Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

I can be pretty critical of the current praise and worship movement as it’s progressed/digressed over the years, but this is not meant as some snarky creed. 

This is just meant to be an observation.

While in our sanctuary yesterday morning, we stood with the crowd and began singing along to the words projected onto the screen behind the band and stage. I say “we,” but must confess it took me a little while to finally stand up. I’m not a fan of the modern worship experience, as it’s often so emotionally moving, but spiritually shallow.

Let me also clarify, I think the music is great! Usually a combination of U2 meets Radiohead, and as someone who saw U2 live about fifteen years ago, I can attest to their powerful concert performance. You have the driving bass, powerful percussion, and swelling guitars, all supporting the emotive vocals with a heartfelt cry to the crowd. And, while I love a good live performance, I’m not into being “moved” in worship at church; at least not because the music is stellar; I want to be fed by what I’m hearing said. Often, my thoughts on this are far more snarky and fervent, but I’m not writing this with that mentality.

Okay, back to the topic.

Yesterday we were singing a song I was slightly familiar with, and my kids were even more so (I guess it’s on the radio often?). Anyway, I was reading along the lit screen and started really feeling the music and really thinking about the words.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without bordersLet me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

Yeah, I’m sure a few of you reading this will recognize the song just from the chorus. It’s called Oceans (Where Feet May Fail), and I think it was originally recorded by Hillsong United. It is a beautiful song, so full of passion, and musically very powerful. I found myself singing along and feeling the energy crescendo. The words also reflect my heart’s cry, and I assume many other’s.

But this is where it started to bug me… got into my craw, as it was.

I watched as a large group of people congregated and called out to the Lord.

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders” was the first thing to truly hit me. I mean, it’s a very honest and compassionate call to God. ‘Lead me, Lord!’ I’ve said it numerous times in my life. ‘I am meant for so much more than this! What’s wrong with you, God?!?’ (Okay, that last line was meant to be funny, but…)

We were a large group of Believers, family, singing in unison to God. We were a large group of people singing because we could, because we wanted to, because it felt right. We stood in a large room with lights and climate control; it smelled nice, too. People had their hands raised and others were swaying. The woman (girl? Hard to tell from where I stood) also had her hand raised, eyes closed, and was belting out some of the best vocals I’ve heard in a while. It was beautiful.

But… but I knew.

When the song ended, when the sermon was done, when we all were heading out to our cars to go home to lunch/dinner, reality would slowly seep into our impassioned cries. Where does the Spirit lead us? We are inevitably led to life as we know it. We are led to our “normal,” and life goes on. We stop at McDonald’s to get lunch, we yell at the kids to stop yelling at each other, we begin dreading the coming Monday.

I was struck that morning with the realization we float through our lives. No matter what we do, no matter where we live, life is what it is and we are content to stay there. The song says we want more!!! WE WANT MORE!!! But when MORE looks and smells like trash left in the sun, and feels like a sandwich that’s gotten soggy in the fridge, and looks like the same thing you saw a few hours earlier, before you entered the church building… well, MORE doesn’t seem worth it, does it?

I’m going to leave this little thought for a minute; don’t worry, it’s still connected, but I think it’s an apt connection.

When I first truly accepted God had called my wife and I to travel to one of the poorest countries to share His Gospel, I was excited. I was more than excited; there was an intensity in my body I couldn’t describe without the help of Ritalin.

I was going to see a new world!

I was going to meet new people!

I was going to try food that sounded disgusting!

I was going to be a “real missionary!”

Time progressed and I went to weekly meetings. We talked about what to expect, the local customs, the local dialects, as well as some of the superstitions and some creepy stories about human sacrifice and spirits walking on the ocean. The night before we went to the airport, I was literally terrified. My poor wife had to console me and tell me I would be fine; she even blocked her desire to kick me in the butt and tell me to “suck it up, buttercup...”

The flight was long and gave me ample time to think about the decision I had made; also gave me quite a bit of time to second-guess what the heck I was doing. 

My first night in the small village we were staying at I was exhausted and went to bed earlier than most in my party. I recall, vividly, waking to the sound of drums in the distance.

The first words out of my mouth were “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, Let me walk upon the waters, wherever You would call me…”

No.

My first words were “oh, crap.” Not in my regular baritone voice, but in the squeaky rasp I thought I’d left behind me when I was sixteen. And, this was followed by “Lord, please let it be quick.”

