Where have all the people gone?

As some of you may know, I've been dealing with some personal issues. My grandmother is in extremely poor health and is expected to die soon. I've been trying to deal with the emotions and thoughts of this, and will write about it soon. But, instead of giving you guys a bad blog post that wasn't thought through, I'll give you something worth reading. Here's an article (with a few edits) I wrote for my college's newspaper, The Echo. Enjoy!

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I’m not sure why I have this problem.

Maybe it’s my own fault because I like to engage in controversial topics. Maybe it’s because I read the surprisingly still-active “Taylor Confessions” page on Facebook. Maybe it’s because I know people who have been affected by it, and that has colored my views. Maybe it’s because I value people far above logic and arguing, and I realize life is messier than we think.

All I know is that I am getting sick and tired of the intellectual games and arguments surrounding homosexuality in the Church.

First we have our right-wing conservatives who often proclaim how wrong homosexuality is, sometimes with grace, but more often with judgment and anger, especially in public forums (*cough* Facebook *cough*). Yes, I know this happens because I used to act that way myself.

Then we have those who identify themselves in the LGTBQ (Lesbian/Gay/Bi/Transsexual/Queer) community. And they respond in anger at the judgment they feel and argue about how it’s not wrong to be gay.

Black and White. Good and Bad. Right and Wrong. Both sides claiming to have the correct view.

And it goes back and forth, argument after argument, until it descends into name-calling, buffoonery, and all caps with excessive punctuation. It’s all rhetoric and childish idiocy.

No one convinces the other with their arguments. Nothing changes. We just hurt each other.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I used to be that way (on the right-wing side). I knew all the arguments (still do) about why homosexuality’s bad. I knew what the Bible said. I thought I knew everything. And then I met someone who is gay.

Now, when I say “gay,” I mean “someone who experiences a strong sexual attraction/preference for members of the same sex.” Homosexuality is a spectrum of experiences and responses. Some people actively pursue same-sex relationships. Some decide to become celibate. But all these people have stories. Stories go far beyond black-and-white.

There are the blood-reds of rejection and pain. There are the deep-sea-blues of loneliness, depression and fervently desired love and acceptance. There are the bright, vibrant greens of finding people who show care, love and support.

Life is messy. It doesn’t offer easy answers. And it angers me when life stories are reduced to arguments where someone has to be right. When pain is reduced to rhetoric.

I know how preferable it is to stay inside our own little boxes where we have all the answers to life, the universe and homosexuality. But we aren’t meant to live inside boxes. And having all the answers won’t bring us fulfillment. Just look at Paul in 1 Corinthians 13. The Bible calls us to love. We can’t do that until we get to know each other’s stories.

No, it’s not comfortable. And yes, you might have to wrestle with some tough questions. You might have to realize that (gasp!) you don’t have all the answers. That’s okay.

Stop the rhetoric games. Start listening to the stories.

God, Give Me Strength

Okay, I guess I owe all you readers another apology. I haven't been posting regularly like I promised myself I would. I know, that's not a real big thing. I mean, it's not like I have a huge fan-base waiting with bated breath just for my next blog post. But I know that many blogs are started, but not regularly kept, and often just abandoned. I don't want to do that, but be faithful and do what I know I should.

So, I do owe you an apology. I guess I also owe one to myself. I made the promise to myself and broke it. And I know this seems all too personal and silly. After all, as long as I post who cares what resolutions I break or so on and so fifth. (I know it's supposed to be "forth", but it's my own small joke. Inflation goes up still, so why not use it in words, where number hide all the time?)

But one of the reasons I don't post very often I guess is because I'm not sure what to say. I don't know what you, my readers, need or want to hear, so I simply keep my mouth shut. That and dealing with homework tends to keep me on my toes, like it or not. I know, I signed up for this. Worse, I'm paying for it. But hey, I will persevere, somehow.

I guess one thing I will share with you all is my ongoing struggle with identity. Specifically, my identity in Christ.

Since I'm in college, I've been taking time to somewhat reinvent myself, try new things and figure out what is me and what is just me posing as someone else. I try to determine what I like, as opposed to copying what my friends like or what my family enjoys. And along with that, I'm trying to figure out who I am when my family's not looking over my shoulder. I'm trying to sort out all the baggage that came with me, both physical and emotional,(I'll admit, I moved in the end of August, and I still have a mess lurking in my closet because I haven't sorted and organized everything, though I know what all I brought) and figure out who I am besides just how I feel. I'm trying to look beyond what I feel to know what's true, regardless of emotion.

In that process, as friends have reminded me time and time again, I have to remember who Christ says I am. I can't say how grateful I am to my friends for their patience with me in this matter. Amazing I know. Born and raised in the church, having read the entire Bible through a couple times, and having gone to both a private Christian school and College, I still wrestle with knowing who God says I am and making that an integral part of my identity.

