If You Have a Crumb [Glorious Fast - Part VI]

"...Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry..."

- - - -

Arms open wide, I try to embrace them all.
Canis Major, Aries, Lepus, Orion, Columba...
All in their undimmed glory against the blackness.
And Venus and Jupiter, brightest of all.

Head tipped back, I spin; take it in.
Try to grip infinity while the earth grips me, twirls me through the universe like a daddy does his child.

And it's just me. Me and my dog.
On a 36 degree morning. At 8,000 feet.

I break into a smile.

And I whisper to myself; to Him--

No sooner has a child of the Highest yielded to transforming grace, than he is made an ambassador among men.*

No sooner!

- - - -

"But I have nothing."

If you have a crumb of bread, you have enough.

It doesn't say you must be a wholesale broker of baked goods.
Nor does it say that those goods must be the finest pastries.
Nor does it say that you'll need a flawless record of lifelong fidelity to be trusted with the job...

Because no sooner has a child of the Highest yielded to transforming grace, than he is made an ambassador among men.

What it does say, is that this bread, this simple fare passed down to sustain life--

It's not just bread you picked up somewhere for general distribution.
This was yours.
Your next meal.

"...Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry..."

Beautiful is this truth. A terrible beautiful.

If you have a crumb of bread to eat, (and most people do) you have enough to give away.
And if you would see men free, and full, and overflowing,
you must.

- - - -

At hill's top I turn, greet the dawn.
Embrace the empty expanse with my whole heart.
This is fullness.

*See page 2.1 of Mount of Blessings...

To Finish the Job [Glorious Fast - Part V]

"... and that ye break every yoke?..."

This is no halfway freedom we're talking about.

This is undeniably the most audacious face of the conflict--
It's grace, returning to finish the job.

Because "if the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed."

So it is that the trembling (but oh, so happy) child of God (only recently in chains) awakens one morning to a flurry of activity, and while yet rubbing sleep from the eyes an angel brushes by and says the Commander is waiting...

"For what-- 
        For me??"

Yes. Because just getting clear of the door of that prison is't enough for this General.
Today they're going back to crush the fortress to a thousand pieces.

And He wants to take me with Him.

So we set out. Me with my little coil of rope, and Him, strong as ten thousand times ten thousand bulldozers. And I look up in awe while we trek-- still thinking this is a dream. The One, the Invincible Soldier. The other, the admiring little boy, still in his pajamas...
And He looks down and smiles.

He doesn't need me.

But He glories in making the weak, strong.
            --in setting them over their enemies.



And after all, don't I know where the pillars in that place rest, better than most?

Chained by Fear [Glorious Fast - Part IV]

"...and to let the oppressed to free..."

"There is nothing in the world to fear, but fear itself."
--words to a trusted friend those.

Fear substantiates the false claims of every captor.

Because when I fail, this jail I find myself in is horrible...
But even more horrible is the fear.

Fear keeps thousands in prison, when the door is wide open.
Because worse than jail itself is fearing "how God will treat me" when I get out...

But to say that God is anything like fear describes is as wrong as calling the devil a savior.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The truth is, God loves.
only. loves.

But the fearing can scarcely be blamed for disbelieving that at times...

We've taught them to.

Yes. You and me.
We teach the weak to fear.
By our actions. When we're supposed to be representing Jesus Himself...

And that keeps them in prison even when the doors are open.


"...and to let the oppressed to free..."

Not just by getting the door open.
By helping them believe they'll always find open arms on the other side of the threshold.

Always.

Trophies of His Mercy [Glorious Fast - Part III]

"...to undo the heavy burdens..."

Undo.
I love that word.

I love that word.

Schoolmaster holds up a bony finger and rants of paradises lost. Of opportunities wasted. Of moments, talents, thrown to the wind. Or worse.
Of the train of mistakes so long it takes an army of engines to pull them.
And that army of engines is me.
(And so, we get nowhere.)

Of the crushing weight of another failure.
Another moment I regret the second it is gone.
Of the shame that no one can understand because they know nothing of its source...

Schoolmaster's voice shrieks this madness,
this madness that is real,
and I cover. cower. cry.

And then in the midst of this shower of burning brimstone a hand is raised.
And teacher's tirade ceases on a goldfish-gulp of air, for sheer shock that someone might want to speak...
And the voice is quiet, but it is as solid as a rock.

"Is there no way to undo?"

