The Path in the Night

It was night. It was dark. It was wet and it was raining. The wind blew through the trees and made the shadows quiver with dread at the storm. The storm that was coming. The night was not inviting, it did not call for lovers to stroll down its streets. It did not summon children to lie beneath its canopy and count its many stars. For the stars were veiled this night, behind the curtains of red, angry clouds, slithering across the rim of the valley.

And yet. Into this night I went. I put on my hat, my scarf, my mittens, two pairs of pants, and a jacket. I was resolved that I would not return to the safety and comfort of my warm well lit home till I had sought out an answer, and found it out in the wild world. So I walked into the dripping outside world, and closed the door behind me.

It was dark and wet and colder than expected, and I was thankful I had brought the scarf after all. And as I walked to the first junction of the road, it came, so very softly upon the midnight breeze. The unction, the pressing, the sudden need in my heart of hearts.

“Go higher. Go farther. Go deeper in.”

So I took the high trail. It followed the wet street like a giant black river, snaking its way down to some eternal dark sea. But I was not going the way towards that sea. No I was going higher, higher up the trail that walked beside the road. And presently as I followed this winding, roaming road, it came to a park, dark and derelict of human presence.

“Go higher. Go farther. Go deeper in.”

My feet obeyed the call as my mind was still processing it. The park was dark. There were no lights to light it. The park was abandoned, at least I hoped it was. What foul, fiendish creature would be about the loathsome park in weather such as this at the hour of night? And yet I pressed on, with fear coiling about my stomach and sending ice into my veins.

But as I rounded the corner of the park’s hedge row, I realized that in fact I was quite mistaken. The park was not unlit at all, but the sepia glow of streetlight and distant homes bled into it from around, creating an umbra of faint gold light that covered the park in soft gilded bronze. There was no human life, nothing stirred all around. There was silence as if even the birds had been plated in bronze and left songless forever.

The park had not changed, but my perspective had altered by rounding the corner. Had I turned back I would have missed the gilded park and its brazen silence. But even as I approached the inviting swing there in the park, merrily offering its service for my relaxation, it came once more.

“Go higher. Go farther. Go deeper in.”

I turned from the swing and looked across the way. The park went on and ended at the black river road. And across that river a trail sprang forth ascended the hill like Jacob’s ladder into the heavens. I turned from the bronze park and walked towards the river. And as I crossed to the other side, once more my gaze fell upon my path before me and I was afraid.

For the way ahead of me was hidden with shadow, and darkness hung over it with thick branches. Surely this could not be the way that I was intended to go. My way was suppose to be marked with light, shining with the same gilded bronze of my park across the river. But even there, as my feet were slowing down, ready to stop and listen to my mind’s reasoning, it came again.

“Go higher. Go farther. Go deeper in.”

And so my feet obeyed and my mind reluctantly yielded. And I ascended into the path that led straight up the mountain. The steep path overhanging with branches hidden in shade. And as I walked the shadows grew deeper and longer. And the fear from before once more took hold of my heart. What stranger could I meet on this way? What lay hidden in the shadows around my next turn? I could not see my path. Was there not suppose to be a promised light unto it? But now I could not see my way, and I knew it would only be a matter of time, before I either stumbled in the darkness, or left the path entirely and became lost.

But then I reached the top of the path, and looked to my left and my right. On my right the path sloped down, and joined the black river road again. It was lit with lanterns and glowed with the soft bronze light that the park had been blessed with. But on my left, the path continued as a straight arrow, a thin long line surrounded on all sides by the larger, darker, branches that hung lower on it. It went higher. It went farther. It went deeper. I did not even have to wait for the urge. I knew which path I would end up taking.

So I turned from the wide, wandering river, and made my way higher up, into the wilder woods. The trees were larger, loomed higher like giants of old, with bramble bushes entangling themselves around the thick trunks. The path, though precise like a blade’s edge, soon seemed to loose sight of the river and its promise of bronze-sepia lights.

But then it happened, when the fear had grown so large, looming over like the branches of the trees around me. When the darkness had grown so thick the path was nowhere to be seen. When all hope died within me and my throat was choked with the hands of fear and I thought I had taken the wrong way. I took the next step and rounded the next tree trunk, and there it was.

Stretching out before me was a side of the northern valley wall, of the valley my town was built in. And down below, the small part of the northern valley I could see, there was scattered among the darkness the lights of many houses all shining as beacons in the darkness. And then I heard the same voice as before, say this time something new.

“Look through the temporary fears that blind you. Look beyond your own small situation. There are more lights out there than just yours. Can you see beyond yourself in order to truly fulfill your purpose?”

“What do you mean? What purpose?” I asked

“Come higher. Come farther. Come deeper in.”

So I turned from the sight off the northern wall and began to follow the trail once more, as it went higher still, deeper in. The darkness was there, but now I could see, as I could not see before, that beyond the lace-veil of dark tree branches, the lights of the valley shone through it all. And then before me, even as I walked through the darkness, a light shone ahead of my way, and I was not afraid any more. And even when I turned and the light could not be seen, I knew that even though I could no more see it, it was still there, still shining and guiding my way.

So I did. I climbed higher. I climbed farther. I climbed deeper into the mountain. I reached the top, where a bridge ran across another black river or perhaps the same one, higher up and closer to its source, but this time I did not set foot in its murky waters. And on the other side I climbed farther and higher until I finally came to the place that the pressing had been pushing me to go. And as I looked out from my vantage point I fell to my knees in awe.

For before me spread out the entire western valley, and it seemed in deed as if the stars had fallen from the heavens into our world. For the red clouds veiled the true stars in their celestial state, and the hundreds and hundreds of houses in the valley each glowed with its window lights. And the street light and car lights and all kinds of lights too, all added to the galaxy upon the valley floor. And in awe I could not move my eyes.

But the pressing, the unction, it bid me turn my gaze. And so I did. I looked to the north, and there now I saw not only a part but all the northern valley lights as well spread out, the roads lined with lights streaking across the dark expanses like serpents of fire. And I looked to the south and there saw the same, going farther still, an ocean of lights as far as the eye could see. And then, my mind began to comprehend.

That those lights were people. Living people. Laughing people. Crying people. Hurting people. People in their bright homes whose souls walked in dark paths. And my heart broke to see so much fear, and pain, and loneliness in the world. And I could not stop myself from weeping. How I wished that my hands were enough to extend to them all. How I wished to bind wounds and hearts and restore light into the dark places. How I longed that they may also know the joy there upon the mountain.

And even as I wept for the hurting, still looking south, the clouds pulled back and I saw the lights continue on, across the distant valley floor, up the valley walls, and over them. And they continued on and on, as more clouds rolled back, until the ocean of stars upon the black earth stretched into an infinite dull glow at the edges of the world. And I bowed my head in wonder, and knew it was too much. Too much for me. Too great for me.

But the pressing in my heart spoke then, directing me to turn as it spoke.

“South, let not the smallness of your lights be scorned, for your lights are many and together shine like the sun upon the sea. Shine and be not afraid of the words against you.”

And then turning to the West, “West, your lights that have grown dim in these days, shall once more shine brightly, each as the sun at midday. And your light will fill the darkness and make even it to be like the day.”

And then looking North, “North, you that have been hidden away by branches and clouds, you also contain a sea of lights, if only your clouds were pulled back. Let your clouds part, let your veil fall back, and let the light no more remain hidden.”

And then I looked to the East, and there before me was a great wall of dark trees, a wall that rose to the ceiling of heaven. And behind this wall a dull glow shone. And so I spoke to the wall as the pressing in my heart of hearts bid me to speak and said, “Wall, let your doors be opened. Let loose the light that has been held captive. No more will it dwell in darkness. Now let it shine forth.”

And it was as if thousands and thousands of curtains of sheer gossamer and silk were pulled back, layer upon layer, pulled back to reveal the glow behind them. For there above the wall in the wheeling cloud banks, there came for the mighty lamp of evening, the moon in all her fullness had come out to light the night from behind the wall. And the skies were transformed; the redness fled from the clouded heavens and were infused instead with the cool blue light of the moon’s halo. A single light changed the atmosphere of all the heavens.

And there in the stillness, in the quiet of evening time, with the chorus of a million raindrops upon a million window panes across the valley, in the quite trickle of millions of waterfalls created in every gutter on every street corner, in the answer of a million wind chimes all shivering under the smooth caress of the evening breeze, there in that place with all creation in awe at the glory of the Creator’s very breath, I brought myself low in the dust in fear.

But it was not fear as I had ever felt before. No fear for my self. No fear for my safety. It was the fear that if I dared look up, the veils of clouds would still pull back till no clouds remained to pull back, and then still they would pull back that which is seen, till it also was parted and That Which Is Not Seen would be revealed and come forth. It was the fear that at any moment, my eyes would see beyond what they were meant or made to see. That at any moment my ears would hear the Word, and that it would tear my soul from my body. The terrifying Power whose very footsteps broke my strength and returned me to the dust from which I was formed, the mud from which I was shaped.

And the only words which could escape my lips at the coming of the Melter of Mountains was this hoarse croak.