All too often I have this painful tendency to believe lies that have embedded themselves in my ID, like a parasite or a computer virus. It's almost as though whenever I'm faced with a challenge or become scared, I retreat to my old false self, the one that quivers in a corner, afraid of being discovered. Afraid of everything.

And living in fear hurts. Running and hiding hurts. I don't know how many times I have missed things that would have been fun and amazing because I decided "it would be best for everyone if I disappeared." Because I thought I needed to exit out of people's lives like an actor in a theater. And while doing that, I made myself lonely. I made myself be alone.

And one of the things I'll admit I fear desperately is being alone, living without friends or family. A picture comes to my mind of living in a large wood house, having every material thing I ever wanted, yet looking out the window of a dark library room to see dark clouds and driving rain outside. Inside the house is only one living soul: me. Only me. And that's how it always is. That's how it always will be.

That scares me because I can't stand the thought of living alone, my life wasting away because I deemed it "my lot" to be alone. Or worse, I found a way to drive off all of my friends and am alone because of my own foolish actions.

You want to know something ironic? That same house and solitude used to be a dream I adored. I thought all I wanted was peace and solitude to write. All I thought I needed was an office, a library and a large house and I would be happy. People? Who needs them? They'll only get in my way.

Now I see that such a life is empty, truly empty. If I gain all I thought would make me happy yet have no one to share it with, what have I accomplished?

Nada. Nothing.

And yes, I have gone off on a tangent, but I'm good at that. Really good. But to get back to my point, I struggle with not retreating back to the man I used to be. I try to remember the new man God created me to become. I don't exactly know who this man is. I know that I want to be him though. I hope that God will give me the strength to persevere to become that man He created me to be.

I wonder who his identity is. Or rather in Whom is his identity. Okay, maybe I don't wonder. I know. But I really desperately hope he's better at remembering his true identity that I am. I hope I become him. I hope God says, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

I admit that's what I want most. To hear God says he's proud of me.

Hopefully, I'll hear that someday.

Holy is the Lord, and most worthy of praise.

Freedom

Let Freedom Ring. No Taxation Without Representation. These and more were the rallying cries of our nation almost 250 years ago. Today, Independence Day, marks the beginning of the American fight to overcome British tyranny. Before then, William Wallace, known from the movie Braveheart as the Scottish man who lived and died to make his people free, is known to have fought long and hard for freedom.

Fitting, then, that today I come to write and celebrate my own freedom, though mine is freedom of a different kind. Yes, I am likely going to preach and become personal. So those who enjoyed the breather I gave last week will now have to deal with my return to the satus quo. Oh well.

Today, while reflecting on Independence Day and all it entails, I realized that I have found a new freedom, one I have desired for a long, long time. And let me tell you, freedom, once found and realized by one who was once a slave, is delicious.

No, I am not talking about Freedom In Christ and the general stuff that goes with it that pastors preach about all the time. I am talking about genuine, honest-to-goodness, freedom from my own form of slavery.

I have been a slve to anger. Anger and hatred. And though you may notice that I rail against them and speak so often about not giving in to them, it's because I know what it's like to be a slave to them. Rather like the Talking Horse Bree from The Horse and His Boy (Chronicles of Narnia),I know what those masters are like, and I want to be free of them. Well, today I found out undeniably that in one area of my life Sinful Anger and Hatred have lost their grip on me. (There is such a thing as Righteous Anger, but one is never a slave to that.)

A long time ago, a person very close to me hurt me in ways that are extremely hard to describe. I felt betrayed and anger grew in my like a flame over the years, consuming me. it demanded so much of me. I felt drained, alone, and, at times, helpless against it. Over the last year, I have sought help to deal with my anger. Oh, how my friends helped me. I think sometimes that I would npt still be here if it hadn't been for the wonderful people God put in my life. With their help, I found freedom. I forgave the person for their wrongs against me.

But it still hurt to think about them for a long time. Again, friends became extremely important to me. I cannot stress how important good friendships are. Even if you can find only one good friend, someone you can trust implicitly, you have an invaluable resource, something important that must be guarded and cherished.

Sorry, went off on a tangent. Anyway. Recently I met that person again. And now I realize that absolutely no hatred or anger remains. I am finally free!

I feel like dancing and hollering. Maybe Gollum had the right idea after the second personality left in The Two Towers: "Free! Free! Smeagol is free!" he shouted, dancing around the modest camp the Hobbits had set up.

Now, am I totally free? No, unfortunately not. I know myself and I know that Anger has more strongholds in my life. And I have actually wept at times because I feel trapped. But today, there is hope. I can find freedom. I already have, even.

And none of this would be possible without Christ. I know I call it a Christian Blog, but that's because Jesus is a huge part of my life. And I know He wants to be an even bigger part of it. Without Him, I would never have known the healing I know today. Without Him, I would have no true friends to call my own. Without Him, I would still be hopeless. A wandering idiot still searching for meaning.

As the song goes, "It's all because of Jesus I'm alive,"... in more ways than one.

Holy is He and worthy of praise.

