DAYxDAY

Lately, I have found myself orbiting the same thoughts—thoughts about victory and defeat, about success and failure. I have reflected and wondered, and in this orbit, as I find myself drawn toward these ideas—these issues—I find myself asking the same questions. What do I allow myself to believe about these matters? And how do these beliefs bleed into my identity and actions?

              Before delving into it, I would like to address a few matters of housekeeping! If you have not yet noticed the Day by Day blog is, in fact, expanding! I know, I know! I am excited too! While we are still a few weeks away from a full launch, already our team is beginning to produce blog posts on our newly renovated site. And if you did not catch that I said “TEAM.” (In fact, the incredibly gifted Emily Walters posted a great entry recently! If you have not read it yet, I encourage you to seek it out under our recent posts section!) I can not wait for what lies ahead and want to encourage any readers of this blog to continue to read from all of our other outstanding authors! Ideally the advent of the Day by Day team will allow for more consist content for readers, while allowing for a greater variety of perspectives. Anyway, stay tuned!

  ~

              Now, I know it is not an issue exclusive to men, yet as a man, and moreover as a man who has kept the company of greater men, I feel there is something buried deep inside the heart of a man that resonates with ideals of valor and victory. Women may easily have a similar complex, but I will not speak into that directly as I have no experience in the matter.

At any rate, this resonance stems from a place that screams there is a battle to win, someone to save, and general heroics to be demonstrated. At the core, there is a yearning for greatness, for success, for unblemished victory. It is the cry of our hearts for honor, for purpose, for meaning and yet in our culture it is a cry so often left deferred or unfulfilled.

Too often we find ourselves searching for victories that are ultimately misbegotten or fruitless, because we search with blind eyes—thinking we can see—and we latch onto anything with the appearance of worth, whether or not there is substance beyond the luster and façade.

The bitter truth is our culture is willing to sacrifice honor for the promise of advancement, yet in our corporate and social ladders we never look far enough to see that often the ladder leads to nowhere of eternal worth. We too often struggle to climb toward empty space and wonder why we find no satisfaction.

Christian or non-Christian, we can all fall into the trap of seeing success with a dollar sign attached or with a spotlight framed. This is why our culture venerates the fortune 500 and broken celebrities. We can be hypnotized and indoctrinated, in our way, by what media whispers into our ears. We can look at those with butlers, valets, chefs, and groundskeepers and extend more honor and respect toward them than to those without—independent of their character. We can begin to believe that success and worth stem from how much space we can occupy with possessions, while we turn a blind eye to those around us. We can begin to assign value to shallow places.

  I want to share an anecdote, a story that does not paint me in a particularly flattering light and yet in retrospect has taught me so much about how I look at success and how I look at victory.

            It all happened years ago, when I played a game of Risk with my friends. For those who have no prior knowledge about this board game I suggest Google. If instead you are relying on me, the game is set on a map of the world with subdivided territories. Each player is given a small military force (that can be augmented) and a handful of randomly assigned territories. The objective of the game is simple: complete world domination. I know. It is a Great game.

            Anyway, when I played this game—most games actually—I rarely aimed to win by all conventional standards. No, instead I played to insure one of my friends (Taylor Jensen, from team Day by Day, actually) would lose. I found that if I devoted myself completely, not to my own advancement or victory, I could nearly always guarantee that this friend would lose. I know. I had fantastic sportsmanship.

             You may ask: What was the outcome?

            The outcome was I did not take over the world and win the game, but neither did my friend. Even though everyone around me deemed me a failure, had assured me I had lost, I knew I had won. I won, because my definition of victory was different than theirs. My objective was to assure that my friend did not win; therefore when that was achieved I was victorious.

            While this story may not have all of you lined up to play a board game with me, I hope it can still serve to model how we can often have varying definitions of real victory.

              I find that this story illustrates the relationships between cultural definitions of victory and Godly definitions of victory. Our culture says to win the game you must be affluent, you must have people serving you, you must place yourself as number one. Jesus offers an alternative. He does not curb the desire for greatness in our hearts, he redefines it. He does not tell us to forgo amassing treasure, he merely tells us to store them up in heaven through good works. He tells us that it is better to serve than to be served.

                        Matthew 20:25-28 says

 But Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. 26 But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, 27 and whoever wants to be first among you must become your slave. 28 For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

              Galatians 6:9 says

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

  I find it disturbing that my culture and my God have definitions of success in near perfect opposition. I find it disturbing that even though I know where selfishness leads and where cultural victories lead, there will be days I am still tempted to consider myself a failure when I do not match up. Because, we can all arrive there, can’t we? We can succumb to the dominating view in the world before our eyes that we are lesser, that we are failures, simply because we do not have the newest, shiny things and the tan from limelight. We can succumb simply by relaxing into our societal framework. For this reason, we must be vigilant to constantly remind ourselves of how the Bible defines real victory—what real successes look like. We must allow those truths to be the lenses by which we view the world.

            If you ascribe to Biblical definitions of victory, of greatness, than we must endeavor to demonstrate the ideals we profess in our thoughts, words, and actions. And make no mistake, financial and vocational successes are not inherently bad or evil, not at all. However, if those successes are purely used for ourselves and not to pour out onto others, we are missing the mark.

  Until next time:

  For my secular audience, thank you once again for reading. Regardless of your views of Christianity, I hope you understand that the intent, among other things, is for a less selfish, more loving world—to instill a greater culture in this broken place, as we point the people around us toward the God who is worth it all. Thank you for your patience as us Christians try to get that right.

Lately, I have been thinking about what it means to be free. Asking the question: What is freedom?

I could start with a formal definition to try to crystallize this abstraction, or I could attempt to conjure a functional definition myself to a similar end, but I would rather share the first thought I always have when hearing the word. For as long as I can remember freedom has come with an image…

For many of us, it is that time of year again. Summer is ending, school is in session, and the holidays are on their way. In my world, autumn is little more than my mad scrambling to adjust to changing schedules, even as the season changes. Student or not, this time of year has always felt hurried to me.

Stopping to think critically for a moment, I asked myself why it is that I often feel a bit…

NOTE: Before I begin this entry, I must tend to a bit of housekeeping. As of today, I will no longer utilize Tumblr as my primary blogging website. I will continue to reroute postings there for my Tumblr-only readership; however, the central hub for this blog will be at dayxdayword.com from now on and for the foreseeable future.

            With that matter noted, I will begin.

  ~

              Do you ever feel like you are living your past and present at the same time? Allow me to ask it another way. Have you ever felt as if you were seeing your world through what I like to call chronological bifocals—a frame of mind or lens by which you recall your past vividly while simultaneously braving your present life before you, noting at once all the intense contrasts and comparisons through juxtaposition?

            Well, this was my headspace today. I unintentionally put on those strange bifocals and danced with memory for awhile. Specifically, I recalled the way I used to speak only a few years ago—the way I talked to others, about others, and about myself. I thought about the weight of words and how I once—and perhaps still—use and abuse them too liberally.

            Yes, I thought about the past and the way I spoke. At times, I could be kind, compassionate, or charitable even, and though these benevolent speech patterns were not necessarily rare, neither were their destructive counterparts—particularly in the way I joked. In truth, my choice of language was often coarse, rude, or openly hostile—particularly when authority figures left earshot. Too often, I tore down people in my life rather than striving to build them up—acquaintances and loved ones alike.

            So what changed?

                        The short answer is my heart.

                        The longer answer is my entire perspective on words and speech. You see a few years ago I reached a point of equal parts clarity and desperation. A moment in time when I realized what my choice of words was doing to people around me and what they were doing to me.

            I realized that attributes I possessed such as sarcasm, cynicism, and misbegotten humor, were less desirable than they once were in my eyes. In fact, I realized they were symptoms of a heart grown hard.

