Changing Churches

In drama class we were asked to write about a time when you relied on God even when it seemed illogical. This is what I came up with:

This is me, thrown into a situation that I can't bring myself to perceive in any other manner except through the filter of my own immature emotions. God's having me move to a different church. I think the world's going to end. God is speaking the change he wants for me, and I am yelling back, telling Him He's wrong. I won't let myself stop crying to realize that He is sewing together the quilt of my life, but I'm only focusing on the transitional stitches. All I can feel is the push and the pull. I think it's chaos. In truth though, God is assembling a masterpiece and he's stitching my glory to glory together. 

Hearing

"You want to hear from God? Pray until you can't pray anymore. Read until you can't read anymore."               -Steve Reyes

finally (a sequel to Reality Check)

  

what have i poisoned myself with?

what have i fed my flesh for so long?

the surface showed so much good,

but all i can taste is the bad.

sure he takes it and she takes it,

they take it and we took it,

but do you really want

to be holding their hand

on reckoning day?

it is the only poison

the mind does not detect.

it resides deep in your being

and does not leave,

it is not disgorged.

and as the world around me

fosters acid in their stomach,

i found a Buffer

and there’s enough for all of us.

Goop

Two weeks ago I participated in a Vacation Bible School on the adventures of Daniel and his friends Hananiah, Mishial, and Azariah. Throughout the week I was in charge of 6 sometimes 7 kids. We did the different crafts in the marketplace, saw a “real lion” (a dog with a lion hair cut), played games, and visited Daniel (An actor). We also had tribal time (The children were separated into the tribes of Israel since its Vacation Bible School. Anyway, my tribe was Levi.

 Everyday I taught the children material given to me by the curriculum. I tweaked the material by adding or emphasizing things God put on my heart. One of these was sin which the curriculum presented on day 4 of 5. Their interactive teaching tool for the day was a black goop which had a similar feel as jello but stuck to itself better. The goop represented our yucky sin. The stuff was more of a distraction than a helpful teaching tool, but I tried my pitiful best to communicate the lesson behind the goop. My best explanation of the situation could be filed under disaster. I had a debriefing with some of the other tribe leaders who had similar experiences with the goop. This was disappointing to me, for it was something I really wanted to communicate to the kids. But one thing you should know about our Father, or rather us, is that out interpretation of His work in our lives is often incorrect. We thing something God puts on your heart is for a certain individual when in reality it is for  a group of people. Stuff like that. Anyway, I refused to allow any of the kids to take home the nasty black goop, and eventually threw it away keeping it as far from myself as possible. I swear that stuff was alive. Well that goop, two weeks later came back.

I like how The Blind Side portrays it. The mother, Leigh,  has just taken in a boy from the street and is at a brunch with her girlfriends. After stating that she might adopt the boy one of the gal’s says, “You’re changing that boy’s life.” Leigh replies, “No, he’s changing mine.” When I face the monster that is temptation I do a few things. One of them is think, live, and embrace the cross of Jesus Christ. This means claiming the freedom only found in Him. One of the things you have to do to embrace the cross is to think of Jesus on it. Of course there’s the nails that pierced His hands and feet, and the sword the pierced His side. Those are definitely things I would rather not have happen to me. But then there’s the whole "He took on sin.” I never even started to comprehend that. To truly embrace the cross of Jesus Christ I have now started to think of my sin and the feeling of death that resides in me after committing it. Then I think of the goop. My death goop. My death goop full of sadness, hatred, tears, pain, and hell. Jesus took on it all. All of my goop. All of my sadness, my hatred, my tears, my pain, and my hell. And he took on yours. Think of anyone, anywhere, ever. He won for them. Don’t you ever forget that victory. Don’t you ever forget that cross.

Reality Check

This blog post is a little different.
For me it's a challenge, for you maybe a story.
Anyway, I guess I would be writing this to my friends and people I see often, maybe not.

