of my stomach. Such is the life of a worshipper. It has become my deepest desire to have my heart be moved. I frequently find myself forcing it. Seeing that it's easy to become complacent, its easy to let our hearts stay still. A worshipper must take caution never to become too acquainted or "familiar" with the way it feels when they worship. I am constantly on this roller coaster of sorts where you never really get used to the rush. Its easy to stay still--its easy to fall asleep. But, it's in those moments of lifelessness that His hand comes and gives a little jolt--sending your heart right back out of your chest.

Have you ever known the heart of God? Have you ever just sat and soaked? You never want to forget those moments. The ones where you end up with a sort of worship vomit. Once you start admiring and acknowledging the beauty of the sovereign God you just can't stop. It stirs up this insatiability that almost possesses you. You literally step out of sanity for that moment. The hunger turns you into this beast that wont stop until the desire is satiated. Every taste is better than the last. I wish I could literally sit and be drenched in his presence like the rain. That I could walk out from having just immersed myself in his love and be completely soaked and have to ring out my clothes. I want to drown. I want it to fill my lungs. I want to be swept away by the waves and washed up on a shore on some remote island. The natives will have to revive me, but once I come around--they'll get it too. As I write I find myself longing for a drop. I almost feel like an addict, my veins are itching. My body'll start going through withdrawal because every moment spent away is a moment wasted. This is love. This is real love. It can't be curbed, it can't be stopped. He won me over and He'll keep me.

I've done it. I've lived without the presence of God in my life. I've gone through days and months without so much as a drop. The most trialing times of my life have been when there was a lack of His presence. More importantly, a lack of seeking Him. How terrible are we? Who do we think we are to punish God by walking away? You know, I've heard that it's wrong to boast in the greatness of God because people of other beliefs and opinions would get offended. Well--God is not politically correct and He's so much better for it. He's not molded or moved by the times. He doesn't change just because we change, no. We do not have the power to change God. He is sovereign, and he is beautiful, and he is worthy, and his presence...well...His presence is delicious.

I never told anyone: Part Deux

Remember the love I told you about?

I should probably give you an update as to its whereabouts. 

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans. I was startled by its ringing so I grabbed it to see who it was. I didn't recognize the number right away, but I assumed it was someone from school who's number I didn't have saved. Anyway, I proceeded to pick up the phone. Unfortunately my family was blaring a Marc Anthony concert so I had to exit the room to hear the voice on the other end. Once I heard the voice I immediately knew it was him. He said he needed to talk to me about something. Naturally I assumed the worst. I was at a family function so I told him I'd call him back. 

When I got home that evening I prayed and mustered up the courage to call. He didn't pick up the first time, and of course I missed the call back, so I dialed once more and--he answered. The next hour would be spent listening intently to everything he had to say. There were moments I let out small giggles, but I never let him know I was crying on the other side. My tears? Pure Joy. Finally he pulled his thoughts together enough to spit out three words-- "I love you." I clasped my hand over my mouth and sat as a stream of tears ran down my face. I had waited for him to come back, but I never expected him to come back with something as big as those three small words.

Of course I responded a while later assuring him that I reciprocated. The next couple weeks were spent in pure bliss. Catching up, random texts, ridiculous story lines, and picture message after picture message. We had both known and considered the realities of pursuing a relationship with the other, but both decided to keep hushed till the time came. 

One night he called and spent the next couple hours talking about distance and differences. I had recognized them prior to our conversation, but my heart felt so right in his hands I didn't want to take it away so suddenly.

And, as quickly as love came--it left. Well, it didn't necessarily leave. More like I kicked it out and shut the door. The only problem here is...I didn't lock it. I told him that since he wasn't spiritually equipped to "lead me" we couldn't be together. I sound like a fool to anyone who hasn't walked the road I've decided to travel. It's an age old battle. Heart vs. Head. My head tells me he doesn't serve in the church, or worship the way I do, he doesn't pray as vigorously as me, or attend services on a regular basis. My heart tells me he's never walked in my shoes for even a moment, but he understands everything about me. He knows my secrets, my weaknesses, and my strengths. He knows my quirks and makes me laugh. He talks my ear off but I somehow never get bored. He listens to my gripes intently and makes no criticisms or judgements even though I've judged him countless times. He's not a spiritual man. But he's a noble man. Then I get to thinking, spirituality doesn't equal nobility. I know plenty of guys who serve in churches but aren't noble in the least. And here I have this man who doesn't but has ten times the love in his heart. I know men from churches who are two faced and some who serve but can't protect. He admits his faults, he knows he needs God and is willing to admit his lack of "spirituality." 