"I'm Still Yours"

Greetings, readers.

I guess I should apologize.

(Sorry.)

Here I have been complaining these past few weeks about the changes in my life instead of trying to meet them. And I write here groaning and moaning, and making a nuisance of myself. I feel so stupid!

Ironically, I was chastised not by any of my readers, or my family and friends, but by a mostly-unknown song. It’s called “I’m Still Yours” by Kutless. It seems silly, but the song asks a few questions that pricked my heart and showed me how wrong I have been.

The chorus asks, “If I lost it all, would my hands stay lifted to the God who gives and takes away?” The rest of the song develops this theme, and it convicted me.

I have had to deal with quite a bit of change these last few weeks, yet (though I might have said otherwise) did I actually go to God and rest in Him?

No.

Instead, I looked to other things. I retreated. I spent my time reading books, or engaging work. I avoided the places where I might be reminded of all the changes. I hid. Worse, all I did was complain to God.

I feel as though listening to this song and some other worship songs told me that, through this change, God wanted me to come to Him, to rest in His permanence, His unchanging-ness (yes, I believe I made up that word, but I don’t care). But I didn't.

Trust me, people, there is a BIG difference between standing before God and complaining to Him, and lying at His feet, begging for comfort, waiting for Him to lift up your chin. There's a difference between looking at Him, crossing your arms and telling Him to fix the problem; and lifting your arms to Him, asking for Him to hold you and give you comfort.

I was in the former camp. But I feel like God has been asking, “Nathan, if I took away what you thought was your home, and your life became unstable, would you look to Me for stability? Would you run to Me for hope? Would you use your words and voice for My Glory?”

Shamefully, I think I have said, “No.”

“No, not until You fix it. After it is fixed, and I have stability again will I praise You, and only then!”

I feel ashamed at myself. I said I would rest in Him, but instead I ran, looking at anything, everything else that I could for normalcy. And yes, I succeeded for a while, but that didn’t change anything. In fact I bet it made it harder on my family. And even worse, I felt far away from God while doing it. Like God wasn’t answering my prayers for deliverance from the pain these changes wrought. But then, I guess when you consider my attitude, it makes sense, huh?

I didn’t praise God or His goodness. I didn’t try to find His Will in my situation.  I sulked. I pouted.

No more!

I refuse to do it longer. I will praise Him! My heart will sing of His goodness and grace. I will go to Him. He is the source of my normalcy, my stability. When all else fails, He is constant. Utterly and completely.  He is always faithful, inviting us to come and talk with Him about anything.

He wanted me to come to him for comfort and to find joy in His stability, not my own. (Yes, I’ve been using the word “stability” a lot. It fits and I like it, so there.)  He wanted to come, comfort me and give me peace, but I refused Him.

Now I won’t. I will raise my hands, and my heart, to the only One who deserves my praise. And I will remember, though everything else I hold dear is stripped away, and everything by which I gave myself identity is gone, I can rest in this: I’m still His. Always and forever, I will always be His. (Romans 8: 38-39.)

And so, I end this entry with an uplifted heart and say,

“Holy is the LORD, and He is worthy of my praise.”

P.S. Here's a link to listen to the song I mentioned. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3fr2Kl4Fcs

Leaving

Well, it's official. I have finished my first year at Taylor University. I am now a sophomore. Now, admittedly, I should be rejoicing, but I'm not. In some ways, I am happy. I finished one year of college. That in itself is an achievement. But there's something else that overwhelms the miniscule feeling if victory. It is the feeling of loss.

This year, I made quite a few friends. Some of them were freshmen. Some were graduating seniors. All of them I will miss. Especially those graduating. While I have some assurances that I might see some of them again, it still feels like in some way, I'm losing my friends, like I'm losing a piece of myself.

It hurts. I see my friends go, most of them still living in the Midwest, while I have to pack up and return to Colorado. I feel the separation ache. The pain is too mellow, too slightly expected to cut or stab. It throbs instead.

Facing this pain, which is all too familiar I must confess, I find myself asking, does saying goodbye ever get to the point where it doesn't hurt, at least as a college student?


Does it ever get any easier?

I wanted to go and ask a professor or one of the seniors this question, but I never did. I never asked while I had them here to tell me. However, after slightly stewing on this question for a few hours, I discovered the best person to ask this question would be myself.

Now before you think I'm getting pompous or arrogant, let me tell you why I think that.

I'm a military brat, and I have never lived in any one place longer than 4 years. You say goodbye often that way. For the four years I went to high school, I lived at a summer camp. Every single I would say goodbye at least twice. Once to the first month's summer volunteers, next to the second month's volunteers and the paid staff.

I also graduated High School a year ago, almost to the day. I had many goodbyes to say then. I had to say goodbye to my parents when they dropped me off at college.

Suffice to say, I've had to say a lot of goodbyes in my life.So, if you all are still interested in my answer, here it is.

