Waiting to Walk

I love to walk. I started walking as a way to exercise, but it did not take long before it became much more than a physical activity. The act of walking provides the space where I can meditate on Scripture and turn my heart towards God in prayer.   The cadence of the steps I take have become a rhythm for my soul. Because of this reality walking has become a very sacred practice to me and that is why I love it.

Given this fact, you can imagine how disappointing it is that I cannot currently walk as I normally would.  It started several months ago when I began experiencing pain in my heal.  I self diagnosed it as plantar fasciitis, because when I typed in the symptoms into a search engine that is what came out..  I also explained what it felt like to several friends and told them what I thought it was.  They nodded their head in agreement.  Eventually, I explained what I was feeling to a doctor and they confirmed my diagnoses.  

The internet and my friends have given me ideas on how to care for my injury.  I was instructed to massage my foot with a tennis ball.  If that did not do the trick someone suggested freezing a water bottle and rolling my foot on this as a way to apply cold to the areas.  There were also suggestions regarding stretching, wearing a night brace, and for inserts for my shoes.  Wanting to get back to my normal rhythm of walking, I put all these into practice.

When I saw the doctor I explained how I was treating this inflammation and she simply said, “You are doing the right stuff. Keep it up.”  When I asked how long it would take to heal, the doctor told me months.  This is not what I wanted to hear so I have kept seeking input in order to find the magic cure.

Last night I was at a party and discovered one of the guests works for an orthopedic firm. Now, she was not a doctor, but she works very closely with one so I asked her if she knew of any secret to speed up the healing.  The answer was no. 

She actually knew quite a bit about what I was experiencing, how it is treated and how long it generally takes to heal.  Simply put, she knew enough to be very certain, beyond what I was already doing; you simply cannot speed up the healing process.  As hard as it is to accept, the fact of the matter is there is no secret.  It simply takes time.

This left me with only one option, to wait.  I don’t like waiting.  I want to see results now, but the reality is for broken things to heal it takes time.  For the kind of transformation I desire to take place in the tissue of my foot I will have to wait.

Today, I was reminded how much waiting is present in Scripture. Abraham waited for a son.  Moses tended sheep for 40 years while he waited. The people of Israel waited to be delivered from bondage in Egypt.  They waited again in the dessert. The palmist cried out on numerous occasions, “How long oh Lord!” The people of God waited for a Messiah.  Jesus went into the dessert for 40 days.  The disciples waited for the resurrection and for the day of Pentecost.  It seems waiting is necessary for transformation whether it be physical or spiritual, and most of us do not like to wait.

Our culture, technology and our impatience have all worked together to produce a society where we do as little waiting as absolutely necessary.  After all, waiting feels like a waste of time. It feels like we are doing nothing.  When we are waiting it feels like we are not making any progress and it grates us the wrong way.  We stubbornly respond by looking for ways to get around it, at least I do.

Waiting, however, is not standing still.  While I rest my foot and wait to walk it is actually healing, even if I cannot sense it in a moment, a day or even a week of days. 

If we were to carefully go back through the stories in Scripture where people were forced to wait, I think we would discover there was actually much going on. It was in the waiting they were discovering the truth about themselves, the reality that God can be trusted, and they were being prepared for what was to come.  All very important ares of growth, which simple cannot be rushed.

We learn from their seasons of waiting something of the reality of its necessity for healing and growth.  We also learn from their moments of weakness and refusal to wait what a mess it can make.  I don’t know about you, but I would rather opt for healing and growth than a big mess any day.

Where are you waiting in your life?  How are you responding to being in this place?  What are you discovering about yourself, and your ability to trust God?  What are you being prepared for?  These are far different kinds of questions to ask than "How long will the wait be?" or "When will I be able to move on?"

When we are invited into a season of waiting we must decide if the space between now and when the waiting is over will be filled with frustration born from our unwillingness to enter the waiting, or will we receive it as an opportunity to trust that something very significant is taking place, even if we cannot perceive it in the moment.