"Un-DO?!"

-  -  -  -  -

Grace.
I love that word too...

And it does undo.
The Hebrew word means more than just to untie one's shoelaces.

It means to utterly confound, baffle, unravel...

I know.
I know, in the present-progressive.
Because I pace too, lion-like. Fists doubled up. Star-studded blackness outside french doors to bookshelf, and back.
And I dry my eyes, drop exhausted. Only to cry some more.
And I whisper--

"He restoreth my soul... He restoreth my soul..."

I have heard it said that "There is more mercy in Christ than sin in us."*

I believe it.
Yes, there is a way to undo.

Oh, but schoolmaster shrieks again that the scars will always remain.

Yes. And even scars are trophies of His mercy--
A scar is infinitely better than an eternally open wound.

Thank you Jesus.

-  -  -  -  -

And so the soldier gets up from his face forgiven. Again.
Pure. again.

But only as he remembers what he himself has learned on his face will he be qualified to help undo burdens himself.

This is why we must never forget...

Be thou merciful. 

*Richard Sibbes

The Blind Cannot Lead The Blind [Glorious Fast - Part II]

"...to loose the bands of wickedness..."

If hacking chains is exhilarating work, it is also gut-wrenching. Tear jerking.
Soul taxing--

And full-filling.

It is neither for the faint-hearted, nor for the half-committed...

But it is brilliantly, brilliantly rewarding.

Little wonder then that many an eager recruit has taken to the field with clumsy grip and misfit armor to seek fame in such brave exploits. Only, without first counting (or even knowing) the cost.

These first six words betray one of the best-kept secrets of the dark side.

As regards [im]morality*:

License is bondage.

Lust is an iron chain.
And many, many beautiful people are wearing such fetters.

But these, my friends,
These are the first chains to go.

Only, they will never fall helpless before the faith (or the fervent fuming) of the faint-hearted,
or the half-committed.

From these same six words rings out to every soldier sharpening his sword for such a battle, this thundered imperative- a charge commanding every anguished drop of a soldier's undying commitment:

Be. thou. pure.

Be thou pure.


Because only purity is stronger than vice.

*Strongs: ["wickedness" from 7561; a wrong (especially moral)...]

I Will Go - Available Now!

My life, your life, has been preserved until this moment

for one reason.

That it might be given away.

While there is life and strength in you,
          While you are young and brave, and beautiful,

Go.

Go pour out every drop on thirsty ground 

where no flowers grow, but seeds lie dormant.

From its first heartbeat this project has been woven with your prayers, enabled by your gifts, inspired by your friendship and filled with your favorites.

And it's all been such a gift to us, we can't stand the thought of ending the giving.
And we've decided there's no reason to.

This CD is a bit different... Longer, yes. Filled with nominations, yes.
But more than that, squeezed out of hearts that are being wrung with longing to see dark places lighted with the Glory of God...

Hearts thankful beyond words for the inspiration of the soldiers young and old actually holding the torches.
They're our heroes. And some of their names can't appear in print.
But this CD is dedicated to them.

And we give thanks for them, but we want to do something a bit more.
So a dollar from every disk goes to Karen Outreach. (www.karenoutreach.org)
Forever.

That's our little part.
If you'd like to send a dollar too, use the second paypal button when you order. We'll send $2.


But don't just buy the CD and sit and listen and smile and say "that's sweet."
Go get on your face and ask to be broken and spilled out.

Then we can call this project a success.

______________________________________________

p.s. Thank you isn't enough. 80 plus songs later, we have fodder for lots of dreams. And we wish we could sufficiently thank everyone that took the time to nominate songs. We still have the list..... :)
But I promised that your names would go in a hat, and a dozen of you would get free copies. So if your name is listed below:

1. Don't order a copy. It'll just come in the mail. (better email me at seannebblett[at]gmail[dot]com to give me your address though.

2. Order a copy anyway. We'll send all 15 dollars to Asia...


Maria Adams

Esther Collier

Luther Coram

Christina Ford

Emily Heagy
Beth Johns

Lydia Keener

Cami Martin

Hope Montana

Libby Orthman

Allie Westermeyer

Sophia Wichmann

Chosen Hunger [Glorious Fast - Part I]

"Is not this the fast that I have chosen?"

I know what it is to be hungry.

A little bit.

You know, where every sensation is heightened, (stub your toe and see.) and you carry with you an ache that won't. go. away...