  Sure, I justified my jokes as witty, fun, informative, what have you, but in the end the victims of my jokes rarely laughed along with me, not for long anyway. In fact, I can count far too many that left my company in tears or in anger and the worst part of it all: these people were not my enemies. They were often those closest to me, those I loved.

            Granted, my intentions were rarely cruel, but my lips were negligent and my tongue too quick and indiscriminate. Given enough time my choice of words and jokes bore terrible fruit in my life—rotten fruit of disdain from my peers, an atmosphere of mistrust from those around me, and a general presence of self-loathing.

            Still, I tried to justify myself. I can always play that game:

                          But, I was just kidding around!

                        Yes, but they took parts of it seriously. You can see it in their eyes.

                        But, it wasn’t my fault. They deserve it!

Why? Because of your own insecurities and rejection issues you feel like projecting? Is that their fault? Even if it is, does that justify what you’re saying to them?

But they never take me seriously any way, why shouldn’t I talk to them like this?

Maybe the reason they won’t listen is because there is no trust in an environment of ridicule or harsh talk.

I hate the way they talk to me too!

So why perpetuate it?

I hate myself.

We can’t have that talk either.

                I realized I cursed and blessed in equal measure and one day I realized that was not okay. We do more damage than we can see through what we say. Words have weight, it is a simple truth. I am not bringing something new to the table today. My presentation of this subject is not particularly clever and it is not meant to be. I am writing this today, because I know how my words can wound and I know how words have wounded me. If you gave yourself a minute I am sure you could conjure memories all your own.

            I write because I am blessed to say that my God has taught me a lot about measuring out the words that I say, but I am far from perfect with my speech. I write because, I have left scars on others and they still haunt me. I write because I trust raising awareness can only aid in our fight against an unruly tongue.

            James does the same in James chapter 3:3-5;9-10:

“3 We can make a large horse go wherever we want by means of a small bit in its mouth. 4 And a small rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever the pilot chooses to go, even though the winds are strong. 5 In the same way, the tongue is a small thing that makes grand speeches. But a tiny spark can set a great forest on fire.

9 Sometimes it praises our Lord and Father, and sometimes it curses those who have been made in the image of God. 10 And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right!”

            My prayer for us tonight is that we take time and reflect on what destructive things we say and why we say those things we say. Is it merely carelessness? Is it deliberate? Is it because coarse words can often flow easier when we are hurting?

            I have been motivated by all three and I have found that regardless of my intent my destructive words were always the overflow of my heart. Where is your heart tonight? Where might you still need healing so that you can stop this painful cycle? 

~

              I will leave you with this, an example of measured speech, of self-control, and a beautiful heart. It comes from the book of Job and remains near to my heart as a lifelong goal. The passage describes how those in Job’s life regarded the words that he said.

  “Men listened to me and waited     and kept silence for my counsel. 22 After I spoke they did not speak again,     and my word dropped upon them. 23 They waited for me as for the rain,     and they opened their mouths as for the spring rain. 24 I smiled on them when they had no confidence,     and the light of my face they did not cast down. 25 I chose their way and sat as chief,     and I lived like a king among his troops,     like one who comforts mourners.”

~Job 29:21-25

              Job ushered in life, refreshment, and nourishment through the words that he spoke. He offered comfort and healing, becoming a “safe place” in the eyes of his community, a place where people could be picked up off the ground and find hope again. I think Job understood intimately the weight of his words and I believe that knowledge inspired his behavior. I sincerely hope we can follow his lead, imagine what could be gained.

  Until next time:

            There is nothing like a quiet night. You know the nights. You are alone and everything in the world feels like it is standing still for you. Sure, maybe you think abstractly that somewhere outside in the big, wide world the rat race continues, but in your small space, everything is tranquil now. Maybe on your quiet night, you look outside and notice the moon and clouds overhead, as they should be, and a distinct lack of wind and sound, offering you a reprieve you never knew you needed. Maybe on a night like this you take a moment to appreciate the solitude of it all. Maybe you finally take a moment to breathe deeply. After weeks, months, maybe years of constantly moving, tending to all of your responsibilities in life, these precious few quiet nights are often most memorable, as they are often most rare for many of us.

            Well, tonight was my quiet night. To be honest, I have been blessed with a few of them recently. And, what have I been up to on this most auspicious of nights? I have been watching a television drama on Netflix—though binging may be a more apt verb. I know I can steward my time more productively, even on my quiet nights, but that is the honest truth. I have spent my night watching episode after episode of this drama as I laze onward toward sleep.

            Expecting to watch this program with increasing passivity as I drifted away for the night, you can imagine my surprise when a scene I did not anticipate wakened me to a deeper level of clarity. In my drama a character's health turned for the worst, a stroke I believe. Now this event should not have been wholly unexpected, it is a drama after all, and in many ways, it was not. No, this character's sudden decline was not beyond the scope of my expectations, however, a secondary character's reaction to it was.  

            This secondary character had a religious backdrop of the Christian variety and the character who suffered the stroke was her husband. In this particular scene, her openly atheistic granddaughter approached her, the grandmother, who is sitting beside her ill husband on a hospital bed. Though complications from his stroke have left him in a kind of coma, the grandmother holds her husband's hand and prays fervently over him. The granddaughter shrinks back, agitated at her grandmother's insistence on prayer. The granddaughter says something to the effect of, "Why bother? Do you think your prayers can change your God?"

            To which the grandmother responds, "Child you have it wrong. My prayers are not changing God, they are changing me."

              The line woke me; it stirred me even. I had never thought of prayer in the way this line presented it. I was not convinced I believed in it, but there was something there—something in those words that made me want to delve a little deeper.

                                                       ~

              So tonight, I want to talk about prayer. Like many of the matters I discuss in this blog, prayer is too broad a topic to cover in one exhaustive post, at least by me. To this end, I am endeavoring to discuss a small facet of prayer—the postures of prayer.

            You may be asking: What in the world are the postures of prayer?

            I am glad you asked—you inquisitive individual you! Well, when I say I want to discuss "the postures of prayer," I simply mean the attitudes, positions, and general dispositions we hold to or model when we pray, or even think of prayer (and if that is still too vague, please, allow me to elaborate in my attempt to clarify!).

            In our contemporary American culture, many fall into the trap of thinking of prayer as nothing more than a kind of spiritual voicemail we can leave for God, a way to convey a quick message to someone who is not on the line, hoping they will take the time to hear it, to listen, and to respond. If we begin to think of prayer in only this way, we can begin to lose the intimacy of this communication—of this gift. We can begin to distort its design and consequently feel ignored, impotent, and ineffectual. In the end, we can begin to treat it passively or as a spiritual ATM and not allow the process of prayer to move us and to change us.      

            Now, before I continue I want to note that these posturings are not necessarily a pre-requisite for praying, not at all. These postures are merely things I have observed about how prayer is often approached in the Bible, particularly in ways that edify character.

                                                        ~

              Why are these postures so important?

            Our postures of prayer are important, because prayer is important and a humble posturing may lead us closer to understanding and emulating the heart of God.

            Consider this, if understanding of prayer was not important why did the disciples ask Jesus to teach them how to pray? If it was of no consequence, why does Jesus spend time answering? If prayer is unimportant, why is Jesus revealed throughout the gospel as a man who actively makes time to pray?

            The gospels are filled with descriptions of Jesus going to his lone, solitary places to pray. Between the miracles, between the sermons, between one action and the next, Jesus prays. He prays when he is tired and life has exasperated him. He prays when he is searching for a greater sense of clarity. He prays in petition. He prays for mercy. He prays for the Lord's will to be done. If the trend is not abundantly clear, Jesus prays. If even the Son of God prayed, how much more should we? 