“Mercy”

I recalled in my foolish youth, begging and pleading to see the Face of Eternity and to hear the Voice of Truth. Now, in irony, I found myself begging for mercy from these. For even though I longed for it, I now realized how awesome of a gift I had asked for. And my joints were undone and my heart poured out like wax. Who was I that Eternity would see me? And who was I that Truth would turn His face to me?

And so I lay there as one dead until the Presence passed, and the world grew still again and the wind was calm again, and I raised my head up once more. And I sat beneath one of the leafless trees, its branching limbs spreading like veins over me, a web of hundreds of crystal clear drops of rain caught in suspension. And they each reflected and captured and amplified the light of the moon above me, so that a canopy of diamonds was above me. And so I closed my eyes and waited for the Unction once more. For Its still voice I could stand and Its small presence I could endure.

And then It came once more,

“Look back upon your road and what do you see?”

“You led me higher, farther, deeper than I had been. You took me on a path I did not expect, and on a way I could not always see where I was stepping. You took me through my fear in the darkness, and brought me to the place where I could see beyond my questions and my current needs, to see from a different perspective. You turned me towards Your dwelling place, and even from afar it was too much for me.”

“Do you still have your question, now that I am here with you?”

“I think I already have an answer. Your answer. That not all of my path is meant to be seen before I walk down it. But that if I push through my fear I will find that what lies down my path is the Desire of my Heart.”

“And what is your heart’s desire?”

“To go higher. To go farther. To go deeper. To see more.”

“Then let us rise and go.”

Higher

Farther

Deeper

Eversong

O how wonderful are Your ways
And how You bring all things together
How beautiful are our days
Because of Your love that sings forever

You breathe the sun into the skies
And shake the stars like dew from Your mane
Galaxies dances within Your eyes
And all creation shudders with life at Your name

For where coldness has reigned a season
You have come in Your glory against death
Bringing fiery warmth into each leasion
A burning, living, heartbeat with Your breath

This Love, incomprehensible, our minds are undone
That in our darkest hours and acts You still came
And breathed that sacred spirit of life into each everyone
From Hitler to Mother Theresa, You loved each the same

My mind is unmade before You, O Weaver of Reason
My heart is unmade before You, O Breather of Love
My circumstance is unmade before You, Turner of Seasons
So I quiet myself, and look to Your eyes above

Father, have mercy upon my soul
Jesus, I love you, with all my heart I do
Holy Ghost, thank you for making me whole
O God, I wait here, I wait here for You

O how wonderful are Your ways
And how You bring all things together
How beautiful are our days
Because of Your love that sings forever

Questions for the Night

What if you could hear my heart
Beating across the galaxies?
What if you could count each tear
In the oceans I've wept in longing for you?
What if there were words enough
To tell how my soul strives for you daily?
What if you could measure how constantly
I ache for your embrace?
How much longer must bride and bridegroom
Be kept apart by burdensome time?
How many questions more until I make my point?
How much longer can I burn this rhyme...

By the lake again
Wooden house with wide windows
We watch the mist roll
Across the still waters
While birds are silent

Glass hearts
Can hide no secrets
That's why we hid them
Exactly there
While the world looks in

Through these wide windows
Into the empty space
Between the glass panes
Into the quiet air
Between these two panes

The tinkle of crystal
Of glass hearts barely touching
While secretive whispers
Slip through the cracks
The icy sound of silence

Timelessness is so unattainable
We shiver at its very mention
For here in between the window panes
Time cannot breath this quiet air
Here we are safe

But no movement, all is frozen,
To shatter the silent pains
No words can be spoken
Or else we break the spell
And time will invade the sacred

Solid glass remains eternal
And movements remain unmoved
While echoes never spoken
Quiver in this empty air
Between the two glass panes

My Garden

My Garden

Today is a practice in reality. No, not in my normal, provocative rambles on debatable topics of uncertain resolvability. This is merely the fact. And maybe the greater facts that can be distilled and condensed from the facts. But enough of this rhetorical labyrinthine prelude. Let me welcome you to my garden.

The sun burns high in the powder blue sky. It’s not azure. It’s not even cornflower blue. It is powder blue, like the sun drained the usually wet-blue sky of all its precious moisture until it turned into a vacant, dry, blue powder. A blue desert, hot and uncomfortable just to look at. This powder blue sky stretches out thin across the sky until it disintegrates at the edges of the horizon in rippled layers of white that dance in the heat waves.

But most of that rippling horizon is obscured. It is obscured by a wall of deep, forest green leaves. A hedge. It stands thick and tall, circumnavigating this small world with its wide green arms, interwoven branches decked in their evergreen coats. Its top dips and rises like waves on the ocean, like the heads of mighty columns pushing through the green mantle. Inside hide spiders, lady bugs, small birds, and a family of squirrels. They call this place home.

I call this my space. My sanctuary. My garden. I found it, long forgotten and hidden behind its hedged wall. It was wild, with long golden grasses that rose as high as my chest. Birds and squirrels and all sorts of other animals made paths through its rippling waves; small tunnels that crisscrossed this golden world inside the hedge. This is how I found it. Overgrown. Forgotten. Ripe with potential.

It was like our lives, back in the dusty corridors of the past, when we would look over our landscape and see nothing but unmarked potential. Remember the days when you would look over your life and see roads and possibilities spiderwebbing away in all directions. Remember the time, when optimism unmarred by cruel reality blossomed and shot forth the green shoots of ideas in your mind. Remember those long forgotten dreams. What did you want to be when you grew up? Why?

I spent the next year working from early in the morning till sundown. I began by carving a simple path through the garden. It was fall and the long golden grasses were pressed down by the heavy October rains. The smell of the sweet earth and the wet grass and the red leaves of the small maple tree all washed by the rains was intoxicating. The path took several different turns through the decomposing soil, some unexpected. A few unforeseen bumps forced detours. A shallow running streambed caused me to stop until I could build a bridge. But eventually I reached a place where I was happy with the winding paths. We must all carve our paths too until we reach the place were we feel our work is complete.

And yet, my work had only begun. I spent that entire, cold winter, breaking up the hard clay soil which lay beneath. For years, the garden had remained untouched by any human hand, the wild grasses quickly outgrowing all other plants until they were all that was left. Their stalks grew high but their roots were shallow. I tore them up easily. But this meant that the ground had remained unbroken, and had hardened to clay. After pulling them all out, I was left with the daunting task of shoveling the cold, hard clay out, breaking it apart with my shovel, and then mixing it with compost. For days, it was the same repetition over and over. Dig out the hard places, break them apart, mix them with something better so they would not go back the same way. Its amazing what clay garden soil can teach us about the human heart.

While I was digging, I met my enemy. The blackberries. These wild brambles had been encroaching for years, moving slowly forward in their war with the golden grasses. But now that I had cleared the grasses, the blackberry roots that had lain dormant beneath the grass had their opportunity. They began sprouting in pathways, in beddings, in between planks on my bridge. They were everywhere. Once again I grabbed my shovel with my blistered hands and I went to work. Funny how just when you think you’ve beaten something bad, you can always find something worse just around the corner. It may seem like a bleak outlook on gardening (and life) but being aware of that very real potential gives us the power to take initiative action against it.

After I chopped back my first blackberry, I discovered their horrid roots. Buried deep in the hard clay where sunlight had not penetrated for perhaps centuries, they lay like red, shriveled snakes, long and twisting. I decided to act. I dug deeper. Pulled out more clay. I found them and pulled them up and threw them away. But the problem with things like blackberries are that they cannot simply be ignored or hidden away in some secret corner of the garden, otherwise they will find a way and they will break forth and they will spread everywhere. No, the only way to deal with blackberry roots are to pull all of them out from their hiding spots, hang them up in the sun where all can see them until they shrivel up and dry completely, and then burn them. The parallels with sin in our lives is striking. There really is only one effective way of dealing with it.

So I took care of the blackberries in the garden. I chopped back their bushes and pulled up their roots. I broke up the fallow ground and enriched it with compost. But because of the giant evergreen tree that towers over the entire garden, my soil was still too sour. I had done nothing to cause this. I did not plant the tree, but instead the tree had come with the garden and would always be there towering over it. As it stood there it dropped its pine needles all over the soil and sucked the nutrients right out of it. It was a continues process that there was no stopping. The only thing I could do was sprinkle something over my garden. Regularly. And that was something called Bloodmeal.

Now this may sound gross, but when livestock is slaughtered, the blood is collected and dried into a powder. This powder is used by farmers and gardeners to fix a nitrogen deficiency in the soil. Where there is no nitrogen there is no new, green, leafy growth. There is no life without the bloodmeal. And interestingly enough, because the tree continually sprinkles its needles on the garden I must continually cover it with bloodmeal in order for it to grow and prosper. I’ll leave you to connect the dots and analogies there.

So I worked the garden throughout the winter, breaking up clay and snow and ice. I could not allow my garden to become hard or cold during this time or all the beneficial insect and fungi and bacteria in the soil would die and I would have useless dirt. Again, very similar to the human heart, we must also continually work to prevent ourselves from growing too hard hearted or cold, or we loose the very things that give us life, and we become useless to others and to God.

