On our magnetic board, my roommate chelsea kept a magnet that said, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Often as I was walking into or out of our room, it would catch my eye and though I rarely paused to give the fairly simple idea much thought, those successive glances have piled one atop the other to cement the phrase into my memory.
Think of every story that has ever inspired you. I bet it didn't go like this one.
Once upon a time there was a very good boy who never did anything that would shame his mother or cause his father to sigh. He woke up with the dawn, industriously completed his chores, excelled in school, followed his parents' life plan for him, married his pre-school sweetheart, and settled down to have 2.4 children and 1.3 cars with a job that provided a satisfactory degree of personal accomplishment and a steady income. One day, he died.
We are not inspired by the ordinary, unless we are acting in revolution against it. Who wants to be that boy, sweet-tempered, docile, and entirely satisfied with life? It is in a healthy form of dissatisfaction that we are inspired to attain to the better story. Beowulf's story, for instance, is not a pretty one. He must travel far, fight monsters that no man of normal means should ever have to face, and survive to fight still others. But we find inspiration in his epic quest because he dared.
There are two armies waging a conflict within us. On the one side, there is the desire for safety, comfort, and pleasure. We want to curl up in bed, pull the blankets over our heads, and stay far from hunger, dirt, or despair. On the other side, there is a fierce need to be a part of the adventure that life could be if we but dared to take risks, go out into the cold and the blazing heat, occasionally suffer want, all with the enduring knowledge that the rewards of a life lived on the cliff's edge will always yield more than the life lived in the armchair.
A friend mentioned that among school children, creativity and imagination are on the decline in a correlation with a decline in time spent out of doors. After all, if they don't have to invent situations for their deeds of derring-do, why should they bother?
As we live a life surrendered to God, we are taking the radical path. Sometimes it feels like we are walking by a precipice in a thick fog and all we have is a quiet voice directing us out of the mist. But in trials we are refined, our creativity, trust, and courage becoming formidable tools as we submit them to Another's purposes. The epic quest a thing of mere fantasy? Perhaps not so much.
18.8.10
15.8.10
Kingdom Sell Out
"The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field, which a man found and hid again; and from joy over it, he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field."
//Matthew 13:44//
During the drive to Norristown today, I had the opportunity of bouncing off of Dan a thought that has been developing in my head. It all began on Friday evening when I asked each of my coworkers what it is that makes them feel alive. I was surprised by none of their answers: for Abi, writing; for Ben, music and his wife, Amber; for Lia, being in the midst of God's creation; for Crystal, one-on-one conversations. I've heard it said that the flaws we believe we are hiding so well are actually visible for all the world to see, but I think we are also naked in where our passions lie. We are not merely talented in those areas, but we are brought to life by them.
For me, my passion is for powerful writing and the beautiful paradoxes of God's world. I can literally feel myself light up when I share with someone about Orthodoxy or revel in the delicious irony of Blackwood's death in "Sherlock Holmes." It makes me think of the last lines from the lullaby in Like Water For Chocolate that I shared before: "You are the light of my eyes, my eyes / I'm brought to life by you."
There are two kinds of people in this world. The first group is that variety of people who have sold themselves completely because they know that it is far better to live inside the passion that God has given them, indeed to live, than it is to pursue the things of this world. You know them because they are flourishing, radiant with the rightness of walking in God's perfect will for their lives. One example that comes to mind is one of my church's pastors, Corey. He is genuinely and radically surrendered to God's work, and you will not find anyone more open and honest in his failures or more ebullient and outspoken in his joy. He is the ultimate sell out, and I rather think he'd thank you if you called him that.
The second group are those people who have chosen to cut off the desires God has placed within them because they have bought in to the lie that wealth, health, and the ever-fleeting siren of happiness are the best things in life. They try to fill the empty spaces with flash and glamor, but like a child who digs holes by the seashore to capture the waves, their wants will never be satisfied. They are zombies: the breathing dead.
Going back to the Matthew verse for a moment: what is the kingdom of heaven? I would suggest that it is a potentiality that will one day be actualized in the return and eternal reign of Jesus Christ. However, we are able to recognize some elements of that potentiality in the present. I firmly believe that part of establishing the kingdom on earth is the desperate, sold out pursuit of the purpose God has given each one of us and all of the passions and desires associated with that purpose. Hence, Ben can go into a studio to record a demo, and all of heaven rejoices. Lia is brought to worshipful silence at a perfect ocean vista, and the foundations of hell tremble. Like a pine forest caught up in a drought, all it takes is a small flame to create a roaring fire. We are powerful people when God brings us to life.
The Lord's Spirit calls
He's singing,
"Follow my road to sorrow and joy
Be intertwined
And find
All things are under my wings
And rise
Given time.