                                                      ~

              And, how did he pray?

            Well his disciples asked a similar question in the book of Luke.

"Once Jesus was in a certain place praying. As he finished, one of his disciples came to him and said, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.” Jesus said, “This is how you should pray: “Father, may your name be kept holy. May your Kingdom come soon. Give us each day the food we need, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. And don’t let us yield to temptation.

                                                                                          ~Luke 11:1-4

            Noticing how often their leader prayed, how important Jesus made prayer in his own life, the disciples asked him to teach them. This Lord's Prayer as it is often called is Jesus' response. In these few short lines, there is much of the posturing we should emulate in respect to prayer and the first is in the subtext.

            I believe the first posture we should consider when approaching prayer is to make prayer something important in our life. Jesus made prayer such a priority that the disciples treated is as such. Prayer should be more than, "Thank you for this food amen." We should treat prayer as more than saying grace before a meal, more than an arbitrary note on our checklist of norms. Jesus made it something to honor and set apart in his life. Jesus prayed in the harder times and the abundant times, to give thanks and to find renewal when life seemed out of control. The people around him noticed, learned, and began to treat it the same.

                                                        ~

              The next posture I wish to discuss is approaching the Lord humbly and before everything else. I love that when Jesus prays he give honor to God first and prays for the advancement of his kingdom and will, before anything else, before any of his personal requests, he honors Father God and His will above all. I love this idea, because I think it helps our perspective at times. I know it does in my life.

            Too often, I find myself praying most persistently when tragedy strikes and my quiet little world is roaring upside-down. Too often, these prayers are selfish as I focus my vision to my own needs or desires or even the needs of those I love. Now there is nothing wrong with praying for others and myself but putting God first is an important principle. This posture of putting God first in prayer helps me to understand that He is more than I am that his purposes and will are bigger than I am. It helps to remind me that this world does not cater to me and that neither should I. Putting God first when I approach prayer helps reduce my tunnel vision, allowing me to look beyond myself and my perceptions of situations that God may be using in ways I could never dream.

                                                      ~

              Another posture worth noting is revealed when Jesus asks in the prayer for forgiveness of sin; he frames it in a way that shows that we ask for forgiveness even as we have been forgiving. To me, this seems to model a degree of integrity, as if Jesus is saying, why ask for your own sins to be forgiven when you harbor so much unforgiveness for others. To me this posturing seems to act as a safeguard against hypocrisy. Is it not harder to ask for something, particularly mercies, when we have lived denying those same things to others in our lives?

                                                        ~

              The next posture comes from a passage in Matthew.

  "But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,"

                                                                                   ~Matthew 5:44

  Here, Jesus gives a command to love even your enemies and pray for these who hurt you. I believe the posture here is clever. While it is not always the case, I find that when I pray for someone, consistently, I begin to love them. Christianity was always intended to be marked by the way we love, that we may be different—that we may stand apart by the way we lavishly love those around us. This command is revolutionary; this command is unintuitive. This command is hard. This command may allow us to love better.

            This posture requires that we pray for those we do not want to pray for, our enemies, those who have harmed us. When we pray for these, we begin to love them. Even as we begin to love them, we begin to see that God loves them and that the grace he has given to us he offers to those others as well.

            This posture is close to my heart because it reminds me that God's gift is for everyone. It reminds me that there was a time when I was an enemy, a time when I persecuted so many around me and that without knowing this greater love I would have kept persecuting. We all need this love and we all need to understand this mercy, because no matter how far we have walked with God, we all started an enemy. Pray for those who persecute you.

                                                  ~

              The next posture of prayer covers petitions, or how we ask things of God. The text comes after the Lord's Prayer in the book of Luke; Jesus continues to teach his disciples how to pray and offers a parable of sorts. (Bare with me, it is a longer text!)  

  Then, teaching them more about prayer, he used this story: “Suppose you went to a friend’s house at midnight, wanting to borrow three loaves of bread. You say to him,  ‘A friend of mine has just arrived for a visit, and I have nothing for him to eat.’ And suppose he calls out from his bedroom, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is locked for the night, and my family and I are all in bed. I can’t help you.’ But I tell you this—though he won’t do it for friendship’s sake, if you keep knocking long enough, he will get up and give you whatever you need because of your shameless persistence. “And so I tell you, keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.“You fathers—if your children ask for a fish, do  you give them a snake instead?  Or if they ask for an egg, do you give them a scorpion? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him.”

                                                                                          ~Luke 11:5-13

  Here, Jesus reveals a truth about asking things of God in prayer. He paints a picture of a frankly irritating man begging for favors. Instead of saying: this man left empty-handed or was punished; Jesus shows that this man received what he came for due to his persistence. Readers, pray earnestly, pray boldly, pray and do not ever stop. Think what would have happened if the man in the story had left when he encountered a locked door in his way. Think of all he may have missed.

            There is a bold posture here, a posture that can endure the locked doors and all the other obstacles that make your prayer request appear impossible in your own eyes. This God is a God of miracles, a God who beckons us to strive for impossible things with Him. If this God offers his Holy Spirit to us, after the sacrifice of his own son, why are we so afraid to pray for lesser miracles? Why are we often so demoralized by seemingly locked doors? Keep praying and do not abandon hope.  

                                                       ~

            The last posture of prayer I wish to underscore (for now!) is in the book of Habakkuk. This small book is toward the end of the Old Testament and recounts a man of God who sits awaiting the impending destruction of his nation. This man Habakkuk struggles to understand the ways of God, reasoning that the advancing army is a wicked lot and that his people are God's own. Feeling forsaken, Habakkuk approaches God in prayer, only to have God reveal to him that the invading army will reap their own destruction in time, however it will be after they come and attack his nation

I hear, and my body trembles;     my lips quiver at the sound; rottenness enters into my bones;     my legs tremble beneath me. Yet I will quietly wait for the day of trouble     to come upon people who invade us.

Though the fig tree should not blossom,     nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail     and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold     and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord;     I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength;     he makes my feet like the deer's;     he makes me tread on my high places.

                                                                            ~Habakkuk 3:16-19

  Here, Habakkuk understands that his nation will not be spared an attack. Habakkuk prayed for his nation, but the will of God was that these invaders would come. Earlier in this book, Habakkuk struggles with this, but through continued prayer he understands that he is only seeing part of the story and that God is not done with his people, that the will of God expands farther than Habakkuk can see. Habakkuk finds peace in the strength and consistency of his God and rejoices in spite of hard times. He rejoices not in the destruction of all he has known, but in the Lord his God—the Lord who have given him salvation, the God of his strength who provides for him and guides him.

                                                       ~

            These postures of prayer are by no means exhaustive. Also, the absence of these postures do not nullify prayers. However, these postures do facilitate a clearer perspective in regard to our own circumstances in scope of God's will. These postures reveal a powerfully loving and merciful God, who encourages bold and persistent prayers.

            At the end of the day, maybe on your quiet night ask yourself: Do you allow prayer to change you?  

    Until next time:

  For my beloved secular audience: Ask yourself what you believe about prayer and do not be afraid to ask questions.

            Earlier today, a friend asked me a question. They asked, "What have you personally overcome from your childhood?" A more intimate question indeed, posed in the hope of fostering a greater sense of fellowship. Before I could answer, the questioner followed with an addendum, that I share the first thing that came to mind.

            My first thought was fear.