I was in San Francisco all day. My family and some friends and I were doing the tourist thing. We got some food, walked through golden gate park, and shopped a bit. As our friends left to catch the BART train to their hotel we jumped back into the car around 9:30.

The pedestrians streamed across the streets before the walk sign was even lit hurrying to there next obligation. Behind them graffiti on the sides of buildings conveyed profane words and images. I sat in the van as we muscled our way through start and stop traffic. I watched the different people that walked by. Each one different. But they just seemed all the same to me. Hearing a yell I looked out the front window at the sidewalk in front of us. All I saw was a bustle and could hear yelling and arguing amidst the city chaos. My vision centered in on the thick of the fighting to see men crowding around a single african-american man in a baggy white t-shirt. I could see fists flying as they attacked the outnumbered man. One of the assailants pulled out a knife and thrust it into the side of the white shirted man. The manned gripped his shirt now quickly turned red while being pushed into the street by the attackers. He was flung onto the hard pavement as three of the assailants simultaneously kicked him in the stomach, back, and head. Seeing that they were in the middle of the street the attackers fled with backward glances at their victim. 


This all happened at the stoplight. And as we drive forward directed by the green light I stared at the man with a now red shirt. A lady ran to try and help the man, but was stopped by her boyfriend when she tried. All I could do was look at him. Not only him but that whole situation as we slowly drove by. 


 Now here is the part I hate. I felt so disconnected. My eyes had received the information and it had indeed been sent to my brain, but I didn't feel like what I had just seen was really tangible. I knew for a fact that a man was sitting their bleeding to death, but it didn't click. My response to the man's situation was similar to the response I would have in a movie scene. That's how it felt, like a movie. My mind interpreted that what I was watching was but a fictitious scene in some show. That's how I felt. Even though I knew that man was really dying, I felt like it was all an act. That scares me. It doesn't matter if I have any connection to the man prior. I'm watching him die and all the emotion I can muster is an Oh My God help. That is killing me.


Among other ways of processing it, I went to find the root of my disconnect. As I pondered it and prayed about it I thought of TV shows. The way dying characters probe emotion. But not real emotion.


That gave me a reality check. And I mean a serious reality check! If I was having a hard time differentiating reality from fictional worlds than something had to stop. So I cut off the fictional worlds. Because I need a grasp on reality. And apparently my mind can't handle two or three worlds working simultaneously. I'm just sad that it took something so serious to wake me up out of my stupor. 

I'm A Partial Realist

My sleep deprivation made everything substantial a little less so. The chaotic talking and moving settled down as people left my vicinity in a surrealistic way. I sat down as soon as I could allow myself to. I closed my eyes and went to an uninvited war.....again. 

I know what's coming. Brace. I know It's coming. Brace. 

The ground shakes. The presence of my foe is dense. The density grinds inside of me trying to break out through my temples. I remember all of this.

The shaking stops, but the density has only grown stronger; it feels as if my head is imploding. I look before me and see a crater. It's at the center. Its breath alone would scourge a countryside and blacken beating hearts. Its hands are like that of vultures, but black. Everything black. Its massive torso heaves as its lungs inhale air and exhale a thick red oblivion. It smells as if thousands upon thousand of caskets have been dug up and opened at once. Its eyes seem nonexistent, yet it knows and sees everything around it. There are two horns, or thousands of horns, it does not matter for they seem to grow where they wish, pushing outward. 

The massive body turns toward myself. It does not hesitate, It does not contemplate. Just raises its great sword toward me and swings. 

How many times have I broadened my feet, thrown back my arms, and run towards it? The sword has torn me thousands of times. It has ripped through my shoulders and pierced my innermost being. And I am here again, my body renewed from it's wounds, but once again threatened to be torn apart.

Watching as the sword approaches me.

"I will change this. I cannot win this fight. I surrender."

The sword does not pierce me and my being is not torn. It's no longer there. Reality sets in. All that I can see is a pierced side with water and blood flowing from it.

"We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because he was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only complete realist."