When we sing a song like Oceans, it’s moving and powerful, often. It’s the type of song you sing with the windows down, driving through a cool autumn day.

And I like the words and the music to this song.

My only real problem is, as honest and reflective a song as this is, it pales when we are faced with the dry heat of the desert, or confronted by a professor whose knowledge (or lack of knowledge, as the case often is) puts us in a position of trying to defend our faith in the unseen. The music isn’t there to carry us when the cry of an inconsolable two year-old vibrates the center of your brain, and you realize the Gospel to her isn’t in words but in your actions and reactions to her irrational noise.

When I heard those drums, and thought I was going to be at the tribe’s next pagan feast – as the delicacy, I assume – I wasn’t interested in being “without borders.” I wanted safety! I wanted air conditioning! I wanted to be surrounded by a couple hundred… THOUSAND… like-minded Believers!

When we sing this song, and songs like it, I am hopeful we understand it’s merely the beautification of the lion’s teeth. It is stunning, and encouraging, and uplifting, because we need all of these things when we leave the sanctuary and face the reality wanting to bite us.

If This Post Happens To Offend You, Well... You're Welcome

I think we've mistaken our identity, as a nation. Commentators and bloggers, alike, have offered the thought we have progressed to an enlightened state, and we continue to "mature" philosophically. Hatred is something we, as a larger community, abhor; bigotry is openly rallied against; and anyone who doesn't defend the minority is ridiculed and properly placed outside polite society.

Bull.

We, in fact, have digressed as a nation. We have mimicked the witch-trials we claim to learn from. We are reflecting a hatred we have sought so long to eliminate from our ranks, and we are doing it with a self-justified, self-righteous ignorance, long graced with a smile.

It is time we face the "hatred." It is time we listen to the opposing view, regardless of whether it's what might be considered appropriate for "polite society." We should be grateful we are offended when we are offended, and seek to understand the offender and why we are offended.

I hate to say anything about facts. I believe we all struggle with any number of issues in our lives, we all have some sort of vice, singular or plural. This is what I believe, but I cannot claim it as a fact; not in the mortal/temporary understanding we've been granted. I will, however, base my writing on this belief. Every one of us, in one way or many, (excuse my bluntness... or don't) are terrible and offensive.

Social issues are an incredibly large part of the American psyche. Is that a good thing? Is it a bad thing? Regardless, they tend to control how a person reacts to another person on a grand scale. Recently, the Supreme Court, a collection of nine human beings - very similar in design as the other seven billion on the earth - decided on a social issue that has not been in question for thousands of years.

Social media was on fire, for all intents and purposes; both pro and con. Some called the supporters of the decision ignorant, fools, hypocrites, destroyers of our children's future. Some called the opposing view hateful, phobic, (also) hypocritical. Commentators, both professionally and profane, attacked religious beliefs, the Bible, and anyone who was willing to stand for their traditions. On the other end, slurs have also been lodged, the Bible has been used to call for a punishment of a class of people, and vitriol has replaced reasonable response.

Yes, we suck. We are a desolate and hateful breed of soft-skinned, multi-pigmented, prejudiced intellectual creatures. Heck, my skin's thinner than most, and this is meant to be a creed sent, spittle-drenched and louder than Iron Maiden set on '11,' in my own face, as much as it is sent to anyone else.

We need to be offended on a regular basis, in my humble (but covered in snide remarks to hide my humility) opinion.

Heck, I'm offended every day just driving to work! And, you know what? I need to get over it! Better yet, I need to realize what I am doing to the other drivers who are "driving" me crazy...

I see a face inside a car, I know who they are and can diagnose their mental/emotional/sociological deficiencies in a matter of milliseconds as I drive by - or watch them drive by. Similarly, I've been able to figure out someone's issues when reading a post on Facebook, or a commentary on some news source: I don't even need to see their faces.

Is this the same for most people? I would assume so (yes, I know what assuming does: it makes an 'ass' out of 'u') if only based on the reality I haven't been able to find a good paying job profiling every citizen in our fine country. I really am that good at psychoanalysis... you?

We have walls between us. We have automobile doors and the air between vehicles, we have the ethereal internet, which is like the wind: it isn't seen, but we know it's there, somehow. We post things on social media, we write blogs, we put commentary about items on Amazon.com. We know we are writing to people, but those people are a faceless sac of emotions; "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals... and you know it."