            Now, before I begin this post in earnest, I want to clarify a few things about fear. First, I think to discuss fear we must first understand that to do so is to attempt to quantify an abstraction. Also, there are varying degrees of fear, because fear is a nuanced idea and never concrete. Today I will merely cover a subset of fear, perhaps the pervading definition most ascribe to—the negative fear. This is the distressing fear, the anxious fear, the paralyzing fear, the all-consuming fear. This is what I want to speak into today, because I think this kind of fear ensnares us all from time to time, especially when we are not vigilant. It is a fear we cannot allow.

              All right, I best begin.

            You may be asking: What does fear have to do with your childhood? Allow me to provide some background into my early life, for those who may be unaware. I had the blessing to be born into an incredibly stable and incredibly loving family. For most, this blessing would do much to mitigate the fear a young child may experience. Regrettably, I have always been—for lack of a better term—dramatic (some would argue 'melodramatic,' neither are wholly without precedent). Being a bit, *ahem*, dramatic, I had a tendency, growing up, to worry that nearly everything was in some way detrimental to my health. God bless my parents, they had to raise a high-maintenance hypochondriac!

            Yet some of these worries were not without cause, because growing up I also grappled with an unusual problem: I had nightmares. Now, nearly everyone has nightmares, sure. Well, I had, or rather still often have, a lot of nightmares. Since the age of around five, I have averaged roughly four or five a night, barring a few exceptions from time to time.

            As a man, the nightmares are manageable—I have even found a way to pray myself awake from the worst of them, praise the Lord. But, as a kid, nightmares were inescapable, cruel, and terrible. Alone in my room at night I would dread falling asleep, because sleep meant one horror show after the next. Still I would wait for inevitable sleep, night after night, staring at a nightlight that was never bright enough. As I drew closer to dreaming, my senses would heighten, as fear set in—a minor creak in the walls became an unnamable terror trying to claw its way into my room, a breeze against my window was some violent criminal breaking in, and worse yet was that stillness, because with my senses heightened that stillness meant I could only hear my heart as cold sweat broke out everywhere. Even that solitary nightlight—that beacon of hope for a frightened youth—changed as fear encroached. That light changed into an uncanny generator of shadows—shadows that in the waning of the light became insidious caricatures of themselves across my walls. In the dark, these shadows felt like they had depth and substance, as if they were watching and waiting for me to fall asleep at last. As a child, this fear was real and complete.  

            My parents were loving and understanding of course, when I would wake them after a bad one or two. But after a while, particularly as I grew older, I stopped telling my parents, no sense in them waking up with me every few hours to deal with monsters they could not see or fight.

            Yes, these nightmares are a lesser fear, in the scope of all we may fear in this life, but to a child they are more—to a child they can be all encompassing. For me, they were, because the effects of all those nightmares did not end when I opened my eyes. The images would linger. Worse yet, the feelings of fear I experienced while asleep would linger. Night after night with multiple dreams, I eventually became mistrustful of everything I encountered in my waking life, because so many elements were mirrored in those dreams. With each passing year, to a point, I grew more anxious, more paranoid, and more afraid. Each year I internalized more, not wanting to be an added burden, because nightmares are just nightmares after all, right?

              For too long, I let my nightmares influence my behavior. I became passive about things that mattered, silent about things that ought to have been spoken into, and generally paralyzed in nearly every aspect of my life that required me to take a stand.

              Why?

            Because I was afraid.

            Because I was afraid of everything.

            I was afraid that everything would hurt me because in nightmare after nightmare they already had. I felt I had such little control in my life growing up, because everything became dictated by this fear I could not escape, awake or asleep. It shaped the way I thought. It shaped the way I related to others. It shaped all my goals and aspirations. It shaped the way I loved. It shaped me.

              Why did I share all of this?

            For two main reasons, one, I want to be vulnerable with all of those reading, because I believe that it is important. I do not want this blog to be some cold, detached lecture, updated every few weeks. That is not my heart or willing design. This is a place where I can share my thoughts in a way I hope can edify, because whoever you are—your well-being matters to me. It is why I continue to write here.

            This sentiment is hard to convey, and perhaps harder to believe, in such a faceless medium and that is why I want to be vulnerable. It is my attempt to say: this is me, here is a snapshot of even my painful moments, because I want you to know me—if I can not share, how could I expect you to listen to what I have to say?

            Two, I shared these memories because I believe you may relate to them more than you think.                   

~

            You may not be afflicted with my same nocturnal schedule, but maybe you have experienced the same side effects at one time or another. Ask yourself this question: What comes to your mind when you hear the word fear?

            Is it a health concern? Is it family or abusive relationships? Is it a word you use interchangeably with the word future? Is it something irrational that still feels inescapable all the same? Is it fear that your past will come and find you? Is it your finances? Is it the weight of all your responsibilities? Is it nameless? Is it that sense of dread or anxiety you have with seemingly no provocation?

            I do not know where your fear resides, but I know what it can do. I know it can magnify points in our lives, drawing all of our energy and concern, while others are neglected. I know it can bind and paralyze us into inaction, while others remain in need. I know it can make the strong among us feel like cowards. I know it can distort the reality of our situation and circumstance. I know it can make us internalize too much—allowing us to isolate and grow embittered or apathetic. I know it can make us more selfish than we realize. I know it can degrade our character. Most of all, I know it can hurt, intimately.

            If you have ever been in this fearful place, this headspace of anxiety where it feels like every breath you breathe is drawing in less and less air. Be still and understand that love is greater than the summation of all our fears and that fear cannot reside where love is present. Know that whoever you are, you are loved.

            You may be thinking: That is a bold, and not to mention trite, statement! This guy doesn't really know me.  

            Maybe.

            Indulge me, one more time.

            Maybe you are right, because it is bold to say, "You are loved" with the certainty in which I say it. Nevertheless, I am sure, because I know this God who loves boldly and He is not keeping that a secret. Whether you do not believe in God or whether you have believed all your life that statement is no less true. You are loved and there is such strength in that. There is such freedom in that.

            Church, do not forget what 2 Timothy 1:7 says:

              "For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control."

              This is the spirit we are given to operate out of, the spirit we cling to when all looks lost in the midst of storms and when the sun is shining down on us.

            This spirit of awesome power, without cowardice

            This spirit of abounding love, that allows us to look out toward others

            This spirit of mighty self-control and sound mind, that we are not victims to fear anymore, not when we understand this greater love.

              This Spirit changes everything, I can attest to that personally. Understand, it is not that fear never still prowls beside my door; it is that I do not allow it to rule over my life any more. Fear cannot linger in my heart and mind, because I understand a greater love—a love freely given to all of us. With this spirit, I overcome.

  Until next time:

  For my beloved secular audience: Thank you, once again, for taking the time to indulge me. I am thankful for you. Also, if you struggle with fear and anxiety, please reach out, because there is a remedy.

            Lately, I have found myself captivated by an idea—the idea that perhaps many have a misperception of Jesus, what he did, and by extension Christianity as a whole.

            Now before I go further, I understand there may be a few of you reading this who are ready to "jump ship" merely because I used the words "Jesus" and "Christianity." For many, words like these may leave a poor taste in your mouth, and maybe that is not a wholly unwarranted response, given your exposure to some professors of this faith. To this end, I want to apologize, because we are not always perfect reflections of our beliefs and that is our failing as followers, not of the One we follow. If I am describing you right now and your experience Dear Reader, I encourage you to continue reading. In spite of everything, I ask that you hear me out. Thank you, in advance, for your patience.    

            Now perhaps there are others, readers who hold a less-severe opposition to Christianity, though it may not be their faith. Welcome! To you, I ask only that you continue to read with an open mind—avoiding the temptation of marginalizing everything that follows as religious babble. After all, you never know what insights you may glean from an alternative perspective. Thank you, in advance, for your graciousness.

            Lastly, Church I ask, as I asked the others, that you hear me out, because you may be falling into the same pitfall in which I found myself recently. Thank you, in advance, for your consideration.