//from "Desert Father" by Josh Garrels//
//Matthew 13:44//
During the drive to Norristown today, I had the opportunity of bouncing off of Dan a thought that has been developing in my head. It all began on Friday evening when I asked each of my coworkers what it is that makes them feel alive. I was surprised by none of their answers: for Abi, writing; for Ben, music and his wife, Amber; for Lia, being in the midst of God's creation; for Crystal, one-on-one conversations. I've heard it said that the flaws we believe we are hiding so well are actually visible for all the world to see, but I think we are also naked in where our passions lie. We are not merely talented in those areas, but we are brought to life by them.
For me, my passion is for powerful writing and the beautiful paradoxes of God's world. I can literally feel myself light up when I share with someone about Orthodoxy or revel in the delicious irony of Blackwood's death in "Sherlock Holmes." It makes me think of the last lines from the lullaby in Like Water For Chocolate that I shared before: "You are the light of my eyes, my eyes / I'm brought to life by you."
There are two kinds of people in this world. The first group is that variety of people who have sold themselves completely because they know that it is far better to live inside the passion that God has given them, indeed to live, than it is to pursue the things of this world. You know them because they are flourishing, radiant with the rightness of walking in God's perfect will for their lives. One example that comes to mind is one of my church's pastors, Corey. He is genuinely and radically surrendered to God's work, and you will not find anyone more open and honest in his failures or more ebullient and outspoken in his joy. He is the ultimate sell out, and I rather think he'd thank you if you called him that.
The second group are those people who have chosen to cut off the desires God has placed within them because they have bought in to the lie that wealth, health, and the ever-fleeting siren of happiness are the best things in life. They try to fill the empty spaces with flash and glamor, but like a child who digs holes by the seashore to capture the waves, their wants will never be satisfied. They are zombies: the breathing dead.
Going back to the Matthew verse for a moment: what is the kingdom of heaven? I would suggest that it is a potentiality that will one day be actualized in the return and eternal reign of Jesus Christ. However, we are able to recognize some elements of that potentiality in the present. I firmly believe that part of establishing the kingdom on earth is the desperate, sold out pursuit of the purpose God has given each one of us and all of the passions and desires associated with that purpose. Hence, Ben can go into a studio to record a demo, and all of heaven rejoices. Lia is brought to worshipful silence at a perfect ocean vista, and the foundations of hell tremble. Like a pine forest caught up in a drought, all it takes is a small flame to create a roaring fire. We are powerful people when God brings us to life.
The Lord's Spirit calls
He's singing,
"Follow my road to sorrow and joy
Be intertwined
And find
All things are under my wings
And rise
Given time.
//from "Desert Father" by Josh Garrels//
13.8.10
Limited
"...I asked him how his wife felt about all of this, thinking she must be excited to have her husband back. My friend looked at me as though he were realizing he hadn't actually said anything to his wife.
'You haven't said anything?' I questioned.
'I guess I figured she knew,' my friend suggested.
And that's the first time I realized that the idea a character is what he does makes as much sense in life as it does in the movies. I thought about my friend's story from his wife's perspective. She only knows what he says and what he does, not what he thinks and what he feels."
//from A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller//
One of the things Stonestreet talked about was the fragmentation of man. We were separated in the Fall from God, from the earth, from one another, and within ourselves. What remains of the once intimate connections is a vast chasm over which we shout to each other, our words confused and garbled by distance, volume, and the echoes of the past that bounce back up to muddle the present.
I'm tired. And right now I feel like my heart got kicked repeatedly by a Clydesdale. For whatever reason, I write more when I'm in this variety of mood, so allow me to reiterate that most of the time, I am a fairly balanced, happy, healthy person who works a bit too much and reads far too little.
I hate that I am dependent on words to know, even as I love words. But in the separation, we all suddenly acquired a burden. Unless you are a hermit or so socially ostracized that you have perfected the art of life without communication, you know how hard it can be to say even the simplest thing. I live in a tenuous state of "to say or not to say," afraid that I'm being too needy or that I'm not expressing my need well enough, afraid that I will alienate or accidentally lean toward the unmeant flirtatious, afraid that this of the thousand chasms will suddenly find itself without even the fragile bridge of our conversations to bear me over it.
Who are you and what is making you tick? When you snap, I don't know why. When you are silent, I don't know why. Even when you are joyful, I don't know it because I know nothing. All I have is what you tell me, translation made all the more difficult by the missing 90% of facial expressions, twitches, stance, and whatever else make up body language.
I beg for grace because I am vulnerable in my ignorance. I am not a perfect person, nor do I ever hope to be one. Know that even as I hear you incorrectly, your tympanum also fails to perfectly interpret the heart and soul of the vibrations that tickle it. We are two people who are a world apart, who leapt that world for a moment and then found ourselves slipping down the lines of longitude once more. Have you the energy for a second try?
'You haven't said anything?' I questioned.
'I guess I figured she knew,' my friend suggested.
