Everything is Nothing

From Philippians 3--

"But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ. Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ..."

Until everything else is nothing, Christ is not everything.

All Is Enough [in Ninety-Six Words.]

Out of the blackness of night, and the wonder of the morning, this thought--

All of human fullness is emptiness. Still, we have the audacity of inviting God in, to inhabit some corner. Or even three corners.

The Holy God is far too great, far too deep, far too beautiful to fit in the corner.

Holy God looms too large to fit in all eight corners of three-dimensional infinity. 

But then this miracle. When suddenly no space in my small heart is reserved unto myself; reserved for my use...

It is enough. 

All becomes enough.

Notification Center, and the 5 Questions [Do I Love Jesus More?]

I figure my phone deserves to rest at night. So, unless I'm "on call" for someone, it slips into airplane mode at or around 2100.

Unremarkable practice.
Albeit, the implications of this simple habit have recently opened my eyes to a stubborn and surprising reality, and caused me to be confronted with this question I'm now passing along.

- - -

There are a good many factors that go into making a day great. And also a fair few that can ruin a good start. I've found one of them. It's those first 60 seconds after the alarm sings...

I reach for my phone; sigh all content. Blink, blink, blink away the last of sleep. (I was only half sleeping.) A swipe of the phone sweeps Waves into memory, until tomorrow this time. Another swipe and the little machine reaches out to the invisible, to start downloading the day.

Do I?

If I'm brave, my feet are on the floor before it starts to buzz. Notification Center all alight. I have friends on every inhabited continent, so in my world it's always day somewhere. Maybe they liked my last photo on Instagram?

That right there is where it starts. I can predict with almost unerring accuracy the sense and sensitivity at my disposal in the day to follow. By who I check in with first.

It's such a little thing. 
Yes. But these little things are pledges of allegiance, of which we're sometimes quite unaware.

And anyway, don't knock little things.
(Bullets are little things.)

- - -

The 5 Questions. (Time for a self-test.)

1. At the start of the day, which comes first: Facebook Notifications, or an hour of Scripture? 

2. At the breakfast table, does the prayer come from a heart actually full of gratitude, or does it sound suspiciously like yesterday's?  

3. At school, which drives harder: Desire for grades, or desire for God? 

4. At home, which seems sweeter: An hour of entertainment, or an hour of intercession?  

5. In bed, which lingers longer: The frolic of the day, or thoughts of heaven?

- - -

I've learned a day is worth too much to lose, by reefing through notifications before I've read my Bible. And not because my notifications are my enemy. Because at the end of the day, my priorities are making a statement to myself. 

So, I won't anymore. And I've found, I no longer care to. I'd rather meet God first, declare to Him and to myself that in Him is my greatest pleasure; would rather let the whole world wait, make notifications come and stand in a line at attention for an hour, while I take my time.

Oh, and it's not that I don't care. If you sent me a text at 0200 this morning, I can't wait to read it.
But...

I still love Jesus more.

Australia in Retrospect [This is My Confidence]

The highest heights are often to be found in the least expected places...
Least expected, that is, to a world quantifying success with finite formulas.

I've been to the heights. And not standing on a stage before thousands. Nor on some glittering crest of conquest. (As high as those honors are...)

One thing is always the same. I'm always shorter on the highest heights... By the distance of heel to knee.

PC: James Tregenza doanddare.org

This time, it was on a dusty bit of ground surrounded by benches, throbbing hearts, deep attention.
I have never climbed higher. Never seen the world wider than I saw it then. Never looked smaller in my own eyes. Never felt closer to Heaven.

Surprise?
No surprise.

To those who have found eyes for higher glory, though the beauty of the high places always surpasses our dreams, it is never entirely unexpected...

"As long as I live, I will remember his words-- 

'...Mostly, I've met God properly.'

That broke me wide open As though standing on holiest ground, I was filled with a smallness; a trembling... How is it that I am even allowed to touch what is this holy?"*

Though every memory fades at least a bit eventually, my wonder will never cease.
Nor will love for new friends with a beautiful foreign accent.
Nor will firm faith that we'll meet again, if not on this round earth, then inside pearly gates.

"Hey-- remember when...?"

Yes, I remember.

morning stars: checkout | PC: Jasmine Tregenza

Before it was over I had the opportunity to try to crunch the essence of 40 pages of worship notes and days and days of prayer and pondering onto 5 minutes of film. 

This is my confidence.

peace

morning and miracle bend

later: snowy mountain living

friends in Victoria

*journal entry, January 20, 2014

The Next Challenge

Spinning through the universe is this little blue and green dot, sparkling like a gem against the black, wrapped with the wind, cradled by a life-giving firmament. 

And we're here. This is home.

But why? Why did we appear here in this corner of the cosmos in the first place? 

Simple. God is love, and love cannot exist without an object. 

So, He made you. 

Created for love. 

And the search for life and meaning is defined by our origin, our purpose. 

Join us for the next GYC memorization challenge: At The Cross. 

The Gospel of Mark, and the Epistle to the Philippians. 

Because, as Philippians so aptly puts it, "To Live is Christ" Phil 1:21

See tabs above, or click. here.

Christmas in the Family

We watch the world go by at speed limit, all in two rows, shoulder to shoulder as if we were connected there. Because we are connected there. And hearts glow like the stars outside, and mouths move and out comes one joy, then another.