It never gets easier to say goodbye. In fact, the more you invest yourself in your friends and the deeper the bonds you make, the harder it gets to say goodbye.

I say this from personal experience. I missed my friends from camp a little, But as I look forward to the summer, the more I wish I had my friends with me physically. The more I long to have my close friends near.

So this summer might be hard. I have to go back to good friends, but I'm leaving some of the best friends I've ever had.

However, before my heart begins to despair, and thus make me begin my summer the crappiest way I could, I need to remember something,

Now, forgive me for sounding cheesy, but the truth is the truth, Jesus is the friend who will never leave me. Never. I can't move away from Him. He won't graduate and be forced to move on past college and thus past me. He will never be living anywhere I'm not.

He is always with me. I tend to forget that so easily, possibly because I have this nasty tendency to rely on myself.

But there is nowhere I can go to escape His love. While all my other friends must move on and we must spend our summers apart, I will remember that God is still with me. That Jesus is right beside me, being everything and more that my friends can't be.

Holy is He and Worthy of praise.

Scars

Hey all. Sorry I'm late this week. it's finals week, so I got a little behind. 

As I've talked about in other posts, I've been dealing with identity issues. One of those issues has been Whether or not I am lovable.

I'm really good at going back and forth on this one. I know at times that God loves me, but other times I feel completely unworthy of His love. Not in a humbling sense but in a wretched sense. More like I'm too horrible for Him to love and I don't deserve it.

Right now part of the issue I'm dealing with is my scars. Not physical ones, though I have plenty of those. I'm dealing with scars left from past wounds and pain. While the pain has healed, scars remain, deforming my heart.

When I look in the mirror, I see a scarred, broken, ugly man. When I see myself, I cry out in agony because I feel as though I have lost all claims to beauty in anyone's sight. Even God's. How can I be a wonderful creation of God when people run and hide at the true sight of my deformed visage. How can I be beautiful in God's eyes when I know people would cower if they saw the darkness in my soul and the scars crisscrossing my heart?

I feel like a two-faced person. Half of my face looks fine, with smooth skin covering my features. But the other half, the half no one sees, is deformed by scars from the wounds of cruel sadistic claws raking my face and soul.

It's a battle to find the truth. While I know countless verses telling me how much God loves me and how precious I am in His sight, I have a hard time truly believing it. I want to believe. But I hear another voice whisper in my ear, one that tells me of my scars, tells me how ugly and horrific I am. How unlovable I am. I've heard the voice so long it begins to sound like the truth.

How do you battle against lies that sound like the truth? How do you fight something that is branded on your soul? How do you win when your enemy has you pinned to the ground, impaling you in the dirt? How can you defend yourself when your sword is knocked away, your arm immobilized, while your enemy tortures you by whispering seeming-truths in your ear telling you how he's won the battle?

While I know you readers might be hoping for answers, I have to admit I'm still questioning at this point. I want to fight. I want to reclaim the beauty of being God's creation. I want answers. But I wonder if I'll get them. Or if I'll be able to hear them over my enemy's victory screech.

One day, I know I'll understand this. One day I will see God restore beauty to this scarred man. And for that I wait and pray.

Holy is the LORD and most worthy of praise.

Adopted

You ever wonder what it's like to be adopted into a family? It's a very strange feeling. Especially when you already have one family and find yourself invited--make that adopted--into another one.

It's a completely different experience. At least for me. I'm used to feeling love from my own personal family, the one with whom I share blood. But being invited to share in the love of another family? I have never felt that before. Not until this year.

Now, I'll be the first one to tell you, my family is extremely loving. We love everyone we can and invite others to be part of our family. My mom has many "adopted" children and loves them all. But I have always been one of the natural children, not the adopted one. I never expected anyone else to adopt me. Never.

Then came college. I moved to Indiana, 20 hours by car and two time zones away from my family. It got a little lonely at times. My parents have very little money, so it's not like they can really come out very often. They usually save their money just to fly me home.

Maybe I shouldn't say a little lonely. Special events like Parents Weekend were torturous for me because I was one of the few students who couldn't have family come. Small breaks when my close friends would run home and spend time with their families left me longing for home and my family.

Loneliness hurts. It digs into your soul and makes a nest in the center, feeding you lies of how unloved you are. It even feeds me lies of how unworthy of love I am. Unfortunately, after a little while, the lies start becoming the truth.


But I was given a priceless gift recently. I was adopted by my best friend's family. Not in the court-order-slash-certificate way, but in the we-love-you-enough-to-make-you-part-of-the-family way.

I had no idea how to react to that. It was humbling to feel so utterly and completely loved, though I hadn't done anything to deserve it. It was a gift.It was given totally and completely unselfishly. I mean, when you're invited to come celebrate with your best friend's family on your best friend's birthday, even though he hadn't seen his family very much, you know you're loved.

For me, it's very strange. I have always been on the giving end when it comes to loving my friends, but receiving love and being adopted into a family is something totally different than giving. I was rendered speechless. I still am speechless in trying to express my gratitude and awe.