A Morality Deprived Generation

A lot of things have provoked me to write about this. One mainly is the state of current events. Another is my study of history, and still another reason is my faith. I'm addressing our youth, our generation, and the generations that are past.

If you ask a 60 year about their school years they will tell you about passing notes, bringing candy to school, and getting chalk dust everywhere while slamming two erasers together. If you ask a 40 year old what their school years were like they will tell you about blowing gum in class, whispering to their neighbor, and being "reckless" on the playground. If you ask an 18 year old what their school years were like they will tell you about seeing people sexually harassed, drug trips, and partying that always ended in disgorging.

What is that?

How can it be that in under twenty-five years our expectations have dropped so dramatically? What happened to children who got in trouble for name calling? This is not only happening in the high schools, but the elementary school as well. I mean look at this article, it's devastating. http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2018003754_handcuffs18.html

However, when I look at all this I think to myself:  If in twenty five years it has come to this, than I can only (try not to) imagine what our morals will be in 2037.

Well there you go. You needn't pay a dime for my thoughts, this is what's on my mind.

My Strong Tower

This is a tad bit formal due to it actually being turned in as homework, nonetheless I thought you'd enjoy.

My Strong Tower

On March 27, 2012 I experienced something that I am not taking pride in, I am not fearful of, and I am not shameful of. The only words I could begin to describe my state would be quoting Galatians 6:14, “But may it never be that I would boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” This can begin to express how I was feeling that night.

I’d been talking to my friend Anna, conversing over some things happening in our Bible study. It was around 10:30, I had permission to talk to Anna after her cellular curfew, and I was kind of getting lost in the pouring of my heart. Anyway, I cannot stay still when I talk passionately, so I walked to the front of the yarn shop near the highway up my street. There was a bench there, the same one I’ve sat on, prayed on, thought on, and cried on so many times. As I sat talking, I could see in my peripheral vision a figure slowly walking toward me. Instinctively I leisurely stood up and tried to express to the figure through my body language that I wasn’t scared, nor was I welcoming his presence. I continued talking to Anna, changing subject to something I wouldn’t have to think about that much.

I could see clearly now the person did not intend on leaving my bench. I had been pacing back and forth while talking to Anna, and as I did I moved farther and farther from the man. Finally I slowly made to go and turned toward the street from the parking lot. As I walked I heard an object whistling through the air and I tensed. Tumbling end over end I glanced back and saw a box of rotten vegetables clearly thrown at me by the dark figure. Shrugging it off as not to further anger the subject I turned and kept walking.

Walking slowly in the direction of my house I glanced around for something reflective. Glancing around I saw a metallic object wrapped around a telephone pole. Discreetly peering at it as I walked I could see the subject quickly following me. While all this commenced I had still been talking to Anna, keeping her unaware that I was worried in case the man would hear me. Anyway, I slowly turned around and lowered my phone clicking the end call button as I did.

I faced the man asking, “Hey man can I help you?”

Walking closer to me, close enough that I could smell the nicotine on his breath he exhaled deeply. I tried to keep from choking and coughing as he said, “What’re you doing on my street?” his voice growled, but I could see he couldn’t be older than twenty.

Replying as calmly as possible I said, “I live here.”

“Which house?” he replied

Worriedly I reapplied, “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Why Not?”

“Why should I”

“Why not?” he repeated.

I knew what he wanted but I replied, “I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

Then the man reached into his coat, a place I had visually checked earlier, and kept his hand their, insinuated that he had a firearm. However, I knew he did not, I looked there earlier, and the coat he was wearing was tight, I knew he didn’t have a gun.

Then he said threateningly, “Go back to your spot, the bench, now.”

Slowly I walked up the hill toward the bench glancing back to see him watching with his hand still hidden in his coat.

Finally I reached the bench, and stood behind a large dement pole. From this defensive position I looked toward the man and watched him turn onto another street heading toward a residential area. Slowly then, I walked, making sure he could not see me toward my house. On the way I redialed my phone.