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him! – Isaiah 30:18

Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. – Psalm 27:14

The Gift of a Limp

This week I had the opportunity to meet with a mentor I have been walking with for the past three years.  When I first started getting together with her she was attached to a university.  She has since graduated and now resides in a rest home. While she has retired from most of her responsibilities she is still willing to get together and for that I am grateful.

Normally we meet once a month, but when I started calling a few weeks ago to set up our next appointment I was unable to track her down.  I was a bit worried.  You can imagine how happy I was to hear her voice when she finally called me back to set up an appointment.  She sounded good; I was relieved and was excited to get together. 

The last time we met was just before my book came out and I promised to bring her a copy the next time I saw her.  With book in hand I entered the building excited to see her face.  I expected to find her in the lobby as usual, but she was not there.  The receptionist offered to call her room and let her know I had arrived.  There was no answer, so I took a seat and waited.

Several minutes later I heard the sound of a walker making its way down the hall.  I was surprised to find my mentor was the one who was piloting it.  She had never had need to use one before.  I stood, walked over to her and made a comment about the shinny ride she was sporting.  She chuckled and said it wasn’t quite like a new car, but it was helpful.

When we finally settled at a table on the patio, she told me she had experienced a series of falls and found herself in the hospital for several weeks.  The doctors were trying to determine what was causing her dizziness.  While they were not able to verify the cause of her condition, she was given this beautiful burgundy walker as a parting gift. 

With that she dropped the subject and turned our focus to the book.  She ran her hands over the cover as if she was savoring the moment before she picked it up.  Then she opened the cover and turned a few pages until she reached the Table of Contents. She began to read each title, pausing on the ones which peaked her interest as if she was savoring the sound of it. She would then give me a look which said, “I can’t wait to read that one.”  I took pleasure in watching how delighted she seemed to be to be holding The Good Way.

She began asking me questions about the book and how present the Camino is in my current life.  Our conversation weaved between the story which is told in the book and what is happening presently in life.  At one point I began to share with her an insight I had been thinking about which I did not include in my telling of the story in the book. 

I shared how I had twisted my ankle with six days left to walk.  I told her how the timing of the injury seemed to be in alignment with the unfolding story of my life’s journey.  This was something my wife had pointed out to me when it happened.  I was able to finish the Camino, but it was with a limp.  In some ways it made the final days of walking even sweeter. Walking with a limp was a gift when there had been a real possibility of not walking at all.   

I shared that I have been wondering if this might not also mirror my life’s journey.  While I will walk the path ahead of me, I wondered if from here on out it will always be with a limp.

This brought to mind Jacob and the limp he carried with him for the rest of his life. Somehow, the wrenching of Jacob’s hip as he struggled with the man with whom he had wrestled with all night long was tied to the blessing he would receive from the same individual.  I told my mentor what I was thinking and shared I do not naturally think of a limp as a gift, but maybe it is.

She turned and placed her hand on her walker and said, “Maybe I should call my walker God because I have to wrestle with it?” I laughed, looked around, and then offered, “You had better be careful about who hears you refer to your walker as God or you might have bigger issues.”  She laughed.  I then said, “But I see what you mean, it reminds you of your dependence on Him.”  She agreed and then offered so much more, “It also steadies, supports and allows me to maintain my balance.”  Our limps allows us to discover more than the fact we are dependent, they allow us to experience the One who steadies, supports and brings balance.

Maybe you do not have a need for a walker, but chances are you have a limp of some kind.  While you may have found it discouraging at times, my prayer would be that it would be the lens through which you would discover how near and powerful God is.  Without need we cannot experience the one who provides.  Without circumstances which rock our world we will not discover the presence of the one who calms the seas. Without woundedness we will not be amazed by the one who heals.

In the light of the One who does all these things, our limps become less of an affliction and more of blessings.  They no longer cut off our life, but become the wellspring from which it flows.  They become a constant reminder of the fact we walk in the presence of the one who is able to be our firm foundation, hold us securely and restore our equilibrium.