Now that I think about it, it's a lot like the way Christ treats us. We don't deserve love in any way, but He still loves us enough to adopt us into His family. We are loved by God, not just earthly mortals. I am loved by God. That's something that amazes me even further when I compare it to the love I already feel.

God's love is so astounding. So is my friend's. Maybe one day I can hope to in someway repay my friend for the love he has given me. I know I can never do that for Jesus.

Holy is the Lord and He is most worthy of praise.

Lights

Is there anyone that fails?
Is there anyone that falls?
Am I the only one in church today feelin' so small?

Cause when I take a look around
Everybody seems so strong
I know they'll soon discover
That I don't belong

So I tuck it all away, like everything's okay
If I make them all believe it, maybe I'll believe it too
So with a painted grin, I play the part again
So everyone will see me the way that I see them
  
Is there anyone who's been there?
Are there any hands to raise?
Am I the only one who's traded
In the altar for a stage?

The performance is convincing
And we know every line by heart
Only when no one is watching
Can we really fall apart

But would it set me free
If I dared to let you see
The truth behind the person
That you imagine me to be?

Would your arms be open
Or would you walk away?
Would the love of Jesus
Be enough to make you stay?

Are we happy plastic people
Under shiny plastic steeples
With walls around our weakness
And smiles to hide our pain?
But if the invitation's open
To every heart that has been broken
Maybe then we close the curtain
On our stained glass masquerade

These are the verses and chorus of the song Stained Glass Masquerade, by Casting Crowns. These words express how I feel so often around everyone I know. I wonder, "what if you knew the real me?" Would you still want to know me? Or would you walk away and reject me, wishing that I had never existed in your life?

I struggle with this so much. I try to pretend that everything is all right and that I don't have struggles. Of course, if you've been reading this blog, I imagine you know otherwise. But it's a façade I still maintain, nevertheless. Often I wish I didn't know how to act like this, but it's something I do very well.


Let me show you a picture of what it feels like sometimes. A few weeks ago, a preacher talked about character, and he described it as what someone would see if they were able to open us up and see into our inmost being. I, being the weird, imaginative person that I am, imagined taking a knife and cutting through the skin and all the layers to see the inmost man of the preacher. There I "saw" a vivid light coming from him, and thought his character is likely very strong. Then I turned the knife on myself, and cut through to see my own light. What I saw was a small, writhing ray of light, spinning and curling inward upon itself, rather like what a worm does after you dig out of the ground.


This brutal visual representation of my brokenness saddened me, but I hid it. Instead of letting people see this puny, pathetic, pitiful light, I put a distorted mirror around it, trying to make it seem like a raging torch instead of a flickering candle. I kept myself separated from everyone and continued to watch my light spin and curl, even though it cried out for help. I hurt to see myself in such a way. The last straw was when when I found myself slipping into old habits and lying to my best friends when they asked me how I was doing. Afterward I was so despondent and sad that I had returned to my Old Self that I went back and told them the truth.


Then a funny thing happened. I found the mirror I put up for my light distorted the others' lights as well. I discovered that the bright fires I thought surrounded me were only candles. They were as small as I was and needed truth just as much as I did.


I thought that I was the small weak one among my friends only to find out that when I revealed myself fully, they felt the same way about themselves. We were the same. We all needed and wanted to be open and seen for who we really are. We found unity in our brokenness, our weakness. And then something amazing happened. Our light grew.


If you put the flames of two candles together, in real life, you find that the flame rises and grows stronger. Well, when we released ourselves and saw each other truthfully, in some way our candles, our lights grew. They became stronger and our deep friendship became a little deeper, I think.


If we hadn't been open, if I hadn't been open, none of this would have happened. I would still be believing this age old lie that I'm the only one who struggles to be real to be worthy of acceptance. But it's not true. As someone once said, "We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same." 


I only hope I remember this in the years to come when I am tempted to keep my light to myself and refuse others access to it. May God continually remind me how much He has blessed me and how much He loves me. It is only because of Him that I have these friends and this freedom.


Holy is He and worthy of praise.

The Battle

The sky above bleeds crimson. The field is dark, and the Enemy is coming. Even now, I can see their eyes before me, hungry for flesh. No, I do not battle humans. I battle the worst monsters conceivable. I battle my own demons.

My compatriots are gone, as often happens in war, battling their own demons. Friends become separated while battling enemy hordes intent on their demise.  In my scabbard around my waist lies my sword, and a battle horn hangs by my side.

Three demons encircle me. We are old enemies, and well acquainted with each other. Lust fights independently, while Loneliness and Depression pair up on their opponents, providing a two-pronged attack. I note their weapons. Loneliness's claws are tipped with diamonds, so that they can cut through metal into a man and wound him. Depression carries a weighted net, designed to incapacitate his enemies. Lust holds a whip to entangle, trip, and drive his victims where he wants. But these are not their deadliest weapons. Each of their mouths spits poison and acid which eats away at armor and soul.