Come spring I was excited. I ordered seeds. I ordered little plants. I got vegetables and fruit and herbs and flowers. I had planned everything perfectly and had placed enough effort into the garden to allow it to grow and prosper. I remember the warm spring day when I went out and with a quiver of excitement made the first hole in the cool, wet, black soil. The seeds were planted with purpose. I didn’t scatter them half-hazard or without intent. Every seed I planted was planted exactly where it was planted for very specific reasons. I planted the pumpkins away from the rest so they their vines would be able to grow where ever they wanted. I planted the lavender along a hillside so that its roots would never be wet or soggy. I planted the corn and the beans together, which thought odd sounding, caused the beans to have something to anchor to as their vines grew, and the corn which feeds heavy on nitrogen, had a plant that actually takes it from the air and places in the soil. The two were an odd couple, but I placed them together for a reason.

Then came the waiting. Few things in life, other than waiting for a bus at a bus stop, can teach you as much patience as those dreadfully slow two weeks. But nothing on earth can describe the amazing joy and hope you feel when you walk out into the garden on that early spring day and you see those bright green shoots barely breaking out of the cracked ground. The rewards that come with patience far outweigh the waiting. It is always worth it in the end.

I watched them grow, the straight grass like shoots of corn. The winding tendrils of the beans. The large, velvety soft leaves of the pumpkin and cucumber. The calendulas came up fast, and within a few short weeks they were blooming in large heads of orange, yellow, red, and bronze. They formed hedges of color around the beds, all the while acting as guards to deter common garden pests. They were only annuals, and so I knew they would die by the end of fall and never come back. But I grew to love them anyway, because no matter how many times I cut of the flower heads, they always kept pushing out more, usually bigger and brighter colored too. They were the epitome of optimism, and their optimism was contagious.

They did die at the end of the summer, and the next spring I was unable to find any more seeds. But that didn’t stop them. Unknown to me, they had sown their own seeds and even to this day, I will find them growing in out of the way corners and unexpected patches. They are like good friends, unexpected gifts you find in unexpected places. And just like good friends, many of whom we do part ways with throughout our lives, the season we have them for is a time to be enjoyed while they’re there, and a memory to be cherished when they’re gone.

Then came my harvest. It was amazing. To think that those small seeds could contain this much abundant life was incredible. Some of them had literally been so small that they were no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence, and yet they had grown into large bushes that still stand to this very day, covered in small, blue, cucumber flavored flowers. Some things did not have the results I expected. The corn was barely as big as my pinkie and was not nearly pollinated enough. But it was beautiful anyway, especially after it was dried and used that thanksgiving as decoration in the house. The pumpkin didn’t make anything but flowers, yet we found out that there are quite a few recipes for stuffed pumpkin blossom (surprisingly good!). In all things, I had done my part and I had harvested, even when the harvest hadn’t been what I expected. But as long as I had kept my mind open, there were a few happy surprises to be found.

That next winter I took care of the garden again, but life got busy and in the spring I did not have time to take care of my garden. I knew I should have gone and weeded it, but I procrastinated. Several months later, the sowing season was past and I finally made time to go to my garden. The beds were covered in weeds. The paths were overgrown with golden grass. The blackberries were back and had taken over the whole streambed. And I could no longer sow, and therefore would not have any harvest that year. Timing is so critical in all areas of life. If we aren’t conscious about our actions as well as their timing, we will miss the windows of opportunity.

So I went back to work, pulling the things out that didn’t belong there. I became obsessive about it. I stayed at a spot for hours pulling out every last weed, making sure not a root was missed. And while that was great, once more my timing was off. I had cleared the garden of all the weeds by winter, but then, the rains came and there was nothing at all left to anchor the nutrients in the ground. It all washed away. Make no mistake, the weeds did not belong there. But while pulling them out root and all was good, I should have cut the roots off and thrown the leaves and stalks back in the soil. Sometimes we want to purge life of all our mistakes. But mistakes serve a great purpose too. They help us retain the good things in life. They help us overcome destructive habits by tasting the consequences. The worst thing we can do is not make a mistake, but make a mistake and not learn anything from it. I learned from my mistake that winter, when I had to build retaining walls around my beds in order to keep the soil from washing away. What is the greatest mistake you have ever made? What do you blame yourself for, the most out of everything in your past? What did you learn from it? What are you still learning from it?

Throughout the years I have worked on and off on the garden. I have come to realize that it will never be finished. There will always be something to do, something to work on, something to plant or something to pluck up. And I’m okay with that. I have also come to realize that the garden can’t be built up in a single season or a single growth year. It is taking years of slowly working the soil, slowly beating down the paths, slowly pulling the weeds. This process is the fun of the garden. It is what makes it alive. I wouldn’t want it any other way. And as I continue on it, my original vision is changing. Where once a lonely bench would have sat, there is now a hedge of lavender, soon to be joined with a carpet of red, creeping thyme to sit on. The vision, like the garden, is ever changing, ever growing, ever expanding, never ending.

Today, I walked back into the garden. The sky is the powder blue I referred to before. The hedges chirp with cicadas and the giant evergreen tree ruffles with playing squirrels. This year I let the garden lie fallow, so that it could have time for the soil to recover. The beds are covered in red clover, bees buzzing lazily as they gather the sweet nectar. The golden grass has sprung up all around, laying low already under the burning sun. Queen Anne’s Lace, a weed that looks like a carrot plant with a long stalk and a white, lace-like head of tiny flowers is mixed in between the golden grass, wasp, white butterflies, and onyx black beetles flying from head to head. Large dandelion heads of feathery seeds are also seen throughout the field like setting, their delicate heads breaking in the wind, carrying the feather seeds on the breeze. Blackberries that have spilled over the streambed banks like a green river hold up sun warmed fruit, just ready to be picked by a bluejay, a squirrel, or me. I stand out here, and I simply breathe.

Did you know each one of those animals are breathing too? Did you know each one of those leaves on each on of those plants are breathing too? Did you know that the fungi in the soil that allows that giant evergreen tree to grow as high as it does by merging with its roots, breathes? Did you know that the ground itself is continually breathes? All of creation breathes in unison and in that way we are all very much alike. We all rely on the Ultimate Breath to sustain us. We are His garden, and He delights to see us bring forth good fruit. Why would we ever deny Him that?

Some people wonder what heaven will be like. I know that for me, heaven will be an untouched spot of ground, no ethereal city or celestial cloud bed. A place where I can dig deep without worry of stone or thistle or thorn or serpent. A place where I can sow blank white seeds and dream new flowers and fragrances and patterns and plants from them. A place where I can build the garden of my heart’s desire, and then take my Heavenly Father by the hand and guide Him through it and show Him every single detail, ever secret corner, that I made for Him. For me, heaven would be a garden.

Why I am not interested in Christian Nonfiction like The Shack or Self Help Books

Why I am not interested in Christian NonFiction or Self Help Books

I am an intellectual person, in that research and study and reading and pondering and seeking out knowledge and wisdom has always been a deep part of who I am. Because of this, people have long thought that I would be interested in all kinds of books relating to intellectual discussion. These have ranged far and wide, from research papers to theological theses to philosophical allegories to self help books. However, time and time again, I have gotten books from people, have read only a small part, and never read them again.

Now, before I continue, if you are one of these people, please do not take this as some kind of angry rant. It’s not. I am thankful to have people in my life who take enough interest my own interests to wish to provide something entertaining and thought provoking or even spiritually uplifting for me. I also understand that often when someone is truly touched, moved, or encouraged by a book, they will be passionate about sharing that experience with others. So, please, understand that this does not come from bitterness towards people or hatred for self help books. This is merely me explaining my personal position, in order to A) answer a question for myself, B) provide meaningful and thought provoking discussion, and C) hear what your opinions are on this topic.

Of all these various kinds of books, the ones I get recommended and handed to me the most are Christian Self Help Books. Even as I write that, the laundry list that comes to mind is staggering. So many books that people have wanted me to read, many of which I have never even cracked the spine of. Why? What do I have against them?

Nothing. These books are fine. Most are reasonably well written, and cover topics which are most definitely relevant to me. So why do I not read them? Because there are two things that any Christian Self Help Book is trying to do. They are either out to convince you to think about life and issues the way they do, or they are there to help you better your own life, either your internal issues or your external relationships.

The first general type is then more theoretical, theological, and philosophical. The problem I have with this is simple: History teaches us that theology and theories have harmed the church more than anything else, marring the bride of Christ, and staining the reputation of the church and of Jesus even to our own day. What am I referring to?

Throughout history, from the very inception of the church, there have been people who have gained spiritual insight and revelation for their lives. But while they were passionate, they were also fools. They insisted that the revelation God gave them specifically, was meant for all, that any who did not agree with them must be false messengers from Satan. They approached life with such a dualistic viewpoint, and they and their followers acted from it. War after war, witch burning after witch burning, crusade after crusade, they desecrated the name of God by taking “Holy Wars” in his name. They were no better then the Muslims who bombed the Twin Towers on 9-11.

So excuse me if I am cautious about following people who claim to have special revelation. I understand that not all are like. In fact, I believe that a large majority of people who write books like these only have the readers’ best interest at heart. I am not saying that all Christian Self Help Books are out to get you to go on a Crusade. What I am saying is that many view their way of approaching or dealing with life as the ONLY way. And that is a dangerous mindset to have.

