"I will"
I said
and you laughed
I reminded you
when you lied
(and stole, and cheated)
I repeated it
when we fought
and you walked away
My words
are yours
to have and hold
not because you're beautiful
but because they're mine
I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.
~Genesis 28:15b
That promise, that hope, that faithfulness that God promised to Jacob when nothing seemed to be working out or making much sense...that is the theme of Genesis. Beginning in the Garden God has been working all things toward completion, and He will not stop until He has kept every last one of His promises.
God promised Abraham and Sarah, and they laughed.
Jacob stole his way into the promise, lied to his father, and cheated his brother. Jacob wrestled with God himself then demanded a blessing.
But no matter what happens (or happened) to merit His rejection, His promise is trustworthy because of who He is and because He is the one who made it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
ramblings of a rusty writer
I haven't written in a while. Well, I have written, but it was more to fill space than anything. I guess I'm just in one of those funks where it's not only hard to find the time to write, but when I do sit down, nothing comes. The following are 3 things that "flowed", for the most part unedited. They're not very good, and they're not intended to be. They are merely my efforts to get myself going again - a jump start, if you will. Please don't judge me (or my writing) based on what you see here. Judge merely my effort to get myself back to doing something I love.
Writer's Block
Searching, pulling, reaching (fishing)
hoping to find something
anything
that reminds me of yester(day)(month)(year)
fingers tracing, pointing (cold)
wishing to grasp
an idea
(not even a masterpiece)
sighs falling from my mouth to the floor
with a thud
longing to be light again
to be full again
sighs that can't seem to find the words.
The Poet
She sits, uninspired
twirling a pen
between her cold fingers
The baby squirms on the floor
reaching for a toy,
finding satisfaction with a sock
There's a fly in the window
*tap tap tap*
trying to find an opening
She cracks the window
the fly escapes (the baby cries)
"Looks like snow"
She scoops up the child
turns out the light
and walks through the dark room
"I hope something inspires me tomorrow."
Confessions of an English Major (and double writing minor)
I was almost a math major. I really don't like Brit Lit. My "ideal evening" does not include settling in with a good book. I still claim that Crime and Punishment is my favorite book even though I haven't read it since that one time in high school. I love poetry, but only from certain eras and certain authors, otherwise I just don't get it. I've never read The Canterbury Tales, even though I took an entire course on Chaucer in college. I rarely ever proofread. I haven't written down most of my "good" ideas because I don't have a long enough attention span to complete them. I have a number of plays in my head that no one will ever know about or see. I don't think I'm a very good writer and I'm very rarely pleased with my work. I hate journaling. I've lost most of the hard copies of everything I wrote before and during college and I never saved my grad school writings, so they perished with my hard drive. I notice every time someone says "I'm doing good" (in case you're not uptight about it like I am, you're not doing good, you're doing well). I like poetic language, so poems or prose that have lines like "her sticky lips pressed / together" irk me (this is also why I don't like country music). I'm really bad at grammar. I studied Old English which, although beautiful, has proven to be completely useless. I don't have the patience to endure most novels. I'm still not completely sure of all of the symbolism and motifs in The Heart of Darkness. I never read The Scarlet Letter because I had the Cliff's Notes for it. In college I claimed that my spiritual gift was B.S. I don't like editing. I'd rather watch the movie than read the book.
Writer's Block
Searching, pulling, reaching (fishing)
hoping to find something
anything
that reminds me of yester(day)(month)(year)
fingers tracing, pointing (cold)
wishing to grasp
an idea
(not even a masterpiece)
sighs falling from my mouth to the floor
with a thud
longing to be light again
to be full again
sighs that can't seem to find the words.
The Poet
She sits, uninspired
twirling a pen
between her cold fingers
The baby squirms on the floor
reaching for a toy,
finding satisfaction with a sock
There's a fly in the window
*tap tap tap*
trying to find an opening
She cracks the window
the fly escapes (the baby cries)
"Looks like snow"
She scoops up the child
turns out the light
and walks through the dark room
"I hope something inspires me tomorrow."
Confessions of an English Major (and double writing minor)
I was almost a math major. I really don't like Brit Lit. My "ideal evening" does not include settling in with a good book. I still claim that Crime and Punishment is my favorite book even though I haven't read it since that one time in high school. I love poetry, but only from certain eras and certain authors, otherwise I just don't get it. I've never read The Canterbury Tales, even though I took an entire course on Chaucer in college. I rarely ever proofread. I haven't written down most of my "good" ideas because I don't have a long enough attention span to complete them. I have a number of plays in my head that no one will ever know about or see. I don't think I'm a very good writer and I'm very rarely pleased with my work. I hate journaling. I've lost most of the hard copies of everything I wrote before and during college and I never saved my grad school writings, so they perished with my hard drive. I notice every time someone says "I'm doing good" (in case you're not uptight about it like I am, you're not doing good, you're doing well). I like poetic language, so poems or prose that have lines like "her sticky lips pressed / together" irk me (this is also why I don't like country music). I'm really bad at grammar. I studied Old English which, although beautiful, has proven to be completely useless. I don't have the patience to endure most novels. I'm still not completely sure of all of the symbolism and motifs in The Heart of Darkness. I never read The Scarlet Letter because I had the Cliff's Notes for it. In college I claimed that my spiritual gift was B.S. I don't like editing. I'd rather watch the movie than read the book.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Spiritual Citrus
You're holding an orange peel in your hand. Let me clarify: you're holding an orange peel in your right hand. In your left hand you have orange seeds, in front of you is a glass of orange juice (extremely pulpy) and a pile of those offwhite veiny things.
