Reaching out

Okay, it's official. I think God enjoys throwing curve-balls at me. Really, I think He does.

One example, the main one really, is something happening right now. There's a guy here on camp who's rather lonely, or at least acts like it. My dad has mentioned it to me, and I have noticed his loneliness too. It comes out in the way he holds himself, the nervousness...a lot of things. So I have started, prayerfully, to reach out to the guy.


This isn't easy for me. I'm terrible at reaching out to others. Extending my hand in friendship has not worked out for me very often. Often that "hand" is ignored, pushed aside, or occasionally spit upon. A few times, I've had it wrenched and twisted behind my back.

Most of my good friends reached out their hand to me first  and I accepted it, gladly.

So maybe I'm making a mountain of a molehill (though moles are bad enough in and of themselves), but I feel extremely nervous about trying to be a friend to someone, someone who, according to my dad, is a lot like me. I'm not sure how accurate he is with his appraisal but we'll see.

I know loneliness can hurt. College will teach this quicker than anything else. I even told my friends once, "Loneliness is rarely nice enough to simply hit; more often, it full-on body-slams you into the ground."

And, since I know how painful loneliness can be, I want to reach out to help. I am weird that way I guess; I hate seeing others dealing with a similar pain, one that I know well.

Friendship is really important. I know that these days. I used to suffer under the illusion that I could live without friends, that I would be a happy hermit, content to be friendless. God and college-life conspired to rip that illusion away quite nicely, giving me a warm blanket to cover myself, instead of the rags I used to cling to.

Now it's my turn to extend a portion of the blanket; it's my turn to reach out and give someone the hand of friendship. It does have me scared. But I know that I can trust God to give me the tools and strength I need to do His will. I just need to follow the example He gave me, reaching out His hands that I might live.But prayers for guidance are always appreciated.

To God be the glory and praise, for He alone is holy and worthy of it.

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 Know Why the Angels Cry

Okay, this time I decided to write a poem. This concept (mainly the title) has been buzzing in my brain for a little while, and I knew I wanted to write a poem. However, just a warning, I am not a great poet. In fact, you may notice that often the only really poetic thing might be the rhymes, since I decided to toss the idea of having a consistent meter. So don't expect anything great.

This will likely be the only poem I post for a while, if I post any up here at all after this. Hopefully, you enjoy it.

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I Know Why the Angels Cry

Here I sit in church this day,

Listening and watching worshippers sway.

I try to smile and sing like them,

Though doubts and sorrow from my heart do stem.

And while these singers’ hearts do praise,

And sing along with musical clichés,

I know something they do not;

Something they’d rather leave un-thought:

I know why the angels cry.

There sits a girl in an alleyway cold

Enslaved in so many ways untold.

With drugs, reality she tries to ignore.
When she runs out, she sells her body for more.

Though no one looks past how she appears,

Unseen hands hold her unshed tears.

Some use her for cash,

Others see her as trash,

And silently the angels cry.

He sits in his room, the lights all dim

And hopes his parents won’t notice him.

While they slam doors, argue, and fight,

On computer screens he looks for delight.

But what he finds poisons his soul

Until searching for pleasure is his only goal.

Art at its worst;

It can’t quench his thirst.

Mournfully, the angels cry.

A mother sits by a hospital bed,

Clenching her fist at the disease that spreads

Through her child, so young, so small.

She’d do anything to take away it all.

If she listens to what the doctors said,

Very soon her daughter might be dead.

She bows her head, she sobs.

She questions God while her heart throbs.

All unseen, the angels cry.

He lives alone in an empty house,

Ever since he lost his spouse.

To death? Oh no, she did not die.

All she did was say goodbye.

To his job, she said, was he truly married,

And she released him, though it made her heart bleed.

His hard heart now revealed,

Can it become soft and healed?

This question the angels cry.

Now I know I must turn back my eyes

Inward, and puncture my own disguise.

I am a fraud, a hypocrite, a fake,

Building a mask with every lie I make.

Smiling constantly, never showing need,

Yet inside I rage, I burn, I bleed.

This lying tongue, this spinner of tales,

Will it ever tell truth, or is it damned to fail?

I bow my head as the angels cry.

A man there is hanging on a tree.

I know His blood and death is for me.

His agony, His heartfelt cries;

Oh, with each one my own heart dies.

But when he says, “It is finished”,

I find glory undiminished.

And though now I can see

That tears of limitless joy they be,

I know why the angels cry.

 

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Holy is the Lord, and most 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