I think we need to have tables; tables with chairs, but without tablets, phones, or game consoles. We need tables with chairs, and butts in those chairs; we need voices coming from the other end of those butts, and we need ears open while mouths are shut. We need to bring our beliefs and ideas, ignorance's and prejudices to those tables and lie them out when it's our turn to speak. We need to be able to listen to the hatred coming from other's mouths, even when the acid used to take proteins from food burns in our gut. And, quite honestly, I need to be the first one to listen.

I have lived by a credo with those around me: you don't like what I have to say, get over it and move on. No, I don't proclaim it outright; I'm not that brave, or stupid. But, in my silent little tornado, it is a clear voice. I care so much what people think of me, but don't want it getting in the way of what I believe. And in my sensitivity toward others there is also a defiant anger. This is changing, in me, slowly.

I started writing a blog a few weeks ago, which was similar in intent, but when I got stuck trying to get my laptop fixed (it wasn't broken, after all; I just pushed a button I shouldn't have). While awaiting my situation to fix itself, I took a very wise woman's advice and reread what I was writing (thanks, Babe!). It wasn't bad, but even more convoluted than what I've put down here. I also spent a lot of time thinking and praying about what I wanted to write.

I am a Christian, and continually refer to my faith when writing, talking, watching television, listening to music and sinning. Jesus, if you believe the Bible, was not a man who set out to offend people. He managed to do that, just the same, but I've never been given the impression it was His intent to be offensive. His intent, being God, was to show the world the error of their ways. And, if you look at His story, He was determined to tell the truth; not His truth as a man, but THE Truth as only God knows it. 

Truth hurts and convicts; Truth is a reflection each one of us looks into at one time or another and causes us to walk away ashamed of the horrid image we know is there. Truth is what whittles away at our false exterior and reveals to us what we can, and should, become. Truth is always in our scope, but we choose whether to believe what we see or look away and ignore what is there. 

We have an opportunity to no longer ignore what is there. Whether you have a faith in something, or a faith in nothing, we all have a belief of some sort... and it needs to be shared. We need to listen and we need to correct; we need to argue and we need to be willing to modify our beliefs when faced with a reality we might not have been expecting. 

We need tables and chairs and butts and voices and ears.

We probable need to stock up in TUMS, while we're at it.

It's Not About Me, But...

I thought a lot about writing while being in Sierra Leone, not too long ago. I had all kinds of ideas swimming through my head while there. And then, on the long flights to Brussels and then crossing the Atlantic.

There are some hard realizations I've faced every time I've willingly gone on mission trips. First, these trips aren't about my personal agenda, my social status, my self-esteem. Good thing, too, because my self-esteem is quietly and firmly crushed each time I've gone. It hurts... a LOT. But it's also very necessary and enlightening. This isn't, and never has been about me, and it's about time I figured that out.

Blogs are a tricky thing. Whatever the topic, whatever the mood, it's always a personal perspective; skewed, self-centered, and always a reflection of the person writing them. The biggest difficulty for me, I think (and hopefully others), is what I write one moment is "in that moment." It's not always accurate, and my maturity level may just increase the tiniest bit the second after I push the PUBLISH button, and I realize my error. Granted, my maturity level doesn't usually adjust that quickly, but you get the idea... I hope.

I went on this last trip with the spirit of adventure; a spirit of hope and excitement. I was going to see people I considered family; people I had been praying for since seeing them two years earlier, all the while wondering how Ebola may have affected them. I couldn't wait to be back; couldn't wait to see Chief Ishmael, the Imam, and the kids! I thought for weeks about how I would greet them. Would I hug them? Was that a cultural foo-pah? Not to mention the threat of Ebola (but I never took that too seriously). Would we laugh and talk about fishing? I knew they would see me and yell "Kpanah!" (the name they gave me the last time I was there).

What really happened? They saw my team mates and yelled and cheered; hugged and greeted, and laughed (not sure about most Africans, but the people in the village of Mania - AKA Mahn-Ya - laugh at almost everything coming out of Westerner's mouths). As soon as they realized Kristie's hair had changed but it was still the beautiful spirit they knew from previous visits, they yelled "Konima" (her given African name). When they saw me, they said "and... who are you?"

Long story, shortened, I was commonly known as "Konima's husband" or "pumoi" (slang for white person). When I told them my family-given name (Daniel), they went "Oh" and generally called me Dennis, instead. Dennis was the other team member Kristie & I went with...