Have we become so picky as "children of God" that we decide who will suit and who wont simply because they aren't as avid in the faith? As far as I can tell his heart is true. But I cant judge his heart...can you? 

I spend so much time thinking about what I could have done differently. Or whether or not I made the right decision. I pray constantly that God looks favorably on the sacrifices I've made in his name. I gave up my life, my family, my home, my friends, and now I've given up my love. However, Im not angry at God in the least. But my heart is shattered. There have been moments where I could barely breathe. Nights where I can't sleep. My peace is gone. But thats not supposed to happen when you've followed God right?  

He brought my Isaac, and I willingly brought him to the altar. But when Abraham brought his sacrifice God brought him a ram in a thicket. Not to mention he got to keep Isaac. 

I lost him and got no ram. I dont know what to do anymore.

The crosses we bear

John Howard Yoder. 

Ever heard of him?

If not, I highly recommend taking a gander at his book entitled The Politics of Jesus. He gives interesting insight on the "type" of Jesus that people prefer. I was particularly drawn to his discussion of the term "bearing the cross." The following is an excerpt from the above mentioned book:

"Only at one point, only on one subject--but then consistently, universally-- is Jesus our example: in His cross. This much could have been said without special attention to our learnings from Luke. But all of this language of imitation and participation, all the pious and pastoral meditation on the believers cross takes on a new dimension if we take the measure of the social character of Jesus' cross. 

The believers cross is no longer any and every kind of suffering, sickness, or tension, the bearing of what is commanded. The believers cross is, like that of Jesus, the price of social non-conformity. It is not, like sickness or catastrophe, an inexplicable, unpredictable suffering; it is the end of a path freely chosen after counting the cost. It is not, like Luther's or Thomas Müntzers or Zinzendorf's or Kierkegaard's cross or Anfechtung, an inward wrestling of the sensitive soul with self and sin; it is the social reality of representing in an unwilling world the Order to come. The word: 

      "The servant is not greater than his master. If they persecuted me they will persecute you. (John 15:20)

is not a pastoral counsel to help with the ambiguities of life; it is a normative statement about the relation of our social obedience to the messianity of Jesus. Representing as he did the divine order now at hand, accessible; renouncing as he did the legitimate use of violence and the accrediting of the existing authorities; renouncing as well the ritual purity of non-involvment, his people will encounter in ways analogous to his own the hostility of the old order.

Being human, Jesus must have been subject somehow or other to testing of pride, envy, anger, sloth, avarice, gluttony, and lust; but it does not enter into the concerns of the Gospel writer to give us any information about any struggles he may have had with their attraction. The one temptation the man Jesus faced--and face again and again--as a constitutive element of his public ministry, was the temptation to exercise social responsibility, in the interest of justified revolution, through the use of available violent methods. Social withdrawal was no temptation to him; that option (which most Christians take part of the time) was excluded at any outset. Any alliance with the Sadducean establishment in the exercise of conservative social responsibility (which most christians choose the rest of the time) was likewise excluded at the outset. We understand Jesus only if we can empathize with this threefold rejection: the self-evident, axiomatic, sweeping rejection of both quietism and establishment responsibility, and the difficult constantly reopened, genuinely attractive option of the crusade."

After reading this, what then is the point of bearing the cross? Is it through enduring as much suffering as possible that we become Christlike? If so what constitutes as suffering if, as it seems, it is an extremely relative term?

For so long we've been taught that any kind of suffering or trial we endure is considered "bearing our cross."But we forget that the cross was meant to be a public death. It was a sort of public humiliation. Jesus constantly fought the social norm. He came to change the world, more importantly, he came to change society. How then can we compare our minute struggles to bearing a cross? The cross was heavy, the cross was a symbol of death. We die to ourselves not for the sake of ourselves, but for the sake of our brother. Jesus didn't take up the cross to make His life better. He took it to make our lives better.

Now then, as a part of Christian ethics, wouldn't bearing your cross as a propellor to further your individual overall state of being be a contradiction to the purpose of the cross? Furthermore, wouldn't it constitute as unethical if our intentions are self-promoting? 

The crosses we bear are not parallel to the cross Christ bore. He broke social boundaries. And us? We sit quietly in our churches and homes, and the only time sociality takes place is when we go out to eat in our designated cliques and crews. Christ-like? Not in the least. Church--your cross should be like that of Christs. Persecution for public displays of Godliness. Persecution for incessant preaching and praying. Everywhere Jesus went He was about the fathers business. Every city, every town, every house. That was his cross, and it should be ours as well.