Sitting on the patio, staring at my mentor's walker, thinking about these things, I could see it as truly beautiful.

You Brood of Vipers!

“You snakes, you brood of vipers.” Addressing someone in such a manner does not feel like the best way to win friends and influence people. It seems more likely to drive a wedge between people and draw battle lines in a conflict.  And yet, Jesus had no problem speaking such seemingly harsh words.  In fact, in one chapter of scripture, Matthew 23, Jesus not only calls the teachers of the law and the Pharisees snakes he also calls them hypocrites, children of hell, blind guides, fools, and whitewash tombs. Ouch!

We have all had moments when we were tempted to address someone like this.  Thankfully, most of the time we manage to refrain.  What keeps us from speaking such harsh words may be the fear of how the other person might respond or because we have no desire to escalate the conflict, but I think for most of us we simply believe speaking words like this to someone would be unkind at best and unloving at worst?  A loving and kind person would never say such things to someone else. Right?

Where does that leave us with Jesus?  Do we just chalk His words up to the fact the religious leaders were so bad that they justified Jesus’ comments.  Was it acceptable for Jesus to be unkind to them because of the burden they placed upon the people.  Was He justified in being unloving to these men who seemed to be misguided, and seemingly operating out of mixed motives, when it came to their life long devotion to serving God and His people.

Part of what makes a good story is the conflict between good and evil, the clash between the good guys and the bad guys.  In the Gospels Jesus and his followers are definitely the good guys, and the religious leaders seem to be the bad guys.  Reading Jesus words from this point of view makes what He said seem quite justified. 

I can just imagine the crowd which was listening to this exchange cheering as each phrase rolled off of Jesus' tongue.  “Way to strike another blow at the bad guys Jesus!”  I can imagine them feeling like I did as I watched the final scene in Cinderella Man as James Braddock unleash a flurry of blows upon his evil opponent Max Baer.  I was so drawn into the emotion of the moment I began throwing punches in the dark movie theater, buffeting the air in hopes it would somehow strength Braddock to finish the fight, and triumph over his opponent.  Is this what Jesus was seeking to stir in the crowd as he pummeled his opponents with his words?

It is hard for us to consider anything else, especially given our love for these kinds of stories, (Cinderella Man is one of my favorite movies) but I have been thinking about this perspective and the fact we want to split everything and everyone in to good and bad.  Given this point of view Jesus’ seemingly unkind and unloving words not only feel justified, but right. Is that how we should really see it?

I not sure, but one thing I do know, Jesus is that He is the embodiment of love.  Scripture tells us that God is love. It is not simply a quality He displays.  It is who He is.  Scripture also tells us Jesus is Emmanuel, which means God with us.  Love is not something Jesus exhibits.  Jesus is love Let that sink in for just a moment.

Jesus is love when He is healing people.  He is love when He shares people sorrows.  He is love when He speaks words of life.  He is love when He touches the unclean.  He is love when He engages and embraces the outcast. He is love when He eats with sinners and tax collectors.  He is love when He washes His disciples’ feet.  He is love when He gives up His life for us, and I have to believe, because He is the incarnation of love, He is also love when He speaks what we hear as harsh word to the teachers of the law and the Pharisees.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think we should read them in the text as touchy-feely phrases which should make those who they are directed to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  They are indeed rebukes.  I am sure they cut the religious leaders to the core, but I do not believe Jesus spoke them in order  to injure.  He was not seeking to kill and destroy. That is not why He came.  He came to impart life, life to the full.  Given this fact, what if His words were not meant to wound, but to heal.  What if any cutting they did was not intended to harm, but to remove the very thing which was destroying the opportunity for the teachers of the law and Pharisees to experience the life they not only were intended, but desired in the deep place of their heart, to live?

If this was the case, I think we would see these harsh words in an entirely different light.  Proverbs 27:6 says, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” Could it be that Jesus was being a faithful friend, even to these religious leaders?  Rather than pummeling an opponent, could He have been  inviting them to discover life?