I was disappointed, to say the least. I had invested prayer and time with them on our last visit; I had poured my heart out to a few of them and we had embraced just before I got back on our little fishing boat to leave for who-knew-how-long-before-I'd-be-back. And, now, I return and I'm the one white dude no one remembered.

That's where this all comes down, though, isn't it? It is not, and never was, about me. Oh, sure, to me it was about me, on some level. But, in the grand scheme of things, I'm a dot of sand on the beach; worthless without the Master's hand. And when His hands are involved, I'm only one of millions of grains He's using.

What I saw this last trip (again, it's my blog, so I can only give my perspective), however, was an amazing shift of perspectives. We had a man who had visited us on numerous occasions, and always seemed just out of reach. He would be on the outside of the shelter when we were telling stories about God's love for us, and His gift of Jesus' death; sometimes he'd disappear into the shadows. Other times, he'd sit and listen... and... fall asleep. This time, however, the first day we were there, he asked some difficult questions. Not deep theological questions, but questions about being a follower of God while struggling with things I'd venture we all struggle with. Sometimes those are harder to answer than, say, "what is the Trinity?"

At first, I thought he was asking questions to challenge us. This is a predominantly Muslim community (as far as I know there may have been ten Believers on the entire island - one for every third village there!). But, the next evening, he came back and quietly told one of our missionary leaders "I am now your brother. I have decided to become a follower of Jesus."

The next evening, I was asked to escort him back to his hut, and he said the same thing to me. "I am now your brother." And then he asked, "when will you come back?"

Even now, I am humbled by this memory. This man, a cousin of the chief and the Imam, confided in me he was leaving the traditions and religion of his people, and following Jesus. It was powerful. But, again, I was just a speck of sand God had placed there at that moment. It was not, nor ever will be about me, in any sense of the word. This was about what God had done to one heart in that village.

Because of the repercussions of his decision, he decided not to be baptized until a later time, as this would be a public proclamation, and he was not ready. I would ask you to pray the roots go deep. He was not someone who took this decision lightly, as he told us they had been talking about the Message God had sent us with since our first visit to the village; almost three years earlier. He was also someone who didn't play in platitudes; when he asked questions, you knew he was serious.

Until I was in my late thirties, I didn't have much of an interest in doing missionary work; unless, of course, it was with a band playing in dingy clubs (I always liked that sort of evangelism - I could connect with rockers and "dropouts" better than with successful or popular crowds). I didn't have a desire to go anywhere else in the world; well, maybe Sicily and Ireland, but only as a tourist. Kristie was the same way. One day, however, both of our hearts were changed at about the same time. We didn't talk about it until later because we knew how resistant the other one was to the idea of leaving our comfortable home and family, and neither of us realized God had been moving the cogs in each of us.

This is all still very new, and sometimes very painful. But, in the grand scheme of things, it's a worthy sacrifice... then, again, it's never really been about me, has it?

... And Where Do We Go From Here?

I'm so slow... actually, I've been pretty quick to write, but slow to post. To the point I've got many different ideas laid-out, and even attempted to write a blog with bullet-points to specify each issue I was sorting through, but even that got put aside. Sheesh!

This year has been a strange one, so far, and I'm not sure where to put the finger first...

• We (as in the family) lost a very close and dear friend a few months ago. It was sudden, unexpected, and took all of us quite some time to realize the depth of what happened. I'm not worried about where his spirit has gone; it isn't here, in his flesh and bone body, and that is what bothers me. We mourn his departure from our mortal lives, but cherish being reunited with him in our Father's home.

• We've gone through a couple of dogs since just before Christmas. One was returned, after eighteen years as a part of the family, to the dust she came from. We miss her, but it was time. The other was given up after realizing he wasn't a good fit for us, but would fit much better a family with far more land for him to explore. He was wonderful... and huge. We miss him, too. And, we have a new addition to the family; also canine; also female; a beagle. A rambunctious, stubborn beagle. She fits right in.

• I've been given an opportunity to meet and interview some great musicians. One band, in particular, is local, and they are really a blast to listen to. Currently working on their second album (CD? Record?), I've gotten a chance to talk with them personally and see the heart behind the music. Very Cool. 