I cower behind my shield and cry out to God to come defend me. I know I cannot defeat these enemies on my own. But God whispers to me, "Remember."

"Remember what?" I scream, as blows from the demons hammer me.

"Remember the gifts I gave you. Look around and see. Remember."

My eyes dart to my waist and I see my Sword, still in its scabbard. Above it is my unused horn. I push against the current demon scratching at my shield trying to reach me, and pull out my sword, I swipe at the nearest enemy and cause them all to back away, wary of my blade.

I use my shield hand to grab my horn to summon my friends with three quick notes. Loneliness tries to take advantage of my momentary distraction and spits thick, caustic saliva at my chest. I raise my shield, and thrust the horn to my lips, calling for aid.

Within seconds, two battle brothers who were waiting for my call charge towards my foes and enter the fray. Together, we soundly defeat them and they retreat, running for their very lives. However, In unison, they yell at me, "We'll be back for you. Just wait." The battle is over for now, and we have emerged victorious. The war however, shall continue. And we will face it together, serving God.

*                                       *                                        *

I'll be the first to admit it: I like to shoot myself in the foot whenever I struggle spiritually. I forget all the things God has taught me. Instead of trying to use the weapons He's given me, I cower behind a shield and squeak, "Somebody help me!"

After all, God has told me Truth so many times. He has blessed me with wonderful, deep, meaningful friendships and people whom I can count on. But do I utilize these things when trouble comes? NO!

Times of trouble tend to show me to be an idiot. I easily forget so much! And worse, I let Pride influence me, thinking that I should be able to handle these enemies on my own. And then (you guessed it!) I fail miserably, and end up retreating before the onslaught. Why can I not remember the truth? But as Pilate once asked, What is Truth? Or for me, what is the truth I should remember?

First, God loves me and cares for me so much that it boggles my mind even to think about it. He does not leave me to struggle defenselessly. He gives me weapons to defeat my enemies and tells me who I truly am: I am His. In Him lies my identity, and in Him only. This is the Truth that empowers my Sword. And that's not all.

I have friends. I have people who will come and lift me up in prayer if I ask them. I have men who will come alongside me and help me carry my burdens. I have "battle brothers" who will come to my aid if I let them know of my troubles. All I have to do is send out the call and tell them I'm in trouble.

Remember the goodness of God and utilize the weapons He gives me; that is how to win spiritual battles. Not by my own pitiful strength, but by His grace. God, help me never to forget that.

You are Holy and most worthy of Praise.

Alone?

Angry. Secretive. High walls built up and lined with barbed wire and broken glass.  Time spent more on my computer and no time spent that I didn't have to with my friends at school. I kept rage and hatred bottled up inside and refused to show anyone the truth in my heart. I was alone and pretended to be satisfied. I was lonely.

This is who I was less than a year ago.

Wrathful. Angry. Manipulative. Sensuous. Cut apart from God. Using people only for what I could get from them and then tossing them away like rags. Evil. Alone. Lonely

This is who I could be.

I know these things. I have spent time (maybe too much) searching the depths of my heart, exploring the dark parts of my soul, and remembering the boy I used to be.

Last Saturday was my birthday. I thought about my life and who I could become, and I was scared. I knew these things like I know the lines in the palm of my hand. I knew that only one step, one decision, one false move could take me to one of those two places, those two people I could be. At least, that's how it felt.


I felt alone and unloved, despite all the well-wishes of my friends who tried to show me they cared. I struggled under the oppressive weight of this knowledge. Finally a good friend came and told me some things I needed to hear.

Who I was and who I could be are not that important. God knows both of them even better than I do. He is not surprised by anything I do. He loves me anyway.

Who I was and who I could be are not who I am.

Beloved. Planned for. Redeemed. Adopted. Forgiven. Sacrificed for. Inseparable from God. Protected.

Never alone.

This is who I am.

I don't have to be alone! I don't have to believe the lie that I am unloved and am a few steps from falling away from God. It's not true!

So I don't have to be afraid anymore. I don't have to kill myself over who I could be or who I was. Instead I need to focus on who I am, on being God's child. That will be my focus for the days to come. For the new year that God has blessed me with. And maybe, in some small way, for the rest of my life.

Holy Is God and He is most worthy of praise.

Pictures

"The LORD your God is with you,
   he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
   he will quiet you with his love,
   he will rejoice over you with singing."

                       -Zephaniah 3: 17 (NIV, 1984)
Many people know the first part of the verse, popularized in the worship song, "Mighty to Save." But there is so much more to be found in this small gem, this small promise God made to Israel and to us than a song title.

Take the next three lines. "He will take great delight in you/He will quiet you with his love/He will rejoice over you with singing." Three facts about God and his affections for me are shown here and they amaze me.