(Here I should probably add a sidenote that I am not saying that there are many ways to God…. but…. then again, there are many ways to God. In fact, each person has a very unique and special way to God that no other person will ever take. All these ways pass through the cross at some point or another, but they are not all the same way. If you really want to take what I say out of context, I will be giving you SO much opportunity that this will really be my one and only sidenote in my defense. If you have any issues or problems with what I say, please, feel free to voice them in the comments area. I love to hear other opinions because it either helps me come to a better conclusion or strengths the one I already have. Either way, it make me better, so please, let me know where I go wrong. :D )

Anyway, moving right along. The other reason I don’t read theologically or philosophically inclined books is quite elementary. If it’s basic theology, then its something I have probably heard a million times before in Christian school, sermons, chapels, and Max Lucado books. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to mind numbing repetitious phrasing of the same basic phrases and thoughts, ESPECIALLY IF I ALREADY AGREE WITH IT!!!! And, if its not basic theology, and its some kind of strange, out there, new way of looking at and approaching the world, I will begin to argue with the author as I read through it, mainly because the only reason books like it (aka The Shack) are written is to ignite people into arguing about issues. Personally, I find that when I argue about things, when I am aggressive in my pursuit of knowledge, I become closed minded to what other have to say, defensive about what I have to say (irregardless if it is right or not), and in general, my spirit becomes grieved. Why on earth would I want to subject myself to that type of situation? Life is complicated enough already and has enough trials that I do not need to go creating any more for myself. I will not seek out aggression, aggravation, or give myself over to be manipulated by any author. The moment I detect it, I put the book down and take a step back. If it keeps happening, I stop reading the book altogether. Usually, but not always.

That covers the fist type of book. The ones with special knowledge, revelation, or outlook on life that they want to force everyone else to except. Obviously, the Holy Spirit can use the book to speak to a person’s life and bring correction. But the Holy Spirit can also use a sunrise, a billboard on the side of the highway, a commercial for Comcast, or even (God forbid!) a Michael Jackson song. It’s not about the source material, its ALL about our ability to discern the voice of the Holy Spirit in our lives. If we have that, then we can be in the middle of the desert, a million miles away from any written word, and we will read God’s revelation for our lives upon creation itself.

Moving right along, there are the other types of self help books in the Christian community, and I have slightly just touched on them with that last paragraph. The other type is the ones who say that they have knowledge or wisdom to help you either internally work through your own issues inside your own life, or externally work on your issues with other people you encounter. These are actual self help books.

(Okay, I promise this is the last side note, but basically, just have to say, that when you look at the basic premise of these self help books (fix internal/external) you realize that you don’t need any book other than the Bible. In fact, you don’t even need the whole Bible. All you need is two short phrases. Love God with everything you have. Love people like you love yourself. If you can do that, you won’t have any problems internally or externally. And I doubt I have ever met anyone who had even mastered those two simple things.)

As I just pointed out previously, when you are sensitive to the Holy Spirit, then God will reveal the areas in your life that you need to adjust. The amazing thing about the presence of God is that as you drawn near to Him, He draws closer to you, even if you can’t feel it, and when He draws near, the mountains melt, the islands are moved, the heavens roar, and we are rightly put in our place. Or, as one Biblical writer put it, all our righteousness becomes like filthy rags.

When we are actively pursuing God, we will become aware of His presence. The more we are in His presence, the more we realize just how wrong and messed up we are. The more we realize what we are doing wrong, the more we can stop doing it, and begin to do what is right. But once again, this only comes if we are sensitive to the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will warn us when we are about to enter into temptation. The Holy Spirit will plead with us as we are making the decision to sin or not to sin. The Holy Spirit will convict us afterwards when we have sinned and point out exactly where we went off the path. And the Holy Spirit will guide us back to the straight and narrow. All this, and SO MUCH MORE, He is willing and able and waiting to do, and is doing even right now, all we have to do is be able to hear him. All we have to do is listen. Really listen. And if it all happens so organically when we are drawing close to God why would we need a self help book?

But the opposite is true too. If I was not actively seeking God, why on earth would I ever read a Christian self help book? As a Christian, I knew very well when my life is not on track. If I’m not working to fix it, it means I am running away from it, like Jonah. I am aware of what I am doing. I am aware that I am making mistakes and that I am not right with God. And in that place, I know that a Christian self help book would only convict me back on the right track. So why would I read it if I am purposely trying not to think about God?

So if my relationship with God is good, there is no need for a Christian Self Help Book. If my relationship with God is bad, there is no way I would read it. Therefore, a Christian self help book serves no purpose in my life. Maybe it’s different for other people. I can understand and respect that. But for me, personally, I prefer not to drink rock filtered, fluoride added, flavored water. I would much rather drink deep from the sweet, fresh, pure source, untouched by the taint of human thought or emotion. I would rather get insight directly from the Holy Spirit, in a way that is specifically applicable for what I am personally going through at this exact moment in time. I would rather have the Holy Spirit’s constant prodding and direction in orchestrating my life every second of every day, than have a manual telling me what I already know, that I forget as soon as I close its back cover.

But as I said before, these are all simply my opinions and how I understand the world, both the physical and the spiritual, to work in regards to my own life and my own journey. Maybe you see things differently. Maybe you have experienced different results and different feelings. Please, share them. I won’t make fun of you. I won’t ridicule or insult you. I probably won’t even respond to your comment. But if you don’t voice how you feel, then there may be errors that go uncorrected in my life and the lives of those who read this. And if no one disagrees with me on anything then it means I must be perfect and have a perfect understanding of this, which I most definitely am and do not. So, how do you personally feel about Christian Self Help Books?

Fools in our Lives

"Go from the presence of a foolish man when thou perceivest not in him the lips of knowledge." - Proverbs 14:7 (KJV)

"[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." I Cor 13:7-8a (NKJV)

We all have them. Those friends, family members, or coworkers who are always making one bad decision after another. You know their kind: the ones who make decisions without thinking of the consequences, who live life as if the moment was all the existed, who regularly say and do things which are completely moronic and have no idea that they do. They are the ones who make Type B people look bad. They are what the Bible calls, fools.

Now, there's nothing wrong with a little foolishness now and again. Finding joy out of simplicity is one of the ways in which we, as humans, cope with the constant stress of actually being alert to our actions and words and their effects on others. The key difference is that for a fool, that foolish behavior and lack of foresight, has become such an integral part of who they are, that it is the source of their identity. They are not called the "farmer who does foolish things" or the "son who acts foolishly", they are called "fools" because that has become the entirety of their identity.

At this point, you probably have some names floating around in your head. I know I'm doing my best not to and still have them there. That is another consequence that being a fool has, and that they are so blissfully unaware of, that everyone they encounter can plainly tell that they are fools and that it will work to sabotage their lives and futures. In the long run, there really are no benefits that arise from being a fool.

So the question then becomes, how do we respond to these fools in our lives. Their actions set them on a course that leads to disaster. The Word makes it clear over and over again that the paths of fools leads to poverty, wickedness, and destruction. What are we, as Christians, suppose to do about them?

The Bible is interesting in that it provides two answers to this, the above verses. And like so many things in life that are more complicated than we truly realize, at first glance, it would seem that the two contradict each other. The one verse is a summation of the entire book of Proverbs, and any book of wisdom in the Bible (James, et al) which states that those who are wise should not waste their time on the fools. The other verse sums up what could be considered to sum up the books of grace (Pauline Epistles, Psalms, et al) when it states that our love for others should endure and bear all things. This presents a dilemma.

It is infinitely wiser to abandon a fool for the simple reason that they walk a different path than the wise. It is the same principle of being unequally yoked in any labor. A fool will waste a wise individual's time, and wasting time is one of the worst things we can do, since time is one of our most precious resources here on earth. The Bible talks a lot about "cast[ing] pearls before swine" and giving the "children's bread to the dogs", essentially, giving something of value to those who will never appreciate the value of it. A fool will waste your time, energy, and resources and will never even think about it. And that is only the beginning. Fools not only bring destruction into their own lives, but those around them as well. A wise person should follow the advice of Solomn when he says, "depart from a fool when you realize he lacks knowledge."

And yet, through all of these things, love can persevere. Love suffers for a very long time at the hands of the fools and is still kind to them. Love is not puffed up in its own conceited wisdom, and so does not think evil of anyone. Love reaches out to those who need it the most, regardless of their situation, position, or past. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Love stems from a root of grace, and so has grace for all. Love conquers all.

So which do we do then? Are we to love people regardless and persevere with them, or are we to recognize a fool for a fool, and depart from their ways which lead to destruction? Which path do we take: the path of wisdom or the path of love? In many places in scripture the two paths do diverge strongly. When one loves somebody, the way God loves them, you cannot help but be moved to some form of action. That is true love. Yet often the actions that are the fruit of love, are contradictory to what would be a wise use of time/energy/resource/life. God calls us to love but He also calls us to wisdom. So which is the better path then?