• I'll also be interviewing an up-and-coming rapper next week. Don't know much about rap, nor much I like about the genre, honestly, but I've been impressed with what this young man is attempting... and even enjoyed what I've heard! I know, I know... I've changed...!

• I am currently in the throes of preparing to journey back to Sierra Leone. Very excited about this, for too many reasons to list here. It is also with a heavy heart, however, as I am replacing our late friend. He would have been amazing on this trip, and, for some reason, God saw fit to bring him home, instead. I do look forward to seeing many friends I've missed since being there two years ago, and am excited to hear of their faith journeys! I'm also anxiously awaiting news of whether we will be able to see "our" kids while we are there; it would be heartbreaking to be so close and not see them.

If you are the praying sort, please continue to pray for America, Sierra Leone, our families and those you hold near in your hearts. I have seen too much death in the last year or so, and it's gotten me thinking about how much I lack a deeper concern for my brothers and sisters and neighbors. Even while not affected directly, I have watched close family and friends deal with loss in their lives, as well.

Ah, so much to contemplate, and now I've dumped a whole lot of useless knowledge out there. At least it's not all still stuck in my head.

Just Keep On Chewing...

Wow, another three hundred and sixty-five days has passed since the last time we celebrated the New Year. There are so many things floating around in my head, yet the spigot isn’t big enough for it all to come out. Lucky for anyone reading this, huh?

It’s funny the number of things I thought I’d blog about this last year, but couldn’t quite make myself sit still long enough to write since the last time I posted.

First, I need to get something out there that I did write a while back… if only because it needed to be posted.

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A friend mentioned something the other day related to an earlier post, and I thought it was well worth sharing. I don't remember the exact wording, so I'm going to mangle it, Cindy! But here goes...

A cow has two stomachs, you know? When it first eats, it chews and chews and eventually swallows, after churning around in the first stomach, the cud is spit back up and chewed on again, until it's ready for the second stomach.

Sometimes we need to be like that. We've got something we think needs to be said, but first we should chew on it and digest it for a while. When we think it's ready to be shared, we ought to chew on it some more until we can digest it again. By the time it's been chewed... and chewed... and is ready to be processed a second time, hopefully what comes out is more like a blessing than an unforeseen curse; gold instead of grass.

Something to think about, eh? At least, for me it is…

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Something that’s been heavy on my thoughts, lately, is the God I believe in. I believe in an awesome, giving, loving, just, and powerful God; a God who was willing to give up His son to die for a bunch of unworthy and ungrateful people He created. In that light, it’s dawned on me the God I believe in isn’t a practical God. (From here on out, I’ll simply refer to Him as God, whether you believe in one or not; I believe in Him)

No, Virginia, there is no practical God…

Throughout history, God has never been one to do anything that would “make sense.” At least sense as far as our understanding can explain. I mean, look at any number of Biblical history where someone was face-down asking the Almighty to deliver them from something. For Elijah, His response was a whisper; for Gideon, He whittled Israel’s army down to a fraction of what they started with (at one point using how the soldiers drank water!); He pulled a rib out of a man to give him a companion; when He could have struck any of His people’s captors dead with less than an utterance, He instead often gave those enemies warnings; He sent a prophet to a sinful town on numerous occasions, using a creature of the seas to bring him back, when he could have sent an angel or a talking donkey, for that matter.

I have lived my life as a believer in One God, and His risen Son. Somehow, while I cannot fathom the idea of everything in this universe happening by accident, I can fathom and unseen being loving me beyond my understanding and creating everything we understand in a matter of days (heck, time doesn't even become a factor for Him). I sometimes wonder why He chose to allow my wife and I to produce a child who has a very limited understanding of cultural norms. For one thing, it took me until my thirties to finally make it through college and get a decent degree, I still do not make enough to provide for my family without my bride needing to work, and yet God decided I should be the father (a very humbled, but proud father) of a beautiful young lady with what doctors can only say is a “form of autism”?

That said, however, this almighty God has also seen fit to place some amazing people in our lives; some who have the means and desire (for reasons I cannot fathom) to provide us with financial and material support; others who have given of themselves in ways money could never compare. All while God could give us everything we asked for without any need! Some distant relative could die and leave us with a substantial amount of money; I could walk down the street and find the winning Powerball ticket stuck to my shoe; heck, we could be contacted by a distant country (or some other planet in the galaxy...) and told we are descended from a rich and powerful royalty! No, instead, the Creator of everything decides to match us with brothers and sisters who WANT to help us out, even when we are sure we don’t need the help.