What Jesus said about the religious leaders was true, and it was hard to hear for sure, but could it also have been spoken in love. In our culture we have such an aversion to speaking words which are both hard and true.  We think if a person speaks words which cut someone to the core they must be unkind, and  unloving, What if, however, it was just the opposite? What if speaking the hard truth was actually a very loving act?  What if the words spoken actually pointed to the the way of healing?  If we recognized them as such we would probably embrace the speaker as a faithful friend rather than dismissing what they have said.

Thinking about all of this has changed the way I read Matthew 23.  I no longer envision it as a prize fight and my guy, the good guy, wins.  I see it as a glimpse into a surgical ward, where the one who speaks such words does not find joy in the blows He delivers, but rather utters them in the hopes they will bring about healing.  It is truth which opens our hearts to healing and sets us free.  This seems especially true when the words are hard to hear.

In Acts 6:10, after Jesus has shown us the fullness of his love and has returned to the Father it says this, “So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests (many of whom were Pharisees and teachers of the law) became obedient to the faith.”  Isn't it surprising so many of those who were choosing to follow Jesus were the very same people to whom Jesus has spoken so harshly.

I cannot help but wonder how many of these priests might have been listening when Jesus spoke the words in Matthew 23.  If they were there to hear him utter those words, I imagine they were quite painful to hear.  Even so, I also wonder if they were also the words which planted the seeds which would later give birth to belief. Given their faith, I wonder if later those religious leaders, looking back on words Jesus had spoken, considered them far more loving than harsh.

From their new vantage point, Jesus' words must now have appeared to be words of life, motivated by love, and spoken as an invitation to freedom. Knowing who Jesus is and looking squarely at the one who is the personification of love, I cannot imagine them being anything else.

 

Loving Embrace

I was surprised by the man’s question.  It seemed to be born out of feelings of guilt and shame.  It was formed in a perception of God and his own failure that clouded the ability to see clearly. He asked, “Doesn’t a just God look foolish loving us unconditionally when we have messed up so much?”

I did not have time to formulate a response, let alone an answer, before an image of a woman, and her son, who lives in my neighborhood filled my mind.  The picture of the two of them gave me the answer long before I could formulate any words.

The son has both Autism and Tourettes Syndrome. His Autism can cause him to feel overwhelmed by the stimulus of the world or give birth to frustration which grows from his becoming fixated on something he cannot have.  This makes it difficult for him to regulate his emotions.  It can manifest itself in inappropriate outbursts, physically aggressive behavior, and loss of control.  Throw in the effects of his Tourettes Syndrome which causes both physical tics (involuntary movements involving the entire body, such as kicking and stamping) and vocal tics (the involuntary use of obscene words or socially inappropriate words and phrases) and it gets even tougher.

When my neighbor discovered her son had these challenges, she began to learn all she could about how to help him.  One of the things she was taught was when he was feeling overwhelmed by the stimulus of the world and found himself unable to control his responses he needed to be held and held tight.  This deep pressure touch had a calming effect on him.  Because of this, her response to his inability to regulate his emotions and to the verbal and physical behavior which would result was to embrace him.

There were many occasions in our neighborhood when he would be playing outside, something would push him to his limit and he would become overwhelmed.  Him mom would come to him and embrace him, holding him tight. Upon initial contact he would struggle and fight against her, but she would hold firm.  Often the Tourettes would kick in and an onslaught of inappropriate words and phrases would be unleashed at his mother.  She knew in her head that it was the syndrome speaking, but knowing it could not always cushion the blow that the hurtful words would have on her heart.  Yet, any wounding she may have felt did not keep her from continuing to hold on to him.

There in the yard they would stand, him writhing and yelling, trying to get away, and the mother holding him in love, trusting the deep pressure touch would eventually have its calming effect. That is the image which filled my mind and what I believe is the answer to the man’s question.

Not once did I ever think she looked foolish holding her boy.  While she may have at times felt embarrassed by the display, for me watching it was always a gift.  He may have been thrashing and flailing about, and spewing harsh and hateful words but it did not change her response. She simply held him.  It was an embrace born out of love and it is tangible picture of God’s response to us.  