              All right, preambles are fun, now to the meat of it!

              A long time ago (nearly 5 paragraphs ago), I wrote about misperception, this idea that we can understand something incorrectly or incompletely. I wrote about it, because I found myself viewing Jesus incompletely—and by extension incorrectly. In my case, it was misperception through omission. An omission I was not even cognizant of, to be frank.

            My omission was of Jesus' life. I know what you are thinking: That sounds like a big omission. Well, that is because it is! And, I wonder if you are omitting the same. Allow me to elaborate.

            Regardless of whether you are a practicing Christian or someone who is only loosely aware of Christianity, there exists a tendency to view Jesus in the same, singular light. Ask yourself, what do you think about when you think about Jesus?

            I think often that we can think of Jesus in relation to the nativity scene, the miraculous baby in a barn. I think often too that we think of Jesus on the cross and for obvious reasons. Lastly, we think of Jesus' resurrection, again not without reason.

            So, what is the problem?

            The problem is not in recalling Jesus' birth, death, and resurrection, not at all! The foundation of the faith is built upon these. No, the problem is when this becomes the only way we think of Jesus.

            Did you notice what I outlined, when I picked out how we may commonly think of Jesus? Did you notice anything missing? We missed his life.

            Without discrediting for a moment his birth, sacrificial death, and glorious resurrection, I think we need to also remember Jesus for the way he lived and ministered on earth. If this were not so, I think the gospels (the books in the bible recounting his time on earth) would be mighty short. If it was not important to understand Jesus through the way he lives and interacts with others, why does the New Testament spend its bulk describing it? If it was unimportant, why are there four books offering four personal accounts of his ministry and time serving others.

            The Bible does not give us Jesus as only a man born, killed, and brought back. The Bible gives us a Jesus who lives and I think it is important to see that—to be reminded of that. It is obvious, but I found myself forgetting.

~

            So how did he live?

              That is the question of the day. Honestly, I wrote all of this, so far, to arrive at this question—to outline the importance of this question.

            Now you may be thinking:

            Are you telling me all of this was the introduction and that you are just starting this post?

                        Before you worry too much, the answer is yes and no. Yes, I am just beginning to discuss Jesus' life, but no the post is not just starting. This question is too broad for me to cover it all in a singular blog posting, even if I could. I think this may be an issue I address across multiple postings intermittently in the weeks—and likely months—ahead.

            That being said, I did want to address one way in which Jesus lived during his ministry however, and that is intimately. In this context, I want to define intimacy as a close, familiar, and loving relationship with a person, implying a detailed knowledge or understanding of the individual.                      

            This week, one way I understood Jesus' intimacy was through his miraculous healings, outlined throughout the gospels. For brevity's sake (Ha!), I will only look at one, the one that perhaps captured my imagination most this week.

            The miracle comes from an interaction in Mark 1:40-42:

"A man with leprosy came and knelt in front of Jesus, begging to be healed.'If you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean,' he said. Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out and touched him. 'I am willing,' he said. 'Be healed!' Instantly the leprosy disappeared, and the man was healed."

              Before I address the text in earnest, I want to talk about leprosy. Leprosy during biblical times was used as a banner diagnosis for a great deal of skin diseases, though it is most commonly associated with what we now call Hansen's disease. This infection affects the skin, eyes, and nervous system. In its more progressive forms, exhibited throughout the bible before treatment for the disease was known, leprosy manifested itself through growing whitened patches of skin with a sheen that allowed for a scaly appearance. Wherever these patches spread, loss of sensation and nerve damage followed. As it spread, those infirmed would often also experience loss of hair, teeth, nails, and sometimes even vision. In short, leprosy rotted your body while you were still living.    

            Though the physical afflictions of leprosy were severe, in biblical times often the societal stigma left the emotional afflictions the greater wound. In those days, lepers were forbidden to be a part of the larger community, banished to live outside of the cities—cut off from family, friends, and largely the lives they knew before the disease. In a cultural backdrop that valued family, community, and vocation above most other things, this disease robbed many of their entire sense of purpose, livelihood, and identity. On top of that, lepers were forced to dress as if they were in mourning—as if they needed to remind those seeing them from a distance that they were practically the walking dead. Lastly, whenever they were near anyone—with near used very loosely—they were forced to shout out "Unclean!" They were forced to declare themselves lesser. They were forced to declare themselves unsuitable. They were forced to declare themselves dirtied and tainted in front of the precious few other human beings around them.

            Now, let us look at that passage in Mark again. This leprous man, who undoubtedly knew too much of hardship, of suffering, was compelled to throw himself in front of Jesus. He broke protocol and drew close, kneeling right before Him only to beg for mercy—begging for a reprieve from all he had known at the hand of this disease.

            Notice that Jesus does not shrink back with revulsion. Notice that Jesus does not ignore or condemn this man, as his society did. Notice that he does not spout some trite, broad, unspecific statement about how God loves the world. No, because in that moment it is not some broad moment where Jesus is addressing the world. It is a singular, personal moment between the two men—an intimate moment, a moment when this man experienced an intimate love.

            Jesus sees the man and his affliction, knowing the role society has dealt him and he is moved with compassion, a compassion that compels him to act on the man's behalf. Jesus affirms the man and tells him that he is willing to come to his aid. Jesus could have healed him with that word. Jesus could have healed him remotely from thousands of feet away. But no, for this man—this man who understood the value of human touch, because his condition robbed him of any—for this man, Jesus reaches out to touch him. Jesus meets the man's need in the way that likely meant most to him. This translation notes that Jesus says, "Be healed," others translate this as "Be cleaned." In other words, in addition to reaching out and touching this man, Jesus also calls him what he has longed to be called. Jesus calls him clean, calls him healed, calls him restored.

            So what happened next?

              After this, the once-leper tells everyone how he experienced the intimate love of Jesus. He cannot hope to contain the way in which Jesus made him whole—the way he was restored to life by a man who cared for him specifically, intentionally, uniquely.  

            Church, I want to speak to you specifically here for a moment. I think this is important to pick up. Sometimes it is easy to fall into the "Jesus loves you" trap. Yes, Jesus loves you. Jesus loves everyone. This is 100% true and wonderful. The problem is there are times we say it so often to people who have never personally encountered the Lord, who do not grasp that Christianity is not meant to be religion but rather relationship with God. Do not forget that sometimes the greatest way to reveal the love of God is by sharing how he has showed up personally in your life, how he personally loved you. That is what this once-leper did. He told those around him of how Jesus encountered him specifically, how He changed his life. The bible notes that after the once-leper shared his story—his testimony—so many new followers tried to gather around Jesus that he could not even enter the town because of the number. This is important to understand.      

              And, this was not Jesus' only intimate miracle or interaction. The gospels are ripe with examples: he touches the eyes of the blind, the tongues of the mute, the ears of the deaf. He meets an adulterous women right as her community is readying to stone her to death after treating her as nothing more than an object. He cares for her, values her, and chastises those trying to condemn her with no right to do so. The fingerprints of his intimate love are everywhere beyond his birth, beyond the cross, and beyond the empty tomb.

            Jesus loved people intimately then, as he does now, and will forever. The author of Hebrews writes:

  "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." ~Hebrews 13:8

              This is a truth we can hold on to, and one I hope we will allow to shape our lives—in deed, word, and thought.

  Until next time:

Christians: Do not forget the life of Jesus and all the ways we can live by his example. Do not forget you are loved intimately and do not forget to love the same.