First, God takes delight in me. I have thought many times, "Yes, God loves me, he takes delight in me, he created me, yada, yada, yada." But the wonder is that God, a Being utterly complete in and of Himself, decided to create me and delights in His creation of me. And in me, myself! Now, that point, wonderful as it is, happens to be only the beginning.

Next it says, "He will quiet you with his love." The only idea I can think of that is similar to this is a picture, or a snippet of time. After falling down or getting hurt in some way, I would go to my mother or father, crying in pain. The they would pick me up, put my head on their shoulder, pat me on the back and say, "Sshh! It's okay. I've got you now." They would continue to say that until I calmed down, simply holding me.

God says that He will do the same for us, for me. When I hurt, when I am in pain, I can go to my Father. I can go to God, the Creator of the universe, the Great I AM, and He will hold me in his arms, calm me and whisper to my soul, "It will be okay. Don't worry. I've got you now." He loves us and wants to be there for us. For me. For you. It's astounding!

But that's not all. Look at the last line. "He will rejoice over you with singing." Now, first off, when I read this. I think of God singing literally over me in Heaven, in some abstract way. I distance myself from Him. But that's not what it says. In the original Hebrew, the word "over" used in this verse can be a preposition of place, meaning where in space God is singing, but it also can mean "because of." Look at it this way. "He will rejoice with singing, because of you."

God loves you so much He bursts into song whenever he looks at you! He can't contain the joy He finds in loving you.

I read this and I am amazed. God loves me that much? But I thought he was always dignified, slightly aloof, or at least not given to bursting out in song at random. But that's not the image of God portrayed here. Here, God is shown to be a Lover, a Father and a Creator. Not just words, but images, pictures describing Him.

God's love overwhelms me. I can only hope as I grow in Him and learn more that I continue to be overwhelmed by His love.

Holy is He and most worthy of praise.

Flowers

A seed develops in my heart. Someday, it will grow into one of the most beautiful of roses. But for now it is just a seed. Then a peddler comes along, selling roses. They’re beautiful. Their fragrance is strong, heady. The price? A seed. Harmless, of course. After all, he only wants to keep a small token for something grand.  A bargain, a picayune seed for an exquisite flower.

I pluck my seed and give it to him. He hands me the flower and snatches the seed from my hand. Cradling the stunning work of art in my hands, I turn and walk away.  Suddenly storm clouds race for position and rain starts to fall. Behind me, finally out of my hearing, the peddler begins to cackle. He holds the seed in between his thumb and pointer finger, raises it above his head and then throws it to the ground with all his might. The seed  bounces on the packed earth from the force but then lands on the road. The peddler raises his leg and brings his foot down on the seed with all his might.

Having made sure the seed is dead, he then looks at my retreating back. He starts to laugh. The rose I clasp in my hands is made of plastic and fabric, sprayed with perfume just moments before he approached me.  He is satisfied. He turns away and begins to hunt for more seeds to crush.

A man emerges from the field surrounding the road. He saw everything. He looks to the ground and sees the poor, helpless, crushed seed. He picks it up gently and takes it to his home, planting it in good soil quickly, whispering hopes and love to it.

I return home and smell the rose. The scent is gone. I touch the petals and feel the weave of the cotton fabric used for them. I rub the leaves and find cold, synthetic plastic, not organic life. I realize to my despair I have been duped. I crumple in tears, holding the fake flower in my hand. Days pass like this. Finally, I look at it again. 

This is as good as it will get, I tell myself. It’s your own fault for being deceived. Now you have to make do with what you have.

I get up and put the plastic stem in a pot and then start to fill the pot with soil. The seed is gone. This shall be the flower that I was supposed to have.  In vain I leave it in the soil and begin to treat it as a real flower, watering it and giving it sunlight.

Months, then years pass and I forget all about the seed I gave up. This is the only flower I deserve.

 Then, one strange day, as I was going about my duties, a stranger walks up to me and says, “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to show you something, something you have needed and wanted but have forgotten.”

Perplexed, I follow him to his home.  There he shows me a pot with a crimson rose in it. Never before had I seen such a beautiful flower. I go over and smell it. A heavenly scent rushes into my nostrils. I lean over and fell the leaves and the petals. The leaves are fresh and the petals soft.  I tell him that he is a supreme gardener and that his rose is beautiful.

He just looks at me and says, “It is not mine.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Yours,” he answers simply. Then he tells me of how he saw the ordeal with the peddler, picked up the seed, and carried it home to take care of it.  Ever since, he had been patiently waiting to find me and give it back, but only at the right time. Today, when it bloomed for the first time, he knew it was time. He went out and searched until he found me, and the rest I knew myself.

He finishes his story and reaches over to the pot. He cradles it in his hands then holds it out to me. “This is yours.”

I am amazed and incredulous. I stammer, “Surely, it belongs to you! You took care of it–”

“I did so only for you. It is my gift to you.”

I take the pot warily. “Of course you want something in exchange for such a gift, am I right?”