There is something very powerful in recognizing God does not reject or turn away from us, even when we thrash and flail about or spew harsh and hateful words, but rather embraces us in love, even when we are our worst selves.  I am thankful my neighbor and her son have helped me to see this.

The man’s question betrayed the fact he has a hard time envisioning God’s love like this.  Maybe he wasn’t lucky enough to have a neighbor like mine. The truth is, many of us have a hard time believing this is how God love us.  We may even fight against the notion when we first encounter it, but thankfully His love is not dependent upon our response.  He is not concerned about how others might perceive it, or how foolish He may appear. Our attempts to push Him away do not deter him. His love embraces and holds tight.

There is much security in this.  Maybe, like the boy across the street, we should allow this deep pressure touch to have its calming effect and let it to lead us to a place where our soul can find rest.

Those Pesky Little Shoots

There is a tree on my street which is prolific at scattering seeds which sprout and take root in just about any soil which is available.  I find these tiny seedlings in flower pots, flower beds, cracks in the sidewalks, and just about any other nook or cranny where there is enough dirt and debris to allow the small amount of moisture necessary for the seed to sprout.  

Honestly, I have a love hate relationship with this tree.  Arguably, I live on one of the prettiest streets in Long Beach because the trees on both sides of the street are mature enough that their canopies stretch out over the asphalt and touch in the middle of the thoroughfare.  This makes a natural arch, the beauty of which can hold its own alongside some of the great cathedral ceilings of the world.  I am thankful for this.

On the other hand, one of the trees which make up this vaulted ceiling casts upon the wind hundreds, if not thousands of seeds each year, many of which I find growing in my yard. I find them in the front flower beds. I find them along side of the house. I find them in the flowerpots in the back yard.  I even find them in the alley.  They are not hard to spot.  I have become very familiar with their leaves and can recognize them immediately. 

When they are tiny, they are more of a nuisance than anything else.   They are not that hard to pluck out of the soil, especially if I do it as I am watering the plants.  However, if I allow them to get a bit bigger they hold their ground and a little more effort is needed to dislodge them. And if I do not see a seedling which has taken root for some time and it grows to a foot or more they can be downright difficult to remove.  It pays to catch them when they are small and there is a never ending battle to do so.

Several weeks ago I was walking from one building to another at a place where I do a little work.  Outside of one of the entrances was a large flower pot which had been outfitted with a trellis and planted with a climbing, flowering vine.  I had barely glanced at it when I notice the pot also contained one of the shoots I am constantly trying to eradicate from my yard.  The leaves were unmistakable.  My first thought was these trees are going to take over the world if we are not careful. My first reaction was to pull up this unwanted invader.

Unfortunately, this was not a new shoot.  It had been there for a while; so long in fact that it was hard to tell which plant had more rights to the space, the flowering vine or the tree.  Normally, when you find them there is one long shoot with a few leaves.  This one had grown large enough to have several shoots coming from the base and branches starting to form.  The fact it was so established made me all the more determined to remove it and restore the pot to its rightful owner.

I reached down, grabbing the base of the shoots firmly and gave a good tug.  When I did not only was I able to lift out the tree, but also the entire ball of soil, the flowering vine, and that trellis came with it.  This invasive specimen had weaved its roots so firmly into the soil and around the roots of the other plant that I was sure I would not be able to remove it without killing the other plant or dislodging the soil from the root ball and spilling it all over the deck.  The only choice I had was to allow the entire clump made up of the flowering vine, tree shoot, trellis and soil to settle back into the pot.  I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. Because of the tree on my street, I have become somewhat of an expert of removing this particular species of tree shoots and I hated to admit defeat.

Walking away I wondered how long it had been growing there.  I wondered how many people had walked by it before, without ever noticing it was there.  For those who saw it when it was small, I wondered if they had any idea of the impact it would one day have on the plant which was intentionally placed in this pot.  I wondered why I had not seen it before.