Ever observe something mundane, something you have seen a million times without paying it any mind, then one day you see it in a new way? Well, that happened to me around an hour ago, you see I am blessed to live in a house full of dogs, among other animals. These dogs are always running around or lounging nearby, nothing spectacularly interesting most days. Like nearly all dogs, these dogs get excited when food is nearby. Now, these dogs are relatively behaved animals. When dinnertime comes, they will not lunge at you for the food, but some will wait while you prepare it.

            That is what I saw today as I got out of the shower. Food was being prepared for the dogs. Now, I noticed a few things. First, I noticed one dog was not even in the room, another hovered close to where the food was being prepared but paid little mind, instead distracting herself with her toys strewn about the floor, and the last dog, well she behaved differently than the others.

            This third dog waited patiently, sitting mere feet from where the food was being prepared. She did not rush for the food early, nor did she take her eyes from the one making her food. She refused to settle for lesser things.

            I was struck by this, because I felt like this created a great model for how people can sometimes wait before the Lord. For some of us, and I confess I have been in this category far too frequently: we can ignore what God is doing altogether. We can be like that first dog, off in our other rooms, acting independently, not caring what God's design is for whatever given situation. We have free will; we can do this, but we can oftentimes miss out on what God is preparing for us. In some more extreme cases, we can deviate tragically from his plan and end up alone and starved.    

            I also believe there are some among us who may be like that second dog. We can acknowledge that there is a God. Perhaps most days we even consider him Lord, or ultimate decision-maker in our lives. But, like this second dog we can start settling early for other things. Now, the second dog was still in the room, but she was distracted. This dog was waiting passively for food, more or less unconcerned. While this may not be as bad as dog number one, I believe this one too is missing out in some way.

            Now, dog three she waited faithfully. She was sitting, but she was sitting poised, ready the second that dish dropped to the floor. I waited beside the dog for a full minute and never saw her blink. This dog was not sitting idly by waiting for food, she was vigilant—she was eager in waiting. This dog was seeking after that food, unwilling to settle for trifling toys or whatever lesser things waited in the other more distant rooms.

            I found a verse in Psalms 130: 5-6, it reads:

  "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,     and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord     more than watchmen for the morning,     more than watchmen for the morning."

              I think this dog demonstrated this type of posturing, like a watchmen. She was not lax, not complacent, not distracted. She waited with intention. Now, I left before I saw it, but I will bet she was the first to eat.

            Moreover, her food sustains her, it gives her what she needs to face the day and do what dogs should do, play and run.

            I wish I could be more like this dog, because I think she gets it. She knows her master. She knows the master loves her and has good things for her. So, she stays beside her master and is eager to receive what the master has for her.

I found other verses that reminded me of this:

Isaiah 40:30-31

 "Even youths shall faint and be weary,     and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;     they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary;     they shall walk and not faint."

Lamentations 3:25

"The Lord is good to those who wait for him,     to the soul who seeks him."

 Like that dog, when we wait faithfully we are strengthened and renewed. We are fed, because the one feeding us is good.

            Food for thought.

  Until next time:

Christians: How are you waiting? Are there pressing circumstances in your life? Decisions that need to be made? Are you looking to God for these things? Are you relying on him and pressing in actively? Are you seeking the Godly counsel he has placed in your life?

The last few days I have had the word “Lost” floating around in my head. After a time, I began to wonder why. I decided to dig deeper. Now, I have resolved to write about what I have found.

                I think if we are all honest with ourselves, we have all experienced times when we have felt truly lost, in one way or another. I will own up first. For those that maybe do not know me as intimately, I had the blessing to grow up in a remarkably loving and stable household. I was blessed with a great education. I was blessed with exceptional friends. If you are not noticing the pattern yet, I was blessed—and still am, far more than I could ever deserve. Yet, growing up in this incredibly supportive environment, starting life with this foundation, I still managed to get lost.

                It began, in earnest, five years ago. I had graduated high school with honors and was on my way toward Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, my dream school. Suddenly, I was removed from that supportive family and friend group I had cultivated for years. Suddenly, I was on my own, in all practical purposes. Did I have a cell phone and social networking? Yes. Did I use them to keep in touch as much as I ought to have? No. And, when I did I often lied about how I was doing, or was rather particular with details.

                To be honest, as great as my friends and family were—and still are—after high school I was ready to start somewhere new. After eighteen years under one roof and thirteen years in the same school, my stability began to feel stifling.  I was ready to meet people who did not know my story. I was ready to be whoever I wanted to be, uninhibited by my past or relationships.

                Maybe this does not sound that crazy. Maybe you have been here? Maybe you are here. All I know is what happened to me. I went to a new place, surrounded myself with new people, and managed to lose myself completely. The change was gradual at first, but enough. Under the banner of my supposed freedom and new-found liberty, I had lost my accountability, my counsel, and my footing. It became easier to go with the flow of my new acquaintances, to move with my culture, and inevitably to compromise much of what I had once believed. Suddenly, I was thinking, speaking, and acting in unfamiliar ways and along the way I hurt a lot of people. I manipulated a lot of people. I am ashamed to say I hardly cared. It was my time after all, right?

                Perhaps most frightening of all at the time, removed from my community, I realized that my religion and my God were little more to me than a social circle. Outside my shell, I realized my faith meant little to me. To be honest, I realized I had very little at the core of me. And with no anchor, I went wherever the masses went and I lost all sense of me. After a time I went further, I began to question whether or not I ever had a sense of me, or if I was only ever a reflection of my surroundings. Soon enough I saw my life for everything it was--pretense and vanity, my sad hopping from one joke to another, hoping those around me did not look hard enough, hoping they could not see how empty I felt.

Why do I bring all this up? Why share any of this at all? It certainly is not flattering. Well, I am glad you asked!

                I bring this up because I was lost. I was lost for months. I was lost in rooms filled with people. I was lost and no one ever saw it. I was lost on what felt like every existential level. I was lost and there were times it felt like freedom, and that is the most tragic irony of all of this. How many around us are lost? How many are bound, all the while thinking they are free? How long do we chase after belonging in shallower places?

                I bring this up not only to say I was lost, but that save the miraculous grace of God I would have been lost forever. That if my God did not rescue me, that if he did not draw me out of the deep mess I had made of my life, I would still be discontented at the heart of me—regardless of what my smile would say. God became real to me and became the only belonging I would ever pursue. I bring this up because understanding of this is the most important thing in my entire life.

~

                I grew up hearing Jesus talk about the Prodigal Son, many in church communities did too, I would wager. Also, if you are wondering, I looked it up for you: prodigal means wasteful or recklessly extravagant. Anyway, I grew up hearing this parable, but I never knew that some translations never call him the “prodigal” son, some call him the “lost" son.  

                Why is this important? It is important because I think it sounds a lot like me five years ago. I think it may sound like a few of you not too long ago. It may be a few of you now. Or, it may be a few out there in your community.  

                For those who have never heard or maybe have forgotten, Jesus tells a story about a man and his sons in Luke 15:11-31 (I recommend checking it out in the book; it is kind of a bestseller! Even free online as it turns out.) Still here? All right, it appears that you are electing for a paraphrase of the selections I am looking at…Here we go!

                 Once upon a time, a man has two sons, one day his younger son asks him for his inheritance early. The father splits his estate and gives his younger son his share. With the money, the younger son travels to a distant place and squanders all his money partying and living the high life. After the son had lost everything, the country he was in experienced a famine and he grew desperate. In his desperation, he hired himself out as a pig feeder (about as low as you can get). He grew hungry, while feeding animals. At his low point, the man came to his senses and reasoned his father's lowliest workers were treated better. He reasoned he would admit his mistakes and beg his father to take him on as a servant. Going back to his father, the young man did not even reach the door before his father spotted him. With compassion, the father ran to his son, held him, and kissed him. The son confessed his failings. The father told his workers to bring the best clothes for his boy—his son. His father told them to prepare a great feast to celebrate. He celebrated because his son who was lost was found again.