Like many things in life, the answer cannot be computed down to a simple binary yes/no. The Word talks often about loving someone enough to NOT interfere, to allow some chastisement to come into their life. Even God does it to us, allowing us to bear the consequences of some of our actions so we may learn from them and grow closer to Him. And similarly, when we have true wisdom, we cannot help but be moved to compassion when we gain understanding of the circumstances that often make a person a fool. No one truly chooses to be one. So we see that the situation is more complex than simply picking a path.

If we were to choose just one method of dealing with a fool, we would ourselves descend into foolishness. Essentially, most things, when kept in moderation and administered within the bounds of God established institutions, are beneficial to humans. It was not for naught that God said, "It is very good" when He was finished making the earth. What makes a fool is essentially their decision to overindulge in foolishness, until it becomes their very identity. They are out of balance. But to choose only one method of addressing them (as the problem), is equally as foolish.

The reason for this is simple. To live in our temporal world is to change. We equate life with it. Yes, there is still a measure of constance and endurance in many things, but one of the most sure things we are certain of on earth is that things always change. The best and most applicable example of this are the seasons. As they change, the world changes with them in their constant pattern. So also, we go through various seasons in our lives, and our fools go through seasons in their lives. Recognizing this is essential in deciding how to address them.

There will be times when we will have to take steps to help them, even when we feel we do not want to. There will be times when we will have to step back, even when we desperately want to intervene. God uses them and uses their situation in our lives to grow us, but only as long as we remain sensitive to His word. Sometimes He may ask us to do teh unwise thing, to allow them into a place in our heart and trust them in a way where they have let us down and hurt us before. As hard as it is, love keeps no record of wrongs. And that same love that drives us to take action, must sometimes be tempered with wisdom to recognize that inaction can be a form of action in and of itself, as a method to wait and let the Lord do what we cannot. In all of this, God dictates the seasons and God will dictate the path that we must take during it. Staying sensitive to His word and His will is what will ultimately guide us to the place where wisdom and love are united in our lives and in our actions.

"Call to me and I will answer and show you great and unsearchable things which you have not known." - Jeremiah 33:3 (NIV)

On Pacifism

On Pacifism

Pacifism, as an idea, as a concept, as a creed and a standard and a life defining principle, is essentially a reaction to war. Therefore, in order to understand pacifist and their reasoning one must first understand war and its reasoning. Only by grasping what pacifism is reacting to can one understand why it advocates for the things it does, why it has gained so much popularity, and why some individuals feel threatened by it.

War is a type of conflict, and therefore, before a full understanding of war can be grasped conflict must first be defined and understood. The reason why people, especially Christians, have an instant emotional reaction against pacifism often arises out of this failure to understand the nature of conflict.

Throughout human civilized history and society, there has existed an ideal tranquility or harmony that all civilized societies strove to reach. The ancient Egyptians named it Ma’at, the concept that there was a divine order that society needed in order to function. To abandon this concept of order, was to abandon civilization and would lead to chaos and uncertainty. This ordered, structured, societal neutral medium called civilization consists basically of the idea that one looks to one’s own (tribe/household/family/self) while allowing others to do likewise without interference.

However, this ideal structure of society begins to fall apart when one’s own interest or gain, comes at the expense or in competition, with that of another. This is the birth of conflict. Within all conflict there exists these two parties. The Initiator, is the party that decides to challenge the status quo of the ideal structure, and therefore strives to affect and change that. The second party, however, is just as vital to the creation of conflict, the Reactionary. The Reactionary is the kindling to the spark of the Initiator. Reactionaries may simply uphold the status quo, or be challengers of it as well, but in a manner in contest with the Initiator. Without either of these there is no conflict.

Since conflict is composed of these two parties, there then develops three ideal forms of conflict resolution. In the Socratic Model, both parties involved in conflict approach it with the intent of reaching a common ground/goal/good. In his model, Socrates implied that conflict should be aimed at reaching a resolution in which both parties “win”. This form of conflict resolution, the “win-win” form, often takes the most time and effort, things humans loath to part with, and so, is not commonly found in historical endeavors for resolution of conflicts.

In the Common Model of resolution, one party gains victory while the other is left to defeat. This is by far the most commonly used conflict resolution strategy as it takes less time, less effort, and allows for more aggression. The common form has often been the immediate response of humanity, because of the inherit selfishness of human nature, to simply demand or force ones own right or way, without thought or regard to the state of others/competitors/rivals. However, this form of conflict resolution is not particularly stable, as often the “loosing” party will not accept the “winners” new status quo and therefore, the “loosing” party will become Initiators in another conflict. This is clearly seen with the end of WWI, in which the Allied demands attached to the Treaty of Versailles not only drove the formation of the Axis power, but actually led to the rise of Hitlter’s power and then WWII. Therefore, the common model is prone to instability, although it is still the preferred method of conflict resolution.

The final model of conflict resolution is essentially war. During war, both parties, Initiators and Reactionaries, go into the conflict expecting to loose money, resources, and lives. When war is chosen as a model, it appears that its result is similar to the Common Model, “win-loose” but in fact, in war, there are no winners. Both Initiators and Reactionaries loose when war is the medium of conflict resolution. The reasoning behind it is as follows.

Firstly, during a war, lives are lost. There have been very few bloodless battles in history, and no bloodless wars, at least in what constitutes a war. Even the loss of a single life to a nation, people, tribe, group, or clan is disadvantageous. That one individual’s potential to aid society and humanity has been cut short. While it’s true that most soldiers would not end up being the next Socrates, Galileo, Leonardo Da Vinci, or Shakespeare, there is no certain way of guaranteeing that they aren’t. All individuals who have added to human culture and humanity as a whole have been just that, individuals. Therefore, the loss of a single individual, while often considered minute, may in fact be the greatest loss a society, people group, or nation suffers. Many great writers, painters, poets, philosophers, thinkers, inventors, sculptors, and engineers have all had military service, and had they been killed in battle, their life’s work would not have been left for us today.

In relation to this, there has never been a time when the cost of war was only felt by the Initiators and Reactionaries. The cost of war, emotionally, physically, mentally, and developmentally has always impacted spectators, civilians, bystanders, children, and those who had no part in the conflict. Children especially have suffered because of war. Whether they have been the children of soldiers killed in battle, left to grow up without a parent, or the children who are raped, killed, enslaved, tortured, or brutalized as “spoils” of war. While many societies have attempted to curb this cost on the innocent with codes of war (Samurai code, Chivalric code, Geneva Convention, etc.) historically their attempts have failed. Even today that is clearly seen in the “spoils of war” that American troops collected when they took over the Abu-Grebe prison and its political prisoners, many of whom were Christians who had been sent there by Saddam Hussein. The impact of war on children has further repercussions, as they are then desensitized to violence at a young age and brought up in a culture in which war and revenge are then portrayed as the socially acceptable means of conflict resolution. This then leads to further wars, and creates a never-ending cycle.

This illustrates another aspect in which the War Model of conflict resolution fails. All conflict is meant to have an end. The purpose of conflict is goal orientated, namely, for either one or both parties to change the status quo and thereby become “winners”, by attaining a different status quo or reaching a place where the current status quo is now acceptable. Whoever, because of War’s affect in creating two sides who both feel the status quo is unacceptable, this makes war endless. Current conflicts in North and South Korea, as well as in Pakistan, Afganhistan, Darfur, Sudan, and Iraq all illustrate this, as they have no foreseeable end. In the example of the War in Iraq, the more the war goes on, the more the militant forced in Iraq are justified in their struggle and the more they fight. The more of them the US kills, the more their children take up arms against the US in retaliation. The more US soldiers they kill creates a greater sympathy for the war, and justifies it in the political system and the general public’s eye, thereby increasing troop numbers. Theoretically, the only way for a war to actually end is for one side to completely wipe out the other side, thereby establishing their dominance without leaving anyone that can retaliate. Obviously, this is not an acceptable model of conflict resolution.

Even historically, wars have been endless. An example is the war between the English and the Irish, which is still going on from its inception in the early 12th century. It has been officially declared and officially ended time and time again, however, neither side has ever reached a place of forgiveness, and instead retaliation and revenge by the unacceptable status quo enforced afterward has caused its most recent incarnation, the Irish Troubles, to end with an uneasy peace and a renewal of conflict soon afterwards. Like all other wars, this 800 year long war has found most of its casualties in the form of innocent civilians.

To return to the larger issue, many people have ideas that all conflict is either good or bad. To believe that all conflict is good, means that peace and tranquility is undesirable. To believe all conflict is bad, means that submission and injustice must be tolerated. Neither of these situations are acceptable, because neither of them come from an understanding of what conflict is. As shown above, there are many forms of conflict, some more desirable and affective than others. Conflict comes from humans and so it has the very human nature to be either good or bad, depending on how it is used.

Conflict can end oppression. Conflict can heal old wounds. Conflict can actually be the vehicle for greater peace, understanding, and love in a society. However, conflict can bring death, destruction, misunderstanding, great harm, great injustice, great oppression, and great hate. Conflict is neither good nor evil. To turn to conflict as an answer to all problem or to shun its use completely are both foolish ways of using it. Conflict is a tool. It is up to humanity to decide whether to build bridges or break heads with it.