As I was pondering these things, I also began to think about how something very similar happens in our lives.  Some invasive thing is blown into the fertile soil of our hearts.  It could be a bad habit, a destructive lie, a distorted desire, or a particularly enticing sin and it takes root and begins to grow.

If we notice it when it is small, it is not too difficult to pluck out. If however, it grows a bit, it gets more stubborn and a little more effort is needed.  Allowing it to increase in height also allows it to increase in strength, making it much more difficult to remove.  By the time it produces multiple shoots and branches it is darn near impossible to remove without some kind of major intervention. What if rather than waiting for them to grow and take significant root in our souls we simply took the time to pluck them out when they were small.  How much hurt, pain and grief could be avoided?  How much easier would it be for the good vine to thrive?

I think the answer is a lot.

What if we simply took a few moments each day to prayerfully examine the soil of our hearts and asked God to help us identify and remove anything which has invaded the space where it is not intended to grow?  Imagine what it would be to discover these things when they are small and much easier to pluck out.  I think it would go a long way in preventing them from entangling their roots around our hearts and would save much consternation in trying to remove them after they have had an opportunity to firmly establish themselves.

It could be such a simple prayer.  "Lord help me to see those things which are taking root in my heart which do not bring life or which prevent me from growing into the freedom you have given me.  And Lord, help me to remove what I find."  It is simply a willingness to recognize what is attempting to take root and to ask for help in removing it.

Are you willing?

Of Gifts and Guessing

I have a unique talent which was developed over years of practice.  I can pick up a beautifully wrapped Christmas present, assess its size, feel its weight and with a slight shake of the package, tell you what is inside.  I do not know the exact percentage of accuracy in on my guesses, but it is pretty high.

I could tell you this gift of prognostication came naturally, but it did not.  It was developed over the years by sneaking into my mother’s bedroom and looking at the gifts before they were wrapped.  Knowing what was going into the boxes before they were incased in printed paper, ribbons and bows gave me an opportunity to develop knowledge of what each item felt like when it was in the box. This greatly increased my ability to guess what was inside of packages where I did not know what was inside.

On the odd occasion when I did not get to the presents before they were wrapped, and I could not guess what was inside, I would carefully unwrap the package, take a peak, and then rewrap it with such precision that no one could tell I had ever touched it.  This of course was an awful practice, I do not recommend it, but it did further develop the ability to judge what was inside. It also taught me how to wrap packages very neatly, a skill I still employ every Christmas.

I eventually give up the practice of peaking at the gifts before they were wrapped, and I have not unwrapped a present and rewrapped it since my sophomore year of high school.  Part of the reason for my change in behavior was because I was convicted of how wrong my actions were, and part of it was because I became so very good at guessing what was inside, I no longer need to rely on this shameful practice. My reputation, however, still precedes me and my children will accuse me of wrong doing if there is any suspicion I may have had access to any unwrapped gifts.  Sin does have its consequences.

Eventually, I even gave up the practice of guessing, though I must admit I am tempted to pick up a package and shake it from time to time.  I could see how the joy of giving was robbed from the giver when I would pick up a gift, feel its weight, shake it, and guess what was inside.  They would delight when I was wrong, but when I was right, they would be deflated.  Watching their joy leak out like the air from a balloon which has had its knot untied and the lip released is not a good feeling.  No longer wanting to steal their joy, and cause such disappointment I decided to give up guessing.

Before I did, there were of course times, even when I employed my best my efforts and skills, I could not guess what a present held.  If I had not reformed my ways and I had been shaking presents and guessing what was inside, this Christmas I would have been stumped.  My son Michael gave me a gift I would have never guessed in a million years.

