A Gift Called "Together"

We heave and breathe and pour sweat, and bump fists.
And we chant audacity (in the form of "oh yes you can!") and mouth corners upturn under flaming cheeks. And we cut another minute off the mile, add another mile to the course.

We flop down in green grass and laugh.

And I realize that what I once said would never be, is.
What I always said I'd do only for the sake of relentlessness, I do now for the love of the doing...

Together.
That changes everything, you know?

I soak up blue sky and run fingers through grass while we stretch; listen to the student of strides give us the latest science; quip that we need a team dietician.

And running isn't anything like it used to be.
It used to be heart-pounding, step-sounding solitude where the only one there to believe I could was myself.

But it isn't the love or the running that strikes me so deep.

It's that together word.
That's the gift.

Apart, some are fast, some are slow.
Others never try. Never know what they're made of.

Oh, and don't get me wrong. There's a place for solitude. I was born a loner, after all...

But I've been given a gift I hope to spend the rest of my life passing on to people around me who've never tried. Or who've quit believing.

And I dare you to do the same.
To be the same.

To the lonely soul; To the trembling child; To the one who wants, but is afraid to dare; To the one who would, if one soul would care--

I want to be together.

Because together, everyone gets stronger.

Why Love Always Wins

In that place between wakefulness and dreams I wrestle with the risk of liberty. I ponder the rules of war. I wonder how it is that Love succeeds even when it seems to fail... And then I see it.

.  .  .  .

Upon the slopes of Sinai stand I, eyes on a drama unfolding below. Two great armies fill the plain; meet in the midst in a perfect line. Their commanders sit upon regal horses, men both of great stature and commanding presence. At the first glance, and from my distance, the sides appear indistinguishable.

Motionless stand they, and grave. For I perceived that though the one side cares nothing for the rules of engagement, they dare not disobey them when confronted by this host.

I wonder for what intent they have assembled here. I have not long to wait.

Suddenly a disturbance in the ranks on the left, and the whole force is in motion. With a calm and assurance that breathes of victory already, the great host rightward makes their advance. The clash is tremendous. I assure you, you have never seen a fight until you have watched angels in conflict.

But I see the wonder: there has comes from one mouth on the left a cry I could not hear. Not for my distance, nor for the noise of the battle. But Someone heard it. And suddenly the one Commander stands up in His stirrups; raises a glittering Sword high above His head. And there is a great and terrible silence. It seems as though the entire host on the left is suddenly paralyzed. As though they had every one of them suddenly lost the duel with his antagonist, and now stand at sword-point, desperate, but dumb.

Dumb, except for their commander. Who stands up also in his stirrups and roars unthinkable blasphemies.

And then I see him. The one who'd cried out. Two great warriors cross the battle line, weave through the throng, take his hands and lead him to the other side. Theirs, the only motion in the whole of the plain

A prisoner? think I.

Nay, for behold, he is straightaway given a sword.

I turn to a silent watcher beside me. What means this?

This is a battle for a soul. One soul.

These armies, indistinguishable to the untrained eye--
They are made up of mighty angels, and common people.

And one thing most notable sets them apart. (Besides the character of their commanders.)

The one has gained its every recruit by impressment, imprisonment, deception, and coercion.
The other accepts only volunteers.

The rules of war are in our favor.
When in the midst of battle one of ours defects, he is allowed to go, though chains await him. 
When one of theirs believes, we go in and get him.
That's fair.

And we have the Sword. 
And we have the Lord Glorious. 

They are all slaves. 
We're all loving servants.

Of course Love has the advantage.

Proven Supremacy [Off the Scribbled Page]

Do you know what I learned this morning?...
I've learned we can't leave room for even the smallest infidelity. That to resist accountability in one department means failure to thrive in all others. That the slightest neglect to commit leaves a hole that apostasy will be only too glad to fill.

We can afford no such luxury. (No such villainy.)



Here's what I learned...