He gazes into my eyes and grasps my upper arms. “I ask only for this: Take care of it and nurture it as your own.” He releases my arms and bids me farewell. I wave goodbye and start to walk home, astounded at the gift and its giver’s generosity. I stare at the wonderful plant

I have finally regained my flower. And it is more beautiful than I could have imagined.

*                                       *                                        *

Many times I have fallen for the “Peddler.” He tricked me into giving up my hopes and dreams of love and friendship and gave me something pathetic in return. I however thought it was all I deserved, all I would ever get. I thought that for years.

But God remembered my dreams. He took the “seeds” and nurtured them and gave them back to me, better than I thought I would ever get and much better than I hoped for.

Don’t settle for something lesser than what God has for you. Remember your dreams, your heart’s desires. Satan will try to deceive you into giving them up for a pitiful version while he dances over you’re their deaths. 

But God will remember them. He knows your dreams and he will give you the deepest desires of your heart in His excellent timing. Sometimes you just need to wait.

Holy is He and most worthy of praise.

Clean and Unclean

Dirty.

Dirty thoughts.

Dirty mind.

Dirty heart.

Dirty, dirty, dirty.

I know I'm a Christian and I don't have to live this way, but this is how I used to feel almost all the time. Every time I would try to come close to God, to feel clean, I'd remember.

I'd remember the pictures I used to lust at. The ecstatic feeling from sinning. The despicable thoughts I used to entertain. The evil dreams I used to dream. I'd remember, and it all still calls to me, calling me to who I once was, and could all to easily become again.

 Every time, shame fills my soul,  and I bow my head in despair. Can I ever be clean?

In the Gospels, Jesus healed men with leprosy, a disease that required them to be quarantined and forced to shout, "Unclean! Unclean!" whenever anyone walked by them.

However, in one story, Jesus healed a man and told him not to spread word that Jesus had healed him. But the man didn't do that. Instead, I bet he shouted, "I'm clean, I'm clean!" everywhere he went.

Oh, that I could be that man, able to scream the way he might have. But I am my worst enemy. God forgives and then forgets, meaning that he refuses to hold our sins against us. I don't forget like that. I keep condemning myself for my past.

Can I ever be clean?

Truthfully, yes.

God knew my struggles and my sins long before I was ever conceived. Yet, still He created me. Even more than that, He loves me. He is whole in and of Himself, yet He created me so I could share my life, my heart, everything that I am, was and ever will be with Him, and so He could share His Everything with me. His joy, His love, His wonder, His creation...everything.

He knows all about me and still wants to have a relationship with me. And I am blown away by how amazing He is! But there's something I keep forgetting: It's a relationship, a process, not a quick-fix. God wants to heal me, to make me clean from the inside out, but He is not an instant stain remover. It takes awhile and can only occur if we try to Him. Then gradually, day by day, we become more like Him, more like who He wants us to be, righteous , beloved, and complete in Him.

And guess what? Nothing Satan can do, tempt me to do, is ever going to change God's plan for me. He knows it all, and designed us, designed me, to show His glory in a way only I can. So what about my memory? It will still hurt, But thing only thing I can do is remember. Remember that God Himself has forgiven my sins and doesn't hold them against. And then I accept His forgiveness anew and let it wash over my shame with overwhelming love.

Yes, I can be clean. One day, I will be able to run into my Father's arms and shout, "I'm clean! I'm clean! The King has made me clean!" But until that day, I wait here, knowing His love and waiting for Him to fulfill His work in me.

Holy is He and most worthy of praise.

Self and Forgiveness

Self-forgiveness. We've all heard about it. Many Christian motivational speaker talk about it. Sometimes we think we need it. But there's just one problem with it.

It doesn't work!

You cannot forgive yourself. Forgiveness doesn't work that way. It is inter-personal, not intra-personal. You can deny guilt or reason it away, but it won't go away, and that is not real forgiveness.

Look at it this way: You break my computer. Two things can happen. 1) I can demand that you pay me for a new computer or get me a new one. 2) I can forgive you and pay for a new one myself, releasing you from any payments I could require of you.

Which one is forgiveness? The second one, of course. But you can't forgive yourself. You could deny that you did it, pretend it never happened. You could also excuse yourself. Maybe I was a jerk who you thought deserved it. Again, however, that is not forgiveness.

Forgiveness is when someone offers to take the punishment that you deserve in your place. You obviously can't do that. I can't do that. So, in the face of overwhelming guilt, what can people do?

The only thing I've found that washes away guilt completely, never to return, is the forgiveness of God. Of Christ. All I have to do, indeed all I can do, is accept it. Fully and completely. Denial and excuses work for only so long until you figure out that they haven't absolved you of any guilt. In fact, they make it worse at times.

What can wash away my sins? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

His blood. The symbol of ultimate forgiveness. He washes away our sins everything that makes us feel guilty, and refuses to ever hold it against us again. All we have to do is humble ourselves and ask for forgiveness.

This is all my Righteousness: Nothing but the Blood of Jesus.

Holy is He and worthy of praise.