The package Michael gave me contained a dagger which was fashioned to resemble a weapon which might have been used in Middle Earth, the mythical land from Lord of the Rings. Now, I think most men I know would tell you that a knife is always an appropriate gift.  Maybe it is not always needed, but it is always wanted, and enjoyed. A smile came across my face as I removed it from the box.  With anticipation, I gripped the hilt in one hand and the sheath in the other and proceeded to draw the blade from its scabbard.   You can imagine how surprised I was when I could not separate the two.  I made a comment about it not coming apart and with a bit of disappointment, assumed it must be more of a showpiece than an actual dagger.  I thanked Michael for the piece of decorator art, but I must admit I was a bit puzzled at why he thought this was a gift I needed.

My bewilderment was offset by Michael’s excitement.  He proceeded to tell me why he gave it to me.  He told me it was indeed an actual a dagger, but he had found a way of bonding the blade and the sheath together so they could not be separated.  He explained he had been watching me for the past two years and had witnessed occasions when I had the opportunity to retaliate for the harm done to me, but chose instead not to. He knew I had the means to do so, but did not.  He likened it to having a dagger at your side and leaving it in its sheath.  He said he believed it took greater strength to keep your dagger in its sheath than it does to draw it, and he wanted to give me a gift which let me know he had seen such strength in me.

Immediately my confusion turned to understanding, and what moments early seemed an impractical gift now held great value.  You can imagine how humbled I was, how honored I felt and how precious this present instantly became to me. 
I wish I could say my heart was always in alignment with the sentiment Michel expressed.  It was not.  There were times when harm was done and I wanted nothing more than justice, but, even though I am by no means perfect, by the grace of God and the empowerment by the Holy Spirit, I have been able to keep my dagger sheathed.

This ability was not born out of an exercise of strength, but in a desire to live in the Kingdom of God now, a kingdom where enemies are forgiven and blessings are given to those who curse you.  To do so it has been necessary to cultivate a willingness, not to deny my desires for fairness and justice, but to acknowledge them and turn to God in trust, knowing He may be about something far bigger than I can see or understand. 

There were times when I found myself wanting to pull the dagger from its sheath.  When this feeling would come over me, I would cry out to God and ask for help in trusting Him. 

Scriptures like Psalm 27, which begins with the words, “The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?” and ends with the hopeful declaration, “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” became the place I would turn to reorient my heart to the reality God could be trusted and would provide the help I needed to keep the blade in its scabbard.

While my emotions may have been bidding me to take out the blade, I knew in my gut, exercising this kind of trust and choosing to wait on what God might be doing was the only way to experience the fullness of life which is available to us.
This life is something I have been growing into over the past two years.  I did not start out where I am now, and I am quite certain I have not yet arrived where I will one day be, but having said this, there is something deeply meaningful in being presented with a gift which gives evidence those closest to you can recognize who you are becoming.

Despite the gift guessing skill I developed in my youth, I had no way to discern the contents of this package by its size, shape, weight or any amount of shaking. In truth, even if I could have detected the box contained a dagger, I would not have had any realization of what was really being given to me. I was being told by my son he could recognize the source of my identity and strength, and a willingness to turn to in trust to the One who can not only help, but rescue.

Of all the things I have longed to impart to my son, these make up my deepest desires and hopes. Knowing he has seen them not only gives meaning to the gift, it also makes the journey of the past two years that much more precious, for the fruit it is producing is some of the sweetest I have ever tasted.  I am indeed seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

It was a very good Christmas!

The Dreamer in Me

I have been a dreamer all my life.  When I was a child, my favorite book was called Me and My Flying Machine by Mercer Mayer.  It was the story of a boy who went into a barn and built a plane out of old scrap wood and bushel barrels.  This winged flying contraption then lifted him into adventure.  I spent many of my summer days out in the neighborhood collecting scrap wood to build my own mode of transportation from which to explore the world.  I was smart enough to know I would not be able to fly, but that did not stop me from constructing go-carts which would take me down the road and into adventure.  

As I got older, and wood got harder to find, I began to entertain other dreams.  I dreamed of things like walking the Inca Trail, hiking with my son on the Wonderland Trail, Kayaking with the whales off the Johnston Straight, and going on pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.  I have been a lucky man.  These dreams and many more have come true.  In fact, I have been so very fortunate in seeing my dream become reality that my wife now gets a little worried when I begin talking about something which seems a bit outlandish.  Where the wives of other men might just let the idea hang in the air, knowing in just a few days it will probably be forgotten, Tammie knows if I start dreaming about something, there is a good chance it is going to happen.   