The supremacy of God is manifested to the world by the fidelity of His friends.*

So it was when it appeared God Himself had been made a servant to Babylon. For wasn't almost every holy thing from His house now beautifying a pagan temple?

No, actually not. Because the most beautiful things from God's house were the hearts that served Him there.
And some of those hearts stayed true. Even in Babylon.

My God, show Thyself strong in a pagan land, before a pagan people, through the faithfulness of Thy friends...

*See PK Chap 39: In the Court of Babylon

Her Name Was Mary

"Ok, tell me everything you know about this girl."

I'm on a quest of discovery. And I'm after everything my friend might know.

"Well, she's a really pious woman."
                                                "Or... wait."

-  -  -

Yeah. My thoughts exactly.
Almost without exception, her contemporaries thought differently.
For after all, she was the girl who'd been robbed of parents before she was ready to stand on her own, and had subsequently turned to find love where it can never be found. She was the one who, whether intentionally or accidentally, had thrown away her innocence, her youth, her purity, her piety in the crime-soaked business of human flesh for sale. And to boot, seven times she'd bowed to the dark side, and become a currier for the worst kind of darkness.
She was.

But then, then there was that awful day when she was caught in the act... Dragged from the bed to the street, and thrown in a cowering heap before the Lord of Glory.
And there was that beautiful moment when her broken shame, her stripped-bare necessity, appeared in the shadow of the undiluted Love of Infinite Eternity.

And she got it.

She got it.

Of course the pharisees would always maintain that Jesus regularly ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at a prostitute's house.
Of course they'd say that what was could never be fully erased.

Of course, we say the same of others. We say the same of ourselves.
You know, that a crippling past must necessarily have a strong effect on one's usefulness future. That this girl should never know as she might, what it is to trust. Or that, at the very least, it might take a lifetime to learn. And love? Well...

Yes. We often say those things.
And of course, there is an element of truth to them.

But there's a reason this girl named Mary (which name means "Rebellious," by the way) is my new favorite Bible character.

Because her story is the story of the power of grace to overcome, and to turn my past into my greatest advantage.

Let me gently remind the world that the home she shared with her big brother and sister was the place Jesus always came to when it was time to rest. That these were, apart from His very own, His best friends on earth. And that after her turning, this girl gained eyes for things everyone else missed.

Because the brokenness of her past was the richest possible backdrop for the truth about Grace, and the power of Love.

Remember that in the midst of the noise of a traditional Jewish party, while everyone was consumed by the festivities, one girl had the presence of mind to anointed her Lord for burial. That when everyone else was consumed with the protocol, this one girl sat at the feet of the Desire of the Ages, and watched Him, all ears, all eyes, all heart.
Remember that on that dark friday, she was there. When they carried Him to the tomb, she was there.

And let me remind you that on resurrection morning, Jesus appeared to one, and only one friend. And that friend was neither Peter, James, nor John.

Her name was Mary.
And she was a former prostitute.

I can't help but wonder, might it be because she understood something about Love that everybody else missed?
And might that be because God makes "all things work together for good..."?

"Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little."

 "Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound." Ro. 5:20

-  -  - 

Shoes kiss the pavement over and over. Rhythm of breathing and stride. We push miles behind us one at a time, while the truth is soaked in silence.

And I? I'm so taken.

"So, you see why this story, this girl . . .". . .

The Gospel

It's not just a story.
It's what we live and breathe.

The gift. The giving.

How simple. How utterly, overwhelmingly profound and powerful.

And if I really believe it, then I will necessarily live it out too.

I stand with eyes closed and smile soft as the first rays of the morning sun warm my face, and my office.
And it strikes me that this warmth cost the sun some fuel.

A star's slow death powers life for a race. --for an entire system of whirling planets and moons.

      "...Life to the receiver; death to the giver."
                   "But if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."*

The Gospel.
The Giving.
The way God lives.
And for our part, the way of living fully alive.

Of being honored to pass to others, through choosing death to myself,
the very Life of God.

Oh, I choose.
I do.

*Jackie Pullinger; John 12:24;