Your assignment: make an orange.
You've got everything it takes to make an orange, and yet you find yourself staring blankly at your two hands (or glaringly at me) and thinking to yourself, "yeah right."
Well if you can't make an orange, then where do oranges come from? Yes, yes, I know - they grow. I can't make an orange either, but I can till some ground, plant an orange seed, water it, prune it, dig up the weeds, and eventually I could have the orangiest orange tree this side of the Mississippi...and the Rockies, I suppose. That's not the point.
The point is: oranges aren't made, they grow.
It's a simple concept. So simple, in fact, that many people have started skimming through these sentences looking for me to get to my point. My point is exactly that: it's simple...but we miss it every single day of our lives. Let me explain.
When I was in college I felt convicted by Galatians 5. You've read it, "but the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." You didn't have to look hard at my life (or at my interactions with my roommates) to see that I needed some fruit on my tree. I decided to take one "fruit" a week and work on it, not moving on to the next until I had mastered it, at least for the most part.
It took longer than you'd think, but eventually I began to realize my plan wasn't working. I'd be working on kindness, but eventually I realized I couldn't be kind to my roommates because I had no patience for them, so I had to backtrack. Then patience didn't work without love. And so on. Eventually it hit me - you don't make fruit. Fruit has to grow.
Finally I looked at the context of the passage and my thoughts were confirmed. The fruit really wasn't my job at all. My job was to live, to walk, to keep in step with the Spirit and He would produce the fruit.
Scot McKnight says it this way:
"In general, we see something fundamentally important here as to how Paul depicts the Christian life. It is life in the Spirit, the life of a person who is surrendered to letting the Spirit have complete control. But we see here also that one does not gain this life by discipline or by mustering up the energy. One does not huddle with oneself in the morning, gather together his or her forces, and charge on the battlefield of life full of self-determined direction. Rather, the Christian life is a life of complete surrender to the Spirit."
Huh.
Do you ever look at your life and say, "Where's all the love?" or "Who stole my joy?!" or (let's be real for a second) "Why did I just talk to him like that?" Do you ever look at yourself and say, "Why are my branches so daggum light?"
The weird thing is the fruit isn't your responsibility, but if it's not growing in your life, it's your fault.
We are responsible for the soil. We're responsible for planting ourselves by streams of water, and for digging our roots deep, and for keeping the weeds in check, and for reading His Word, and for prayer, and for fellowship, and for keeping in step with the Spirit. We are responsible for the environment, He is responsible for the life.
The best part is, when we're doing our part, it's spring all year 'round!
I can't make an orange, but I know what it takes to grow one. And with diligent care and the Lifejuice of the Spirit, my life will be the tree where people get their cool refreshment, their tangy nourishment, their sweet delight.
Will you join me in this celestial orchard?
But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought,
and never fails to bear fruit.
~Jeremiah 17:7-8
Your assignment: make an orange.
You've got everything it takes to make an orange, and yet you find yourself staring blankly at your two hands (or glaringly at me) and thinking to yourself, "yeah right."
Well if you can't make an orange, then where do oranges come from? Yes, yes, I know - they grow. I can't make an orange either, but I can till some ground, plant an orange seed, water it, prune it, dig up the weeds, and eventually I could have the orangiest orange tree this side of the Mississippi...and the Rockies, I suppose. That's not the point.
The point is: oranges aren't made, they grow.
It's a simple concept. So simple, in fact, that many people have started skimming through these sentences looking for me to get to my point. My point is exactly that: it's simple...but we miss it every single day of our lives. Let me explain.
When I was in college I felt convicted by Galatians 5. You've read it, "but the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." You didn't have to look hard at my life (or at my interactions with my roommates) to see that I needed some fruit on my tree. I decided to take one "fruit" a week and work on it, not moving on to the next until I had mastered it, at least for the most part.
It took longer than you'd think, but eventually I began to realize my plan wasn't working. I'd be working on kindness, but eventually I realized I couldn't be kind to my roommates because I had no patience for them, so I had to backtrack. Then patience didn't work without love. And so on. Eventually it hit me - you don't make fruit. Fruit has to grow.
Finally I looked at the context of the passage and my thoughts were confirmed. The fruit really wasn't my job at all. My job was to live, to walk, to keep in step with the Spirit and He would produce the fruit.
Scot McKnight says it this way:
"In general, we see something fundamentally important here as to how Paul depicts the Christian life. It is life in the Spirit, the life of a person who is surrendered to letting the Spirit have complete control. But we see here also that one does not gain this life by discipline or by mustering up the energy. One does not huddle with oneself in the morning, gather together his or her forces, and charge on the battlefield of life full of self-determined direction. Rather, the Christian life is a life of complete surrender to the Spirit."