Anna answered saying, “You get mugged?”

“Sure, something like that.” I replied.

The one thing I can take pride in from this story, is the cross of Jesus Christ. For he kept me safe, and never once during this time, did I doubt, for I knew my Lord was with me. It says in his word,

“The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.” –Proverbs 18:10

Open like a Book

First of all, when I said in my blog description that these posts would not be about me.......directly, that was an implication. I expect that you all understand what it means, but just in case you don't I am going to further clarify so I don't look like a heretic. What I was implying was that my posts will not be about me, rather they will be about Jesus Christ in me. However, what I write about will be indeed constrained to this physical body, and will reference things that it has experienced, but what I attempt to express is not about these tired sinews¹, but rather about the living fire inside of me. 


Now that that is out of the way I would like to tell you a story, or rather a testimony. As you read you may scoff about its insignificance, but to me this is another personal recognition of where I am in my faith, and I Praise Jesus for it and no other.


Tonight at Bible study we discussed temptation. All the scriptures we discussed had been words I had relied on and turned to for guidance hundreds of times in my life, so you could say they were familiar. The leader of the Bible Study knew this too, for he had been one of the persons I had relied on in my time of distress. Because of where I've come to through the power of God he trustes me to be able to communicate what these scriptures actually mean to the few different guys I talked to. 


So we split into groups of one teen, and one junior higher. We read through the verses given, which were James 1:13-15, Psalms 119:9-11, and John 14:15, and analyzed them. They are fairly simple verses and we found the answers easily to the questions he had asked us. 


In this time I worked with 3 of the junior highers just making sure they understood what the scriptures meant. In that I expected them to tell me how to apply it to their lives and made sure they understood the verses enough to do so. 


Now all of this was quite a long back story, but this is the part of the story that rocked me and brought incredible joy to my heart:


Out of the three boys I worked with, the youngest one of them is this cool guy named Kendel (This could be spelled incorrectly, correct me those of you who know in the comments please). He took a little while to process the real meaning of the scripture, but he got it down solid eventually. Now he's a curious kid as a lot of kids his age are, but no one can dislike him for it, he's just so great! Anyway, in this time of pouring over the Word together there was a high level of bonding between us that I could see he didn't even realize, but I saw it and encouraged it and went with it. 


Anyway, even this is backstory, but here is where it hits:


Our leader was closing it up gradually, and giving encouragements and I could see that Kendel was sitting there with a bland expression on his face. Completely uninterested in what our leader had to say his eyes were searching the room for something to amuse him and finally stumbled upon a notebook I saw sitting right next to him. That notebook was my notebook. And as an innocent oblivious young kid does I'm sure he thought to himself, "Oh a notebook! Cool! I bet whatever is in here is way more amusing that whatever this leader guy is saying." 


As I saw these quick events unfold one right after the other my heart stopped for a second. For if you've ever had a notebook, a journal, or a diary you know that it's yours. Anyone else that touches it might get a legion of knuckles thrown their way. However, my heart resumed. 


This is where an incessant smile lit my face. 


My notebook is my life. I write where I am, what I am, where I want to be, who I want to be with, everything. I'm sure you can relate. You expose yourself for you are in your notebook. Your notebook holds your secrets, and will never purposely betray you by revealing them to someone else. Unless, someone finds that book, and reads it. 


And as Kendel opened that book and innocently flipped through the first few pages a growing joy spread over me. For I was finally open and transparent. Everything that I am I trusted to that kid. Not necessarily because he was trust worthy, but because I have something in my notebook that I'd never had before. 


I'd written freedom in those pages.






¹ Quote from the 5ᵗʰ  line of "For Righteousness' Sake" by Jesse Lasley - http://jessecoulonlasleypoems.blogspot.com/2012/02/for-fighteousness-sake.html

OMG

You may be wondering why the blog name is what it is. Especially if you know me. There's a really good reason for it that I really should tell you about sometime.