War is a type of conflict in which there is no resolution. War is a type of conflict in which there is no healing. War is a type of conflict in which neither party is, as Socrates put it, searching for common understanding and mutual enlightenment to understand a problem and overcome it. War is a cheap out with a great expense. War is the easy path, which leads to suffering that never ends. War is by nature, not a good form of conflict resolution.

That doesn’t mean that there have not been some good side affects of war. Wars have general increased nationalism, which in some areas have led to increased culture and art, though heavily influenced by propaganda and government censorship. Wars have also stimulated economies which were on the verge of self destruction. However, in the current global economic market, that is no longer a viable way of economic reform, as wars no longer increase production, only expenses. Wars have at times temporarily alleviated the human situation, as found at the end of WWII, with the stop of Hitler’s eradication of the Jewish, disable, immigrant, homosexual, and Christian sections of European population. However, wars are at their core profit, not principle, motivated. As for alleviating the human situation, other forms of conflict have shown much greater progress with lasting change, such as the boycotts of the civil rights movement in the USA, or the hunger protests led by Ghandi for Indian Independence.

For all these reasons and many more, War is not a rational decision to make. For something to be a purely rational decision, the benefits must outweigh the costs. There are very few benefits that come from war, and even less that have lasting impact. The true cost of war is incalculable in that the effects and repercussions of wars last for generations. Even just a purely financial cost for wars is uncountable, in the amount of potential economic stimulus lost by the lives lost, brain drain affect by lives lost and defectors during war time, and resources depleted with minimal or no gain. And then that is just the beginning, as future conflicts that arise from the treaties made at the end of wars in order to cover part of the massive expenses then lead to further wars whose expenses can then be traced to that war and should be included as a cost of that war. Some people may quip at the “money wasted by NGOs such as the UN” but compared to the cost of war, it is a very minute price to pay. War is an irrational decision as the cost is just too great.

While war is irrational, it is also not simply an emotional reaction. Emotionally, war is traumatic. War is brutal. It involves massive amounts of death, carnage, destruction, hatred, anger, aggression, fear, and repression. Emotionally, war is one of the unhealthiest things a person can do. Those leaders who start wars no longer take part in them, for a very good reason. They need the emotional distance to make the decision they make. If they knew each soldier they sent into battle personally, and had to watch as they died, they would probably commit suicide or go insane. From a psychological stand point, in order to “make” a soldier who can act under the pressure of war and deal with the amount of emotional trauma that any normal, healthy, human would experience during battle, the person’s mind, will, and emotions must be completely broken down and rebuilt so that they see the entire world from a dualistic paradigm, therefore breaking down where they may question what is right and wrong, and on a mental level, giving them the same kind of psychological barrier to face reality that is found in serial killers. They perform essentially the same activities, and require the human mind to be insulated in the same way otherwise they would not be able to carry out their acts. This is not to perjorate soldiers, but to show that aside from those mental barriers of dualism, which say that anyone who isn’t on my side is my enemy and is evil and deserves to die, the only type of human being who would be able to wage war would be a psychopath or sociopath whose mind is already unable to register empathy or human suffering. War is therefore not emotionally acceptable to healthy human beings either.

If war is neither logical nor emotionally driven, then why do individuals go to war? Many have postulated that it seems to be the only answer humanity has had for a long time. Since ancient Egyptian times, when they worshiped the tranquil order or Ma’at, humans have viewed war as being a last resort of sorts, when all others fail, in order to preserve ourselves, our culture, and our tranquility. War has been labeled a necessary evil in order to preserve the greater good. In tribal or Abrahamic times, this may very well have been the case, that people had no other choice but to choose violence as a means of self defense and self preservation. However, during those times people also trekked from place to place in a nomadic lifestyles, herded goats, lacked toilets and toilet paper, did not brush their teeth, married at young ages, died at younger ages, killed girl children when they wanted sons, had none of our modern conveniences, could not read, and in general lived and functioned much differently then we do today. To justify war based on tribal times would be equivocal to justify infanticide based on those same practices at those same times. Humanity is set apart from animals in that we progress. We are not the same we were 2,000 years ago, or 200 years ago or even 20 years ago. Why should our method for dealing with conflict remain the same?

Pacifism may be taken too far in some cases, with people who will not allow any kind of conflict. However, that is not true pacifism. That is simply a person who struggles with people pleasing and who wants to make everyone happy. A pacifist knows there are times to be an Initiator of conflict, but that they will remain in control of the conflict they initiate, that they will not allow it to progress into a lesser form of conflict resolution. They seek to allow not only themselves to benefit from the resolution, but everyone, the Reactionary and even non-participants. A true pacifist see the need to take their eyes of their own situation and circumstance, and understand the other parties involved in the conflict too. A pacifist draws a wider circle around themselves, taking care not only of their own, but of everyone. We are not tribal anymore. We build larger buildings that last longer. We have larger cities that look grander. We make larger plans for the distant future. Can we not, then, take a larger view when it comes to conflict? Can we not recognize that everyone is human? That everyone wants to win? That everyone wants that Ma’at, that peace? There was a time when this was merely a dream. But no more. We have the UN. We have ambassadors. We have cultural ties. We have no more excuses to go to war.

A Note on Christians and Pacifism

From a Christian stand point, there is even further evidence of the need for pacifism. While the Old Testament was full of warriors who killed the enemies of God, we find in the New Testament that our weapons are not carnal but meant to cast down spiritual strongholds. We wrestle not against flesh and blood but against spiritual things. Make no mistake, there is a time for peace and a time for war, but that time for war is a spiritual war when we are called to step out and take authority and break the strongman, e.g. Satan and his forces. Even in the Old Testament times, God said that David could not build His house because he was a man of bloody hands. Jesus commands us to love our enemies, bless them that curse us, and do good to those that despitefully use us or persecute us. We are commanded to turn the other cheek, to forgive, to love. The Early Church, which was suppose to be the closest example of what Jesus wanted the church to be like, would pray for and love their persecutors even as they were persecuted. They did not fight back. They submitted. They loved. They died. And there were added thousands to their numbers daily because of it. The Bible makes it clear, he who lives by the sword will die by it. Even if the world does not accept pacifism, we as Christians should, as it was one of the clear principles established not only by the New Testament writers but by Jesus himself. All of the reasons for war are discredited by the Bible. We are not to take revenge because vengeance is our Gods. We are not to defend ourselves because the glory of the Lord will be our rear guard. We are not to worry about tomorrow, what it will bring or how we will defend ourselves because the Lord our God, Jehova-Jireh will provide a defense. And as Paul writes, we are to have a perspective that to live is Christ and to die is gain. Not that we are to seek death (especially in warfare) but that we are to keep that perspective that life is temporal and loving people is the only thing that lasts. One of the key emotions that justifies war is fear. God has not given us a spirit of fear but of love, power, and a sound mind. A sound mind, as has been shown above, would not accept war. The Bible makes it clear, war and violence are two things that came to the cross and did not go through it. They are part of an older system that we need to leave at the cross and instead pick up love, forgiveness, and the peace of the Lord which surpasses all understanding.

Beautiful

You are so beautiful
This I know for sure
Even though I have never
Really seen Your face
But actually I have
I have seen your Eyes
In the shining night
I have heard Your voice
In the lightning's peal
I have felt Your arms
In the sun's warm rays
I have seen Your smile
In the beautiful sunset
I have hear Your breath
In a butterfly's wingbeat
I have felt Your hands
In the rain running over me
I have seen Your laugh
In the laugh of a child
I have seen Your face
and You are truly beautiful

Prayers

God grant us mercy in this new season
When waves of life crash down for no reason
God grant us grace for this coming decision
Open our eyes, give us Your vision.

God grant us patience for the coming trials
So our loves may endure through all of the miles
God grant us wisdom when we reach the junction
To hold on or let go; to follow Your every unction

God grant us Your love, unfailing, victorious
So we may pass through the storms that lay before us.
God grant us Your peace, with the paths we then choose
And the things that we gain, and the things that we loose.

God grant us Your Spirit in the coming fire
For Your face alone is our only desire.

Vision

And then I woke up. It had been a horrible dream, one I simply couldn’t shake. Its meaning danced upon the edges of my mind, and yet I could not comprehend. Slowly rising, the stifling hot air of the room enveloped me as I drifted to the door. But as I reached to open, a nock sounded from the other side. Before I could ask, the voice answered me.

“Did you figure it out yet?”

The door flew open and a dozen hands grabbed me from the void of the stairwell. I knew, quite certainly, that any moment my head would contact the solid brick wall that was just outside the door. I prepared myself for the pain, for the impact, for the coppery taste of blood. But there was none. Instead, I stumbled dumbly into a dark room, with a single white beam of light shining down from above it. Illuminating something. A chair?

I walked to the chair. It was an ordinary chair. It had a single cushion of indescribable colour, and was carved of wood or perhaps iron that was painted. I felt that I should sit on the chair. That it was my purpose for being there. To sit. But why? I would not know till I sat, I reasoned. So I did. I sat. And then it all happened.

The world opened up as a flower or the wings of a quivering butterfly, sights, sounds, feelings, scents, colors, touches, songs, words, heartbeats, all enveloping my soul in an instant. The stars fell from the sky, the earth rose up and bellowed, all of creation in a single, wild, frantic echoing roar. And then it was all gone.