Huh.
Do you ever look at your life and say, "Where's all the love?" or "Who stole my joy?!" or (let's be real for a second) "Why did I just talk to him like that?" Do you ever look at yourself and say, "Why are my branches so daggum light?"
The weird thing is the fruit isn't your responsibility, but if it's not growing in your life, it's your fault.
We are responsible for the soil. We're responsible for planting ourselves by streams of water, and for digging our roots deep, and for keeping the weeds in check, and for reading His Word, and for prayer, and for fellowship, and for keeping in step with the Spirit. We are responsible for the environment, He is responsible for the life.
The best part is, when we're doing our part, it's spring all year 'round!
I can't make an orange, but I know what it takes to grow one. And with diligent care and the Lifejuice of the Spirit, my life will be the tree where people get their cool refreshment, their tangy nourishment, their sweet delight.
Will you join me in this celestial orchard?
But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought,
and never fails to bear fruit.
~Jeremiah 17:7-8
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Seated on a donkey’s colt
Jesus made his big debut riding on the haunches of a lowly beast of burden. This man, professing to be the King of kings and the Lord of Lords and Israel’s savior came to them sauntering through the crowd to the sound of clippity-clop clippity-clop clippity clop. I have already written about the surprising carpet that was rolled out before this guest of highest honor, but now it’s time to direct our mental eyes up and focus on his chosen mode of transportation.
Donkeys are slow and stubborn creatures. They are not sure-footed like a gazelle. They are not graceful like a deer. They are not powerful like an ox. They are not reliable like a camel and they are sure not regal like a stallion. They are everyday and mundane. Donkeys are common. They are useful, but common.
However, it was not showmanship Christ was seeking. He wasn’t looking for shock value, he wasn’t dressing to impress. Christ picked a humble, common creature that He knew would carry Him capably and faithfully. When people saw Him riding into town they remembered what had already been written about Him:
See, to the Daughter of Zion. See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
Christ came gently, riding on the humblest of creatures. It kept in line with everything His earthly life had been about, reaching all the way back to His humble beginning in a 1/12 star motel. Christ is for the lowly. Christ is for the common. Christ is what it’s all about.
So there is a commonplace donkey trotting through the city of Zion with the eternal Lord on its back carrying Him to His and glory. That humble, common beast of burden faithfully carried our Savior and our Life into that world that desperately needed Him.
The glory of that donkey was not in the donkey itself, but in the precious weight that he bore and the way in which he bore it. The donkey delivered Christ, and now it's our turn.
"...We theologians, and church musicians, we pastoral counselors and biblical scholars, we educators and activists . . . we are all donkeys, a guild of donkeys who happen to be on the spot, and who are called in the providence of God to carry for a while that most special and precious of all burdens. Our job is to carry it—carry him—faithfully, steadily, humbly, proudly, unashamedly, joyfully—along that treacherous path which leads finally to Calvary."
~Timothy George
See, we Christians have nothing glorious in and of ourselves. We have no beauty or gallantry to offer the Lord. What we have is our faithful, steady, humble, proud, unashamed, joyful service and our backs on which to bear the King.
That day Christ proclaimed his presence riding on the back of the commonest of creatures. Today, he continues to ride into the world seated on a donkey's colt.
Donkeys are slow and stubborn creatures. They are not sure-footed like a gazelle. They are not graceful like a deer. They are not powerful like an ox. They are not reliable like a camel and they are sure not regal like a stallion. They are everyday and mundane. Donkeys are common. They are useful, but common. However, it was not showmanship Christ was seeking. He wasn’t looking for shock value, he wasn’t dressing to impress. Christ picked a humble, common creature that He knew would carry Him capably and faithfully. When people saw Him riding into town they remembered what had already been written about Him:
See, to the Daughter of Zion. See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
Christ came gently, riding on the humblest of creatures. It kept in line with everything His earthly life had been about, reaching all the way back to His humble beginning in a 1/12 star motel. Christ is for the lowly. Christ is for the common. Christ is what it’s all about.
So there is a commonplace donkey trotting through the city of Zion with the eternal Lord on its back carrying Him to His and glory. That humble, common beast of burden faithfully carried our Savior and our Life into that world that desperately needed Him.
The glory of that donkey was not in the donkey itself, but in the precious weight that he bore and the way in which he bore it. The donkey delivered Christ, and now it's our turn.
"...We theologians, and church musicians, we pastoral counselors and biblical scholars, we educators and activists . . . we are all donkeys, a guild of donkeys who happen to be on the spot, and who are called in the providence of God to carry for a while that most special and precious of all burdens. Our job is to carry it—carry him—faithfully, steadily, humbly, proudly, unashamedly, joyfully—along that treacherous path which leads finally to Calvary."
~Timothy George
See, we Christians have nothing glorious in and of ourselves. We have no beauty or gallantry to offer the Lord. What we have is our faithful, steady, humble, proud, unashamed, joyful service and our backs on which to bear the King.
That day Christ proclaimed his presence riding on the back of the commonest of creatures. Today, he continues to ride into the world seated on a donkey's colt.
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