Hunger is both a gift, and a tragedy.

And normally, we go to great lengths to avoid it...

But to choose to be hungry... 

We call that fasting. 

To choose to carry the ache everywhere--

To embrace the heightened sensitivity to seemingly unrelated woe,

Could this be what it means to have fellowship with Christ in His sufferings?

And could it be that personal vulnerability, and brokenness, and weakness born of raw hunger are prerequisite to being a channel for life and liberty?

Could it be?

Is This Not the Life I Have Chosen?

I watch the scurry from my seat behind the wheel, past noses of three cars poised to launch. 

We've gotten pretty good at our "preflight."

These engines idle; these craft of steel and fiberglass wait in precise formation, just barely holding short of the drive. We'll leave almost simultaneously. Five of us. Still pre-dawn. To three destinations 100, 200 miles apart. But we'll be back in a few hours.

I sigh, close my eyes. Rest head to head rest.

Then I look again.

Looks like a carrier deck.

How fitting...

-  -  -  -  -  -  -

This is war. 

I'm most cognizant of it when the sun sets and the moon rises. But sleep won't come. 

By day, we work. 

-changing carpets in our rental, working the relentless wedding list, building, cleaning, weeding, planting, designing, then dropping everything to operate an ambulance... (and did I mention my laundry?)

By night, we watch, we war...

-pacing, pleading, juggling strategies. praying. reading. writing. leading... hand holding.

And then we repeat the oft-quoted words of a valiant friend: "I can rest in Heaven"

 

Is this not the life I have chosen?

I'm going back to Isaiah 58. 

verse 6, verse 7, verses 8 and 9...

Because this is the life I've chosen.

And I'm going to pull it apart piece by piece... Every agonizing, thrilling little detail. 

Because I can't be satisfied until I watch "light break forth as morning"

in the darkest soul I know.

You can come with, if you'd like...

starting tomorrow.

Almost Obedience [of lights, lanes, and a lecture]

It's pouring rain. 
I'm half in your lane because the only way I can keep out of the standing water is by straddling the yellow line. 
I'm all lit up, and have been watching your headlights oncoming for the last three miles-- 

and you're going to play chicken. with. an. Ambulance.


?!!


--As my dad would say:

"Work with me."

I have to laugh.
We rumble along. I just raise my eyebrows as they go by, me fully in my lane, driving in deep water.
(because we prefer smart driving to brave.)

The rain slows and we pick up pace again. And three drivers in a row have their cars in park a half mile before I get there, and the next driver just crosses the white line enough to spit gravel everywhere and endanger my windscreen.

I can't resist a little lecture in the moments before we meet and part.

Eh hem..., driving with one wheel barely over the white line still verily qualifies as being on the road. Especially at that speed, bro. And driving with all but one wheel on the other side would too. Know what I'm saying?


[car streaks by]


This 'almost off the road' thing is really a misnomer. 
You're either on the road,

or you're... off. the...

Hey...

And suddenly, it is as if He is sitting in the passenger seat, pointing towards the next car-- the one that is almost stopped, and almost all the way off...

It is as if He turns a kind face from it to me, locks with my eyes and just raises His eyebrows a bit and smiles a little, that smile that betrays a bit of something like sadness and a whole lot of Love-- That smile I've seen too many times to count...

right. 

So... whose idea was the lecture. mine, or Yours?

-  -  -  -  -

His, I think.
I suddenly see how they are one and the same. The guy who blazes past, and the guy who almost stops. Both still on the road.

And I think of the times I mostly obey...

God's Fortress

"...It's not even American young people and European young people working together--"

"We're Adventist young people."

I sit and listen, fidget while tingles play tag up and down my spine. I brush tears away; squeeze fists together tight till my forearms bulge. 

I'm watching stone walls generations old crack before my eyes.

I'm watching the sun dip low on the heyday of materialism, secularism, postmodernism. 

Yes, even on the continent.

I'm watching a generation wake up and decide all those things are empty and they've had enough.

I am one of them.

Oh, and I don't mean to say we'll win without paying the ultimate price.

But I am saying, it's as good as over. 

We can't lose.

. . . .

I recline early, book in hand under soft glow of christmas lights that grace my office year-round. (Jet lag in my favor, I'm bright and eager at 0200)

My eyes hesitate at the end of this phrase, retrace and return. Revel:

"The church is God's fortress"

 Acts of the Apostles p.11 | photo: JN