A sharp breath. Ten million angels fastened their eyes upon me. The spreading, bleeding world of colors was replaced by a single table. No, not replaced. As I squinted and peered at a single grain on the table, I could just barely make out the ends of the universe, dancing there. No, I had increased in size, or at least, my perspective had. What was I seeing now then?

A single table. A single chair, which I still sat upon. A single plain stretching on and on upon the tabletop, beginning at the word “Light” and ending in infinity. A rather short distance, I realized. And in between those two close points was a square. A single square that had been divided into many more squares. There was a pattern. White. Black. White. Black. White. Black. And on and on it went. It reminded me of something I had seen before. A game. A diversion. Life?

There were pieces on the board. They moved. They turned. They shook. They cried. They bled. They lived. They died. They moved again. They built castles and tore them down. They took thrones and gave them back. They broke hearts and burned bridges and built bigots. I watched in astonishment. So this was how it all happened. This was it?

“No” said one of the pieces to me. “Some of us move where we want. Some of us move were we can’t and fall from the table top into oblivion. A soul lost into oblivion is a despondent thought indeed. But look, there are other movers and soon this board will be transformed.”

And so it was as the piece spoke. The board shook. The board broke and was sundered thoroughly. The pattern fell apart and the lines came together and instead of a board there were two paths, a black and white one. And they intersected only once. It was a big cross roads. I felt as if I had seen it all before. Had I?

And there at the crossroads I saw five pieces. A queen and her king. A lonely knight. A despondent bishop and his loyal pawn. They were all standing at the cross roads. The world began to fade, the colors returning as the dawn breaks upon the grey twilight light. And the figures made their decisions. Fires burned. Waters froze. Earth broke. Lightning bit. Wind stopped. Stars fell. People died. Trees burned. And all turned to ash at the rising of the Sun. Or was it merely my eyes opening?

And then I woke up. It had been a horrible dream, one I simply couldn’t shake. Its meaning danced upon the edges of my mind, and yet I could not comprehend. Slowly rising, the stifling hot air of the room enveloped me as I drifted to the door. But as I reached to open, a nock sounded from the other side. Before I could ask, the voice answered me.

“Did you figure it out yet?”

Life

All the world's a mirror
All people wear blindfolds
All the sky is pale grey
All the sunset grow so cold

Who will dare to listen
Who will dare to do
To take off these weary facemask
And see the reality of you?

No one likes to see the truth
No one likes to know their lies
Yet finding true fulfillment
Starts with opening our eyes

To see our lives for what they are
To see the hearts behind our hands
To follow the threads of reason
Into our past, those cold and distant lands

Who will dare to listen
Who will dare to do
To take off these weary facemask
And see the reality of you?

Follow threads of raw emotion
To the secret place of pain
From where springs wrath and envy
From where you flinch at a name

Why do you do what you do?
Why do you seek that one thing?
Why have you still not gotten it?
When will your life truly begin?

Dare to find the secret pain
Hidden deep within your soul
Dare to seek and find a way
To heal the wound and become whole

The things you do without thinking
The things you think without just cause
These are the triggers the subtle hints
They should be considered, take a moment and pause

Find them out in the dark places
Bring them to the glorious light
Let healing and forgiveness enter
Do not resist it, do not fight

When you know why you do what you do
Then you can decide to stop of keep going
But either way, with more self discovery
You'll feel yourself start growing

So look, look, follow those clues
Find them, in your past's dark halls
Expose them to the light of truth
And no longer answer their silent calls

Take charge of your life
Live each day for your King
Laugh loud, run fast, breathe deep
And learn, with all your heart, to sing

Night Rain

Sighs and thoughts
Intrude my solitude
They press upon me
Like the humid air
They beg and plead
For too many answers
While my coffee gets lower
And lower with the sun
But the promising clouds
Lie to the parched air
And shed no tears
Instead pressing harder
Upon my cup
Of bitter black coffee
Getting lower and lower
As the night draws near

The world is warm
Stifling, unbearable
And all the air begs
For the release of tension
But still no wind
…Nor drop…
Nor arch of lightning
Nothing to slice
The concrete atmosphere
The tension degrades
Into complacent decay
Festering corpse words
And expectant weariness
The world waits silently
Holding its breath
While my coffee gets lower
And lower…
and lower…

But still nothing
Still there is nothing
Nothing! Nothing. Nothing…
And now my cup
Stands alone and empty
I peer beyond the rim
And catch a single glimpse
The universe swirls inside it
For a second, for a second
I see my self
Looking into a cup
Without any coffee
Watching myself
Watch myself

And then there was light
And with it came too
Understanding and remembrance
And the eyes to see
The world from the view
The right view
And the View of views
Whose view of my cup
Was running over still
With the rains of the night

Are We There Yet?

“Daddy! Are we there yet?!?” whined the 6 year old boy as he placed two chubby hands on the window, eyes wide at the cars passing by.

“We’re almost there. Just a little while more.” The father smiled as he looked into the rearview mirror.

The silver mini van wound along the neat rows of houses and trees. They turned onto a main street and gained speed, the signs and trees and parks passing faster. The sun slowly slipped behind a row of cumulous clouds, dipping the world in shadow.

“Are we there yet?” he asked sighing overtly.

“Just wait a bit more. Be patient.” The father answered as he turned onto another road.

They drove further on, gaining more speed, as the clouds gave a slow rumble of thunder. The gentle patter of large raindrops on concrete turned into a soft hush of cascading rain. The wipers on the window whined slightly as they whipped the rain off onto the wet road.

“How much longer do I have to wait! This is taking forever.” The boy groaned as he leaned back in his seat.

“We’re so close, and we’ve haven’t been driving for that long.” His father spoke gently.

“But its almost been a whole ten minutes!” the boy moaned as he traced raindrops along the window with his finger.

They drove further, faster along the freeway as the rain kept coming down harder. The car pulled off of the freeway and back onto the crisscross of roads and side streets. As they pulled up to a red turn signal, the father heard the boy cry out.

“Dad! Dad! Dad! The roads getting so full of water! We’re gonna be flooded away! We have to go!”

“Calm down, we’re still safe. Don’t worry. We’re gonna be fine.”

“You don’t understand!” he cried as he looked out on the rising water running past the car.

They sat at the red light, the son watching the water intently as the father kept an eye on his son and the red light. He knew they were safe, that they weren’t in any danger. But trying to explain that to his 6 year old son, that wouldn’t be easy.

“How long is this light gonna take!? Why are we still sitting here?”

“Patience. The light will change any second.” The father said as he watched the traffic speeding across the intersection.

As they sat there, the road seemed quiet in the pouring rain. The son looked from the waters to his father and then to the light and the road. There weren’t any cars. Maybe the light was broken. Maybe his father didn’t see the water. They should go, they should just drive, he thought.

Just then there was a screech of tires as a car full of unruly teenagers rushed through the intersection, wheels spinning wildly as their loud music reverberated throughout the road. The son caught his breathe, the father only smiled, as if he had seen it coming.

“Daddy, how much longer do we have to wait?” the son asked almost in tears. “We’ve been sitting here for soooo long.”

Just then the lights changed, the rain stopped, and the turn signal changed to green. They turned slowly and the son looked back. He saw the ocean that had threatened them just a few minutes before. And he realized it was nothing more than a puddle. And he saw his father smiling ever so slightly.

They drove on as the sun came back out and sparkled off the raindrops like a million diamonds. The air was fresher and clearer and the world felt new. The son saw a bluebird flying along the car, watched the wings and feathers so closely he didn’t notice the car stopping till the father said,

“Alright. We’re here.”

I See It. I Think I Do.

I see it. I think I do.
Barely.
Hovering on the very edges
Of Reality
Your hand. Your heart.
Your plan all along.
I think, I might, just barely
See it.
Caught a glimpse.
Of something divine.
Some kind of plan
Or purpose.
Touching. Breathing,
Barely there.
Hovering on the edges.
The edges of reality
And my life.
How You fashioned my heart
And set the time.
How You made the call
And called me in.
How You planned it all,
This is Your plan,
Isn’t it?
Was Your call, wasn’t it?
Why will not be asked
You planned
Your hands hovering
Barely touching
Your breath
Whispering desires in secret of
Night.
Sweetest night.
Enclosing night.
Night of nights when all was cool
And sweet and night
But now the sun has
Harshly shone
And I feel alone
But Your guiding hands
Still hover right there
Barely above
My life.
Shaping, forming,
Using all of this.
To make me more
Like You.
So hover on,
Breathe on
Touch on
Break on
Move on
Just be on
And in
And by
And with
And there
here
with
me
so
I
can
see

The Cup of Trembling

Your hand reaches out to swat at the dusty “snooze” button on the old clock as the beeping fills the quiet room. Straining to get it, you finally open your eyes and peer around at the pre-sunrise blue light that cascades through the half open blinds of your room. Groaning you roll out of bed, fumbling through the scattered clothes to reach the plug. You see the square, red glowing numbers right before they blip away: 6:03 am.

Suddenly the time hits home. You slept in. You have to get ready. You’re late. Rushing to the bathroom, you think twice and decide to forgo the shower, opting for a fresh shirt, a smear of deodorant, and your jeans from last night. Four hours of sleep are not enough for a growing fifteen year old boy. But you have to leave right now, no time to meditate on sleep or lack thereof.