Likewise, God has seen fit to allow us to suffer tragedy this year like never before. We have lost the possibility to adopt a child we’ve gotten to know and grown deeply fond of; Ebola has taken a toll on friends we have made in our journeys to Africa; we have lost family this past year (one only a day or two before the New Year). I have made mistakes that have hurt dear friends and family alike; nothing scandalous, mind you, lest you got your hopes up, but I’ve said things I wish I could take back or at least rephrase. And we’ve watched as dear friends struggled to bring their own child “home,” as it were, and eventually break through the barriers and welcome their son only days after Christmas. Moses is home! Moses is (FINALLY) home, after many years! As we pray for them in their newly completed family, there is a bittersweet haze as we wonder whether we will have similar success, someday.

What will the “new year” bring? I don’t know. Honestly, if you’ve read prior posts, you already know what I think about time; it is simply a measuring tool for us. Seriously, is today really all that different from yesterday? I mean, of course, some are nursing headaches today that they might not have dealt with in about a year, but I digress…

Today is simply [our measure] twenty-four hours later than yesterday. We list it differently in numerical form, we use it as an excuse to “get serious” about any number of issues in our lives, we even think this could be the year (what about the day, the minute, the second?) things will change for us. Sadly - for me, anyway – every day this past year was an opportunity for growth and change. Some days I took advantage of and grew, others I squandered only to reflect back in regret.

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Okay, didn't mean to go so deep on the melodrama, but I was trying to get 2014 thoughts out and in the clear. Heh, what a bunch of fog, huh?

If you've read this far, bless you, and my deepest apologies. I write because it’s how I was created. Well, that, and I’m a fairly self-centered guy who tends to feel my thoughts would benefit others in this temporary world. A friend recently told me she thought I should write a book. I've wanted to do that for years, but not the one she meant. I have a great selection of bizarre stories and poems I would love to collect and publish someday, but as for my non-fiction I think I’ll stick to the blog for now. At least until I can make writing a novel my new resolution.

Someone told me the other day, "boy, you're prolific!"

I said "naw, I just like to write a lot."

Not sure how old they thought I was, but I definitely wasn't from the Prolific era!

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Okay, enough of that...

God is so much bigger than anything we can imagine, yet facing a momentary challenge in our lives can cause so much concern. I'm not allowed to go into details (actually, I guess technically I'm allowed to but...), so let me just say our lives here, in little Independence Missouri, have been far more dramatic than I can remember. Even if I think really hard back to my dating life in high school, I can't remember such passionate battle raging in my little head (my hair makes my head look big, but it’s really pretty normal-sized).

Back to the topic at hand; God is beyond any challenge humanity could comprehend. Likewise, He allows His children to find their own way through the world, sometimes, when we think it’s in our best interest to leave Him out of the picture. Not that He isn’t right there next to us, but He’s also given us the ability to glean from His Word how we should live and how we should pursue Him. It seems to be our nature to find our own way around life, and He seems more than happy to allow us to do that until we are wise/broken enough to recognize the futility of depending on ourselves.

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(Alright, let the author step back for a moment and clarify something; he doesn’t know ANYthing about God; not when compared to how far the east is from the west, the north from the south. He spends his days chasing high school students around a building and acting like he's the mature one, and his evenings chasing elementary-age kiddos around the house, while still pretending to be the mature one. At night, he often ends up doing a load of laundry, watching some TV, and climbing into bed regretting he didn’t spend more time in the Bible. He is by no means attempting to tell someone else how they should live; he's never seen through anyone else’s eyes, nor felt their heart.

He is simply a lowly being. One who knows he’s forgiven without any justification on his part; one who lives every day wondering if he’s made the right decisions for that day. These written words are the reflections of a heart in turmoil and attempting to figure out - on a very limited understanding - why and how things are the way they are.  And right now, he’s pretty frustrated about how things are…)

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Sorry, took a brief bathroom break (heh, that reminds me of a funny little joke about making "deposits" at Bank of Ameri-Flush...). Wait, where was I?

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."

Hebrews 11:1 

 Ever spend a long road trip, traveling through hills and valleys and long rows of trees? There's the occasional gas station, or "pit stop" as we used to call them, but not much else. And, while when you're a little older the scenery is enjoyed, at the ripe young age of whatever, trees and hills just don't cut it. Did you ever have one question (among many, perhaps) that seemed to egg it's way out of you on numerous occasions? I did.