Youngest sister dodges sleep; little head leaning light, little hand on my arm. Pretty as the ice-coated night. The rest discuss the favored Soprano during Messiah, (the first one in red, please) the old Tenor who stoops more than he did last year-- and we hope he has many more years in the Methodist choir. (He, our general favorite.) 

We giggle re-dwelling the funniest antics on the rink, discuss the performance of the less experienced (stellar), decide whether or not to spend the balance of the evening making bagels in the classic country kitchen warm as summer. That is, if the power is actually on at home...

We stop where the wires are down across the road, turn around to find another way home. Shout "Thank YOU" out open car window to the utility men who'll be here wrangling icy copper until daybreak and beyond.

And once again, the holy joy that makes a day a holiday is wound around this beautiful gift, family. 

We don't deserve it. Them. But here we are, loved, loving...

- - -

And right into the middle of this warm-heartedness this word sinks like a cold dagger-- 

Abandoned. 

And not that He was... (He was.)

But that He did.

That He walked away from the adoring, from everything and everyone familiar... That He left companionship. That comfy spot between beloved shoulders... The little hand on His arm, the little head, the perfect sleepy face, the warm chatter, the laughter at the end of an unblemished day, He left it. 

He told them to scoot in to fill the gap, to be the pillow He'd been. Stood up and walked to the gate, swung it open, waited for the click, walked way into the universe to spend His first Christmas all alone.

So we could have Christmas at all.

Sympathy with Humanity

I wasn't complaining. Though it sounds a bit like it now...
On a peninsula of rock jutting like a castle between a gorge and a vale I stood, breathless from the scramble. Hands in my pockets and with eager step, if heavy heart.

Perhaps a few will understand when I say I carry on my heart at any given time a thousand reasons to laugh, and a thousand reasons to weep. Most all of them with first and last names.
Such is the cost of loving humanity, I suppose.

Anyway, this post isn't about me.

I'd just gained the crest, just finished a brief review comparing the power at my disposal with my far-too-often dismal performance, just realized afresh how deep mercy reaches, and—

It's not fair, You know? I deserve the lot of the criminal, but here I stand in converse with The Infinite, while people I love slowly die in the clutches of fear....

Can you see why happiness means nothing to me when it's mine alone?

...So, it's all or nothing.

Either I am to be completely at Your disposal to help the weak, comfort the wounded, and actually lift, and heal, and effect a lasting change, or...

Or, I want out right. now. 

Because it hurts too much to be in sympathy with humanity.

Ever have you been in that place or time when suddenly every tree in the wood seemed to drop its jaw and gape? and you wonder:

what did I do. What did I just say?

The only answer is this electric silence.

I glance one way and the other. Wait.

He never says. But suddenly it's as if every snowflake has recovered from shock and found a voice.

He would know.

He would know just exactly how much it hurts to be in sympathy with humanity. And He chose it, over the alternative, not because there was no alternative. For Him, there's no "out."

For Him, there's no wanting out.

"For we have not an High Priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities."  Hebrews 4:15 

Thanksgiving

It's the morning after Thanksgiving.
I miss it already.

So I'm going to keep it going another day, another week, another month...

We compare notes around the hearth and it turns out we're all thankful for more than circumstances...
We're thankful for the sunshine. And we're thankful for the shadows, which always prove that there is a sun up there.
We're thankful for happiness. And we're thankful for strength, gained at the cost of ease.
We're thankful for uncomplicated communion, and for friendship tempered by tears.
We're thankful for sympathy, a gift best given by a heart that knows what it is to hurt...

We're thankful that He sees beyond this moment and hands us what we'd choose had we His eyes, His heart. We're thankful that He condescends to suffer humanity to share His joy, His tears. We're humbled at the confidence he bestows upon erring mortals when he gives us His Name, His reputation...

Let the chime stay in the kitchen another day, a reminder to express Gratitude.
And let Thanksgiving never end.

Forty-Four Words

If God ever fails to do something good, be sure it is for one of two reasons.

One, He is working on something better.
Or two, His arm is being restrained by my failure to intercede.

Let me never be guilty of the latter.

Holy Ground

My steps slow at the threshold of this little hollow around which two trees hold their arms like parents in a perpetual embrace. This space between, this sheltered cove, like their child, eternally living in the safety of their shadows. Wind sings through needles and boughs, and I bow.

History holds in her hands the tales of two classes of men. 
Those who have given their souls away to be used and abused by Darkness in exchange for a little gold, a little lust, a little glamor...
And those who have given their lives away so someone else could live.

Like a man spilling his life blood for someone paler, to find it filled again, or not.  

I press palms into mat of pine needles and press my soul into the door.

I want to be the second kind of man. I beg You to make me through and through, the second kind of man...

-    -    -

I rise, back slowly away from the place. Look down for my shoes.
I sit to slip them back on, and while I do, I steal a glance back towards the cove embraced by the cedars.

And that, is when I thought of you.

And this warrior in me, this fighter that is sometimes a stranger and doesn't fit in my skin, this thunder that must come from elsewhere because I don't have the spark to ignite it, it suddenly flashed and roared like the end of the world. And then it was gone. But it left a burn, a throbbing ache. And a breathlessness, and a racing heart.
And this prayer:

Let each of us find in this life ground so holy that shod feet never step there.  


Never, oh never be satisfied till you have found your burning bush.