                I love this. I love this because this is the love of my God. He respects the free will he has given us even if that means we run off and make a mess of things, but when we have that moment of clarity and when we go to him and say, we messed up. He not only accepts us back. He not only calls us his own. He celebrates in finding us. This is amazing grace, unwarranted favor, and unfailing love.

                I have been lost and I have been found and I can attest life is better on the found side. I know I will spend my life speaking about the way my God found me. Ask me and I will never stop talking about it. But, what about all of those out there who are still lost? What about all those out there waiting to be found? Well, (and I am speaking to the church now) I will say sometimes the way God finds people is through using others. I think it is time we start living our lives with our eyes open, because lost men and women are all around us and many need unfailing love in their lives.

Until next time:

Ask yourself, are you lost? If so, reach out, because you are ready to be found.

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you feel like you have not stopped moving? Maybe it has been awhile, or perhaps on the other side of that spectrum, you cannot recall a time when life was not like this. Whether it is work, school, family, extracurricular activities, or more likely the aggregate of all or most of these things, at times, weeks like these can be immensely fulfilling with every moment meaning another accomplishment or job done. Other times it only means routine and exhaustion.

            Fulfilling or not, weeks like these compound until living can feel a lot like drowning if we are not careful. For some, week after week of constant movement is the only option, and if it is what do we do in the midst? What do we do when we begin to feel like insomniacs regardless of the sleep we get each night?

            I think the answer is simple. We do what all those drowning strive to do: bring our head back above water.

            To be honest, this week was one of these weeks for me. To be more honest, it bore a striking similarity to the weeks before it. Moreover, while I am blessed to say the recent weeks have been fulfilling, they have done little to remove the bags from beneath my eyes.

            I am still tired.

            I am still bound to obligations and responsibilities that demand my time and energy. I still steward relationships with family, friends, and varying degrees of acquaintances, even when it is not always convenient timing. I do these things, as you do yours: one day at a time.

            I will confess this week I had a morning when I opened my eyes and thought about the day ahead of me and all I could do was groan and try to bury my head back into my pillow—hoping in my own small way that the gesture may grant me a few more golden moments of sleep, or maybe if I pressed in hard enough it could stop time itself so that I could greet the day when I was ready. I had no such luck, inevitably the snooze alarm sounded and the day was starting with or without my compliance.

            I am glad it did.

            As the snooze alarm sounded, I did more than groan, this time I kept repeating the question: Why? Aloud in my room, over and over, Why now? Why do I have this today? Why can't I just sleep? Why can't it be the weekend? Spring break? Summer? Graduation? Retirement?

            All at once, I had managed to complain away my whole life.

            I was exasperated, agitated, and weary, until I looked out my window and saw the sky. I looked out and I saw dense rainclouds. For those that do not know me well, you may be asking: So what?  

            Well, rain is my favorite weather and an overcast sky is second to none. For as long as I can remember, rainy days have had a unique ability to lift my spirits—independent of my circumstances. I look out at a sky that threatens rainfall and I find only the promise of a joyful day. I have always been this way, whether that makes me an anomaly in San Diego or not.

            So, this week when I woke exhausted and saw the sky, I felt my petty grievances fade away until only thankfulness remained. I felt like the weather was all for me, as if God were saying, "Hey it won't be so bad."

            All at once, I had peace. I had the energy to face the day, and surprisingly enough, excitement to do so.

            An attitude of thankfulness can do this sometimes. Thankfulness reminds us that we are blessed, that we indeed have much. To understand that is to be revitalized, joy-filled, and hopeful.

The truth is thankfulness can realign our perspective, if we let it.

              Ugh, I don't want to go to school.

            Wow, I am thankful to have an opportunity to better myself.

            Ugh, why do I have to work all day?

            I am so blessed to have a job in this economy, when others

do not.

            Ugh, I don't want to drive my friend to the airport.

            I am so thankful for the relationships I have.

            Ugh, I don't want to get up, it's only going to be another long day.

            I am thankful for another day. Oh look, it looks like rain.

                          Thankfulness is important, because we are not the cause of every good thing that happens in our lives. My parents and brother are some of the biggest blessings in my life; did I choose them for myself? My friends have supported me through times when I have felt most lost and helpless; did I choose to enroll them in the school I met them at? Did I force them to care for me year after year? Of course not! These things were out of my control, like the weather. But, I look at them—all of these blessings that I do not deserve—and I force myself to make time to say I am truly thankful. Even in this, I am blessed, because thankfulness is a slippery slope and it snowballs.

            When we begin to examine ways in which we are thankful, it is nearly impossible not to find more ways. And the more we find, the more grateful we are.

            I am thankful for the rain this morning. I am thankful for waking up under warm blankets when it is so cold outside. I am thankful for this house that keeps me sheltered. I am thankful for those I live with. I am thankful for the relationships I have with them. I am thankful for all my relationships. I am thankful for the school I go to, where I met some of these friends. I am thankful for my education. I am thankful for all the ways I was raised that led me to pursue higher education. I am thankful for my parents who raised me. I am thankful for life. I am thankful for the God who has provided for all.  

            Once we start the list, it is hard to stop. Now, all of a sudden, I am no longer complaining away my life, but I am eager to go out to live it—in every detail, grateful.

            Without thankfulness, it is easy to feel the weight of each new day and miss the promise. It is easy to grow listless, complacent, or even cynical as we choose to dwell on all the bad or neutral situations we encounter rather than to look at the good.  

            Wherever we all, we are blessed. If you are reading this, you are blessed with vision, internet, and time at the very least.

            Until next time:

Word of warning: The following may be hard to swallow; perhaps even offensive if the heart behind it is not understood. My intention is not to judge, condemn, or offend, but rather to sincerely love and motivate. The following is also geared toward my Christian readership though if you are not under that banner I am not telling you to stop reading. It will be long, or rather exactly as long as it needs to be.  

  You have been warned.

              As I sit before my laptop, I look at a page I know I will fill and yet I am hesitant to write about this tonight. You see I am worried that this will sound heavy-handed, or pedantic in the extreme. I am worried about being a hypocrite—because this is an area I confess, I have not mastered myself. I am worried the readership will run for the hills.

            But, I was moved tonight and that is a greater thing than the summation of all my worry. I need to respond.

            I had the opportunity to attend an event tonight with Intervarsity Christian Fellowship (the Christian club on-campus that I am blessed to be a part of). At this event, a young woman of God spoke about actively loving others, sharing the story of The Good Samaritan (See Luke 10:25-37). The story is one that many are familiar with in our cultural about a beaten man pleading for help, all those who avoid him, and the one who does not.

            I want to talk tonight about how we love others. I want to talk specifically to the Christian readers about the job we are doing in America.

            Before I go any farther, I am aware that many—if not all—those reading may very well love greater than I do. Again, loving others is not something I have mastered. Read this. Know that I fully accept my past failings in this department, that in many ways I have been part of the problem I am about to address. Good. Now, let us shelf that for a moment so I can dig into the matter at hand.

            What does the general public think about Christianity as a whole, today in American culture? Loving? Kind? Generous? Perhaps some feel that way and praise God. But, what else? I have asked around and observed. Some see hypocrites and bigots. Some see Christians as disingenuous or cliquey. Ask the passerby about the church in America and many will respond with its failings and not its victories.

            Christians we are responsible for this, because we are all representing the same God and are supposed to be of the same spirit. We are told we are one body under God (1 Corinthians 12:27). The church was always meant to be set apart, that was its design. But, in this modern age how have we set ourselves apart?