A few minutes later and clean, manicured, suburban Beaverton falls away to miles of weaving, snaking highway. You catch a glimpse of the sunrising through the clouds, beams hitting the pink windowed Bancorp building just right. But there’s no time to enjoy the scenery. You’re late. The freeway flows like tributaries of a river into I-84 and you speed along till you reach the right exit. Northeast Portland is dirtier, dustier, older feeling with narrow streets meant more for horse drawn buggies than for the Ford F150 rumbling along them. But finally you make it, and with time to spare. Tired as you are, you have arrived for day two of Generation Unleashed.

Every year for the past 14 years the church has been hosting the youth conference, now one of the largest on the West Coast. What started out with only 200 people has now grown to nearly 9,000 people attending the three day event. As you pull into the parking lot of the church, you see several rows already filled with cars. But they aren’t here to enjoy the conference. Like you, they are here to make it happen. At least, you think to yourself, some of them are here to make it happen.

Of the roughly 120 people that volunteer at the conference, almost two thirds of them are Portland Bible College students. They volunteer in order to get enough community service hours and church service hours in order to graduate. Since almost all of them live on campus, they don’t have to rush or get there early. In fact, they won’t be up for another 45 minutes, you think with disgust. They aren’t like the core group, the other third, about 40 people who volunteer, not for their own selfish, educational reasons, but because they believe that the conference can change people’s lives. That would be you, you think, getting out of the truck and walking towards the church.

The church building is odd, you realize, while walking towards the row of glass doors that lead to the lobby. Two round, domes that are located on Rocky Butte, situated perfectly where they can be seen by all who are driving from Portland International Airport, they were once white, but after the umpteenth inquiry about what scientific experiment was being carried on up there, they were painted a tanish color instead. Inside, a turquoise carpet spills across the large lobby which, just a few hours ago, was packed with 4,692 hot, sweaty, bodies waiting to get in the doors of the main auditorium. But as you walk towards the doors of the main auditorium, you turn to the right instead, running up a flight of stairs and turning right to the “staff lounge”.

The staff lounge is nothing more than a children’s ministry room that’s been emptied of its play structures and toys, and filled with a couple of couches in one corner and several tables in the middle, surrounded by metal foldout chairs. The room itself is odd, the bright primary colored wall on the right side curving downward; it is after all the edge of one of the domes. At the other end, rectangular tables laden heavy with sustenance (e.g. bagels, cream cheese, fruit, and donuts) are lined with cold, unused griddles. Later on, you think to yourself, they will be turned on and barely salted eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and English muffins, cut and buttered, will be sizzling on them. Later… when the Bible College students are here to enjoy them, you shake your head reprovingly. Taking a cup of too strong coffee you survey the sickeningly bright room for a place to sit. The hard, cold, foldout chairs do look inviting, but you opt instead for one of the couches in the corner.

You would not have noticed him (you have barely registered that there were other people in the room) were it not for the cup. He is slouched on the other couch, superman baseball cap pulled over his face, breathing deeply and steadily, obviously asleep. His right hand is on the armrest, and in his hand is a cup of juice. And as he is sleeping, his hand (with the cup!) is slowly sliding down the armrest.

You begin to panic. Your immediate thought is that you should do something, that if you were him you’d want someone to stop you from drenching yourself in juice. It’s the right thing to do. But you’re a socially awkward homeschooler. You are panicking now. Do you try to wake him? You don’t even know him. The cup slides closer to the edge. Maybe just take the cup? But what if he is awake. How embarrassing would that be. The cup slides more. You look around to see if anyone else sees the cup, if anyone else will take it. No one else even notices you two. What if… what if you just leave? What if you walk over to the table, pretend you didn’t see the cup? Let him spill on himself. The cup is almost at the edge. No, you should do something. But it’s his own fault for falling asleep, he should know better, you begin to reason out why you should walk away. And the cup is at the edge now.

With your heart pounding like a drum, its decision time. You can’t be sitting here when it happens. Either stop it or stand up, you think. Then as if by some miracle, the door across from you opens and a tall, skinny teen around your age walks in and plops down on the seat next to you. He yawns, and is about to comment on something when he notices the cup too and quickly picks it out of the sleeper’s hand.

“Uh-oh. That would have been bad.” Tall-skinny says as he scans the room, “Wow, not a lot of people here yet.”

“Nope.” You say, still trying to recover from your moral dilemma. “It went pretty late last night.”

“Yeah. Last night was crazy.” He says as he yawns again, stretching with the cup still in his hand, “I heard someone else got trampled when they opened the doors.”

“Yeah, they broke their collar bone. It’s pretty rough being a door greeter.” You comment dryly, you stomach feeling sick and leaden.

“Shoot, man. That’s fer sure.” Says the sleeper as he slowly sits up and fixes his baseball cap, apparently woken by your talk. “I was one last night. They rushed the doors before we had ‘em open all the way. The poor people at the front carried by the wave of the crowd were smashed into the doors, slamming the doors against the walls and breaking the hinges on one, right off the frame.”

“Wow. No wonder you’re exhausted. By the way, here’s your drink back. You almost spilled it on yourself when you fell asleep.” Tall and skinny hands the cup to the sleeper. “I’m Tim by the way.”

“James.” He answers, “Thanks, but that wouldn’t be the first time. At least this time wouldn’t have been hot coffee.”

“Well, no need to thank me. Actually, I jumped in right as this guy was about to grab it.” Tim smiles as he motions to you, “I think we may have met yesterday but I forgot your name.”

“Jean.” you say, trying hard not to blush from the guilt of his statement. You’re still not sure what you would have done.

Little did the anyone of you three know that in that awkward conversation would be born a friendship that would outlast many trials, tribulations, fights, and even that one girl. Later that night, as you sit with Tim and James in the main auditorium, during the last session, you try to ignore the convicting parts of the message about not judging (especially those Bible College students) and try instead to focus on the verse of the night:

“A friend with many friends must shew himself friendly, but there is another kind of friend who sticketh closer than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24

**********************************************************************

Just a short little thing I wrote for a class about my first time meeting James and Tim. Most of the facts and figures in it really did happen, and thats what makes the story, in my book, all the funnier. To this day, I still am not sure what I would have ended up doing had Tim not walked in when he did. :)

Too Much...

God
I humbly
Come before your throne
And ask
Not for
Anything anymore
There’s just too much
You know
Too much
And its all
Too much
For right now
I can’t go on
Its all too much
The pain
Too much
And the laughter
Is gone
Dear God
Too much
The pain and the song
The heart won’t go on
When the love has all gone
Too much
God
I know I was wrong
It was all too much
And too late it seems
To be enough
I followed your words
And now I see
That pain is coming
And killing me
You’re making me
Into a man
But the road is long
And the pain too much
Too much
Turn it down
Just a bit, just a tad
Cause it’s all too much
And I can’t go on

Dreams from Job

The Lord giveth
Yes He does
He gives and gives
From up above
Yet none remembers
The breaths and hours
The food and shelter
And providing powers
We all remain constant
In complacent sloth
While the Lord keeps giving
From above

The Lord giveth and
Yet He ‘and’s
He ‘and’s and He ‘and’s
And He ‘and’s some more
He is God, He is King
He can do what He wants
The Lord can give
And He can ‘and’ to the end
Of the end of time’s
Gift. The Lord can
‘and’ when He gives

He Gives
And Takes
He takes
He rakes
And takes
And reaps the earth
Soaking the world
And his garmenst in blood
The tears of Rachel
Still ring in His ears
He takes as He gives and
Gives as He takes
And ‘and’s as He ‘and’s
For the Lord is great

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away
The Lord has given and the Lord took it back
The Lord will give and the Lord will take
And at the end of the day
I will bow and say
Through tears of pain and joy
Blessed be His Name

An Update and An Apology

Well, I am half way done with Chapter 6, and half way done with Part 6, and completely done several other poems (in my head anyway), however, I won't be posting any of them until Friday at the latest. God, last minute, arranged for me to be one of the intercessors for the CBC conference, and so this last few days I have been fasting tv, secular music, writing, reading, internet, and arts in general. Obviously this doesn't include school work related reading, internet, and writing, but everything else has been put on hold, until Friday. For me the arts is one of my greatest areas of devotion, and giving that up during a season for God is one of the greatest sacrifices I can make. That's why you won't be seeing me here, or on facebook for a couple more days. Just wanted to let you guys know what's up!

-The Author

Declaration

When pestilence comes over us
And corpses lie in the street
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
My body he will keep

When the wars abound relentlessly
And so many children cry with care
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
And know that He is there

When the storms clouds rage and waters rise
So many lives now gone
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Who teaches the new song

When the market falls and the money fails
And the world comes crashing down
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Whose provision will abound

When the jobs are scarce and the food gone
And hunger falls on the land
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Who will feed me from His hand

When the love is turned and the pain begins
And all my hope is dead
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
The lifter of my head

When my heart come crashing, breaking down
And all the tear release
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
And He will give me peace

No matter what was and no matter what is
And no matter what is yet to be
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
In His love He will hide me