And that's the first time I realized that the idea a character is what he does makes as much sense in life as it does in the movies. I thought about my friend's story from his wife's perspective. She only knows what he says and what he does, not what he thinks and what he feels."
//from A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller//
One of the things Stonestreet talked about was the fragmentation of man. We were separated in the Fall from God, from the earth, from one another, and within ourselves. What remains of the once intimate connections is a vast chasm over which we shout to each other, our words confused and garbled by distance, volume, and the echoes of the past that bounce back up to muddle the present.
I'm tired. And right now I feel like my heart got kicked repeatedly by a Clydesdale. For whatever reason, I write more when I'm in this variety of mood, so allow me to reiterate that most of the time, I am a fairly balanced, happy, healthy person who works a bit too much and reads far too little.
I hate that I am dependent on words to know, even as I love words. But in the separation, we all suddenly acquired a burden. Unless you are a hermit or so socially ostracized that you have perfected the art of life without communication, you know how hard it can be to say even the simplest thing. I live in a tenuous state of "to say or not to say," afraid that I'm being too needy or that I'm not expressing my need well enough, afraid that I will alienate or accidentally lean toward the unmeant flirtatious, afraid that this of the thousand chasms will suddenly find itself without even the fragile bridge of our conversations to bear me over it.
Who are you and what is making you tick? When you snap, I don't know why. When you are silent, I don't know why. Even when you are joyful, I don't know it because I know nothing. All I have is what you tell me, translation made all the more difficult by the missing 90% of facial expressions, twitches, stance, and whatever else make up body language.
I beg for grace because I am vulnerable in my ignorance. I am not a perfect person, nor do I ever hope to be one. Know that even as I hear you incorrectly, your tympanum also fails to perfectly interpret the heart and soul of the vibrations that tickle it. We are two people who are a world apart, who leapt that world for a moment and then found ourselves slipping down the lines of longitude once more. Have you the energy for a second try?
11.8.10
Float Away
We sailed away on a winter's day
With fate as malleable as clay
But ships are fallible, I say
And the nautical, like all things, fades
And I can recall our caravel
Little wicker beetle shell
With four fine masts and lateen sails
Its bearings on Cair Paravel
Oh, my love,
Oh, it was a funny little thing
To be the ones to've seen
//from "Bridges and Balloons" by Joanna Newsom//
With fate as malleable as clay
But ships are fallible, I say
And the nautical, like all things, fades
And I can recall our caravel
Little wicker beetle shell
With four fine masts and lateen sails
Its bearings on Cair Paravel
Oh, my love,
Oh, it was a funny little thing
To be the ones to've seen
//from "Bridges and Balloons" by Joanna Newsom//
7.8.10
One Red Balloon
Alumni reunion. It's a strange place to be, the campus where you lived, learned, and developed into a fuller representation of Christ on earth. Who are these strangers who call themselves fellow IMPACT students? And yet, I don't really find myself stuck in the past. Something about the bare walls and empty spaces reminds me that this is not home, or rather, not my home. Soon to be someone else's blessing and bursting ground, but not mine.
We've all had a lot of processing and mixed emotions. But in between conversations about the symbolism of the progression of conception, gestation, labor, and birth that so well illustrates IMPACT and beyond for me, what Leah's wedding is going to be like, and whether it's appropriate to sing that prayer changes so my D went to an A+ in chemistry... It's been great. Leah and I have been having a blast, all the way from the hippie side of Chattanooga to a midnight Walmart run that resulted in a tray of cinnamon rolls with the words "Hapy Ema" spelled out in M&Ms on top. There wasn't much space, and her birthday was almost over, so we had to cut a few corners, leave out a few words... Nothing much, y'know.
Of course, there are still two and a half days left, which is plenty of time for me to curl up in a fetal position and try to shut out the world, but that's not as much fun as it sounds. I do plan on sleeping a lot this weekend (sorry, dearly outgoing class of 2009!), so maybe it won't be too brutal.
Speaking of sleep... The sugar rush is wearing off and it's crashing time.
We've all had a lot of processing and mixed emotions. But in between conversations about the symbolism of the progression of conception, gestation, labor, and birth that so well illustrates IMPACT and beyond for me, what Leah's wedding is going to be like, and whether it's appropriate to sing that prayer changes so my D went to an A+ in chemistry... It's been great. Leah and I have been having a blast, all the way from the hippie side of Chattanooga to a midnight Walmart run that resulted in a tray of cinnamon rolls with the words "Hapy Ema" spelled out in M&Ms on top. There wasn't much space, and her birthday was almost over, so we had to cut a few corners, leave out a few words... Nothing much, y'know.
Of course, there are still two and a half days left, which is plenty of time for me to curl up in a fetal position and try to shut out the world, but that's not as much fun as it sounds. I do plan on sleeping a lot this weekend (sorry, dearly outgoing class of 2009!), so maybe it won't be too brutal.
Speaking of sleep... The sugar rush is wearing off and it's crashing time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)