            As Christians, we are supposed to be known by how we love others, by how we serve others. This is not condemnation this is realignment, because yes we are meant to love and serve but only as a response to the love of God. He first loves us and in turn, we love others.

            I believe we are supposed to love and serve others to a degree that necessitates a response. That we are to love in a way that people stop and ask: What about them is different that they can love me like this? This is how the gospel is spread and this is how lives are changed.    Personally, I do not like that many of the most humanitarian efforts around the world are accomplished by non-Christians. Praise God that the helpless are aided, Christians do not have the monopoly on being an incredible and loving person by any stretch of the imagination, but these are areas that could have encountered the radical love and service that Jesus commissions us to spread.  

              And, where are the people we are supposed to love? They are all around us. They are whom we encounter in our day-to-day lives or causes thrust into our paths. I know this is not new information.

            Now, I want to share an anecdote of a time when I have understood the importance of being a Good Samaritan and I almost missed it.

  Anecdote:

A few months ago, a good friend of mine joined me to grab coffee off the 5 near El Camino Real. As we got off my friend noticed a homeless man with a sign. I did not. Sure, part of my brain registered the man at the edge of the road but I was in autopilot and I ignored his presence altogether. This man was in my path and, truth be told, he was background noise.

            Not to my friend

            My friend tells me we need to pull over. He asks if I read the man's sign and I reply, truthfully, that I had not. He told me the sign read: If I kill myself today, would you even care?

            I pull the car over and my friend and I begin to walk toward him. I am overcome by his tattered clothes and imposing build. My first reaction is not one of compassion but one of concern. I think: I better not get close. He may have a knife.

            I judged before I loved.

            Even as we walked toward him, mentally I began playing the game. In an instant, I gave myself twenty reasons I should not be walking toward the man. I am too busy. I have plans today. He could be dangerous. He could be mad. This is awkward. What if people see me next to him? What if someone I know drives by?

            I tried to justify inaction and to be honest I am ashamed of these thoughts. Even without my friend, if I had read his sign, I am not certain I would have stopped. Praise God, we did stop.

            We approach the man and ask him what is wrong. He does not rise to his feet so we sit beside him in the dirt, next to the freeway off-ramp. His teeth are destroyed from neglect and drug abuse and he had not showered in days, by his own admission. He was a man of no more than thirty and he wanted desperately to die.

            He told us of his life, all the rejection and failure he had experienced. He told of us of his loneliness, living without family or friends. He told us of living without a home, taking refuge in ditches and under bridges, trying to stay warm, even in California. Then, he began to cry.

            In his hands was the cardboard sign—his only suicide note. He cried and said we were the first. He told us that we were the first to stop, really to acknowledge him at all. He had been holding that sign up beside the freeway, for all to see, for forty minutes. Forty minutes when pride was abandoned and all he could do was beg in his small way for human contact, concern, and compassion.  

            This man had reached a point of utter desperation and he was ignored by literally hundreds of people. My heart broke, first for this man and the pain he knew and second for my own hardened heart, that would have sped on by him.

            In the end, my friend and I talked to him for close to an hour beside the road. He accepted my friend's jacket and thanked us for the offer to buy him food, supplies, or anything he needed. He allowed us to pray over him and tell him of Jesus' love, the love that compelled my friend to tell me to pull my car over. He thanked us for stopping, praying, and caring.

            After, we parted and I did not see him again. I still pray for that man and hope that after us even more people stopped and loved him. I hope that he got rid of that sign for good.

               Honestly, I do not know if the man is still alive. After, I went by the same exit for a few days, but I never saw him again. What I do know is he was touched by love in a real way, however brief. However, I cannot help but wonder whom else God placed in his life to love him, perhaps before the hour of desperation in which we made his acquaintance.

            Church this is it. This is why we are here. They do not have to be homeless. They do not have to be suicidal. They merely have to exist.

            Think for a moment, I promise I am almost done. Think about a time in your life when a kind word made a world of difference, or maybe a time in your life when a kind word would have. Myself, I know the kindness of a stranger in the span of one minute has changed my life in the past. We should be like the Samaritan finding and caring for those before us, but often we have been the beaten man.

            I do not know about you, but after a few times being that beaten man—the man who has endured loss and pain—you never want anyone else to be a beaten man. We cannot walk through life with tunnel vision; there are simply too many people out in the world who need us.        

            People who need the love of God.

            People who need love.

              I am sorry this was long. I am sorry if it is the same old, tired message you have heard one million times before now. But, I am not sorry for bringing it up, because guys, this is real and it is ALL around us. We do not need to move heaven and earth or give up thousands of dollars to change lives, sometimes all it takes is a word at the office, a gesture between classes, a deed done in kindness, or an hour beside a road.

              We can all play the game:        

              Well, I am too busy? No! No one is too busy to love someone and if you think you are it is time for a reevaluation of priorities.

              Well, what if they think I am weird? What if they get mad? Yeah…what if you save their life? What if you save their soul?

              Well, what if I am scared? Grab someone and take them with you, we are not alone.

              What if they don't feel loved no matter what I do? What if my involvement makes no difference? Leave it in God's hands and do what you can. Often, if God has put them in your path and you have a heart for them, things will happen. Do not be afraid to take a chance.

              What if I don't feel loved? Know that you are. Sometimes it is hard to accept, but it is truth. God loves you regardless of what momentary feelings may dictate. He loved enough to give up everything to be near us. Rest in that and allow that to inspire you to then go out and love.

  Until next time:

Writing in any public forum is not an enterprise I run toward without some notable trepidation. Understand, tonight is not the first time I have contemplated starting a blog. In the past whenever the notion struck I would began to write zealously, but when it came time to submit whatever I had written I would stop and allow fear to consume the venture whole.

            No matter the content, the apprehensions were always the same. What if I am judged? What if no one likes it? Or me? What if I do not make any sense? What if I sound stupid? Pretentious? Whiney? Insincere? ____? Fill in the blank! All I knew is the fear became louder than my voice. The questions overwhelmed and paralyzed.

            And what about now?   

            The thoughts still remain and Lord only knows what will become of this blog—this small outlet where I can speak to people who make time to listen. All I do know is that I have things to say and I need to say them.

            A dear friend once sent me a quotation from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Though years have passed since the day I first read the words, they have lingered like a barb in my mind. It read:

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

                        I think about the words and wonder how much longer I have been dying rather than living. I wonder how much has been lost with words I have wasted in coarse humor or idle ramblings instead of on matters of greater value and merit. I wonder about all the opportunities for growth wasted in my silence.   

            So, here I am tonight in front of my computer and all I keep thinking is: Can what I write here really matter, at all? To anyone? The answer is I do not know, but if there is a chance, that it could be comforting or edifying to anyone, even once, than it is worth pursuing. Really, what could I lose here? And, if all else should fail, it may at least be enlightening for me. Writing has always been a way for me to process things and to that end, I am sure this space will offer me a greater deal of clarity by writing out my thoughts in a cohesive and more importantly coherent format.

            Now, what are my intentions and expectations for this blog, exactly?

            My intentions are simple: 1) I want to commit to writing my reflections on things I encounter in my daily life. 2) I want to explain what I am learning (often manifesting as what God is teaching me, day by day) 3) I want people to reflect beside me along the way, because though our lives vary, I may not be the only one learning the same lessons or experiencing the same things.  

            And my expectation? I have only one: that this whole process will not be for nothing. I think this can be a great avenue for change and growth. I am eager to see what the Lord may do with this space.

            A few final notes: I plan to update this blog at least 2-3 times a week for a month and then I will re-evaluate before moving forward. Be advised, I am a Christian and being such expect that to saturate most matters of life posted herein, although I would challenge those who immediately tuned out when I brought up the 'C-word' to hang around for a bit. What do you have to lose?