This can disturb her at times.  I see her get particularly unsettled when I talk about living in a house that is only 500 to 700 square feet.  She also gets a bit anxious when I tell her by the time we retire, I only want us to own what will fit in two backpacks. She has not yet adopted these dreams as her own, but I keep trying to win her over.

Before you get too worried about Tammie, if you know her, you also know she is no pushover and will not be cajoled into doing something she does not want to do.  The fact she possesses this strength is probably why she is free to allow me to dream.  She knows I will not move forward unless she is all in.  This is because one of my biggest dreams was to marry someone just like Tammie, and all other dreams play second fiddle to her.

Recently, I have had a new set of dreams being birthed within me.  They have not come out of children’s books, or hiking magazines, but out of a deep desire to see what I read in scripture lived out.  They might seem like the stuff of fairy tales because they may be seen as coming from a far away Kingdom.  This realm, however, is not one which existed in some distant land or long forgotten memory.  It is not a place relegated to a future hope.  It is a kingdom which is available and present now.  This fact excites me.  Knowing, at this very moment, we have the capacity to enter its dominion and live as its citizen inspires me.  The journey there is a far better than any of my old go-carts could ever deliver.  When I dream of what it would be to live in this present kingdom:

• I dream of a place where it's people who are known by their love and humility.
• I dream of a community where unity is not built on conformity, but on love.
• I dream of living alongside those who understand what it is to forgo being served, in order to serve.
• I dream of a gathering of people where selfish ambition is be supplanted by selfless love.
• I dream of a place where people exercise their freedom in choosing to sacrifice for their brothers and sisters rather than indulge their own desires.
• I dream of a group of people who do not cut others down, but build them up.
• I dream of being part of a people who are so rooted and grounded in their identity, as dearly loved children of God, when they are wronged that they have the capacity to turn the other cheek and bless those who curse them.
• I dream of a place where love covers a multitude of sins.
• I dream of a place where people have enough understanding of the human heart to know when people behave poorly it is often a symptom of a deep wound which they carry with them, and rather than simply trying to correct the behavior, they recognize God’s invitation to partner with Him in healing the heart.
• I dream of a group of people who understand the issue is not what we eat or how we celebrate, but of righteousness, peace and joy.
• I dream of a place where anger, slander, malice and bitterness are put off and repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration win the day.
• I dream of a community where all who enter find love, acceptance and peace.
• And I dream of a place where perfect love cast out fear, and trust is ever present.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.  At least I hope you do, because I have been imagining just such a place, filled with just such people for quite some time, and I am hoping there are others who have been dreaming of the same things.

Every dream I have ever had which has materialized, whether it was building a go-cart out of scrap wood or walking 500 miles, did so because at some point I had enough belief it could actually happen that I started to live as if it would.  I think the same is true with these dreams.  They way they will become reality is if we simply start living as if they are not only possible, but can and will actually happen.  

I also know seeing these dreams come true is going to cost, not just time and effort, but my own desires, comfort, feelings of security, and at times my own sense of what is fair.  I believe, however, it will be worth whatever price is exacted, for what ever is lost, is sure to be gained in a good measure, pressed down and overflowing.  I believe it, but I also have to pray, "Lord, help my unbelief" because at times, in the short term, living like this seems to cost more than what is gained.

Then again, attaining any dream requires a season where you walk in the hope of what could be, rather than what you see.  Would you dare to hope?  Can you dream of what it would it be to be part of a community of people who lived out these dreams?  I can, and often do. I imagine it would be powerful and life giving.  I know it would be healing.  It would be full of peace, joy and love.  It would also be filled with abundance, beauty and freedom. In short, it would be heaven on earth, a dream come true, and because I have a thing for seeing dreams become reality, I intend on living as if they will.

I hope you do too!