"Are we there, yet?"

Anyone? I did. I know my brothers did. And, now, I hear my kids doing it, too. I think it's a natural progression for humans to want to know the plan. Heck, even from the age of five, my son was asking this question whenever we were on the road for more than an hour!

Hebrews 11:1 (and beyond) tells us to have faith in what we do not understand and cannot see. I had an atheist friend try to use this verse against me once, and he seemed frustrated when I told him I agreed with that quote! Of course, the more he spoke of his non-theist believing, the more I realized he'd agree with it, too, if he were honest. Again, I digress.

My point is the Scriptures are clear we are to trust God to see when the world is pitch-black. In all of the storms, He is the calm waiting for us to call on Him. His is the whisper we hear if we are willing to stand through the tempest and earthquakes and lava. It's still and quiet... and it SUCKS to wait... but if we trust His Word, we can trust the pain is well worth suffering.

Fight or Flight?

Okay, I was ready to write "ALRIGHT! The gloves are coming off!" but realized there wasn't any fight going on. Besides, I like the idea of my knuckles staying somewhat intact in a conflict and don't relish dragging jigsaw-ed hands home after a scuffle. Again, however, there is no scuffle, no minor battle, and no aggression on the eastern shoreline. Everything is "okay" for the moment.

I got to thinking about this a little bit and how I've been reacting to things going on in our lives. Ebola and the toll it's taking on Western Africa, ISIS (and what they are doing to children), our government’s limp-wristed reactions to national security concerns, and obviously two little Sierra Leone-ian children who have become entrenched in our hearts. There are actually more than two over there who have made an impact on us, but we currently are looking at two specifically.

Yesterday came news of a little girl’s death in Sierra Leone. Not the first, and definitely not the last; but she was the first to touch my wife’s heart and leave us here on earth. I never got to meet her, but listening to Kristie tell me, through tears, of this child’s haunted eyes; how she tried to make her smile; how she painted her nails and talked about exquisite eyes too old to be a part of this small child. I don’t know too many details and don’t want to guess, but the impression I’ve gotten is she was mistakenly diagnosed with Ebola and ended up dying for lack of treatment.

I’ve always considered myself rather passive. I mean, my sense of humor can be a bit unexpected at times, or even unintentionally harsh (alright, sometimes it’s intentional), but I’ve never been one to start a fight (unless it was with one of my younger brothers), and certainly never been one to go looking for a fight. In fact, I hate conflict, and would be the first to step away and try to find a resource to resolve any issue I foresee.

With that in mind, however, I can look back on a few occasions where I was willing to stand up to someone or some situation if I felt the cause worthy enough; even if it threatened my physical well-being. I don’t write this with some sense of pride; there’s nothing to be proud of when allowing conflict to enter your world. But I do recognize I’m not quite the coward I always assumed I was. When I feel that someone around me is threatened, or even when I feel cornered, I am willing – indeed likely – to strike back.

It’s this need to fight, as opposed to flight, which has also gotten me into some trouble. I won’t bore you with stories, but hence to say it isn’t always comfortable doing what you think is right… especially when you realize you might have been wrong. But even when you can look back on a situation and still decide what you did was righteous (not self-righteous, mind you), the outcome sometimes is extremely painful.

This reminds me of a favorite Bible phrase I see tossed around: Jeremiah 29:11.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (NIV)

I’m no Biblical scholar - something about brain development and a lack thereof, but I digress - and I’ve heard many different opinions on what this passage means. Was it just written to the Jews at the time of their trials? Was it meant as a message to all Believers? I really don’t know, but I do find it encouraging to read; I mean, isn’t that beautiful?

“I, GOD, know what plans I have for you!!!”

YES!!! What we tend not to look at, however, is He also knows what’s in store for us. We may be willing to follow Him and do the right thing EVERY SINGLE STINKIN’ TIME, but we will also get burned, have our hearts torn, and feel some of the betrayal He has felt when we sin against Him. Our life on this earth is to serve Him, I slowly understand more fully, and His service requires that we suffer; not because He is unhappy with us, but because to serve a Holy God in a fallen world means we will sacrifice, we will cry out, we will bleed.

As usual, I started out with one point and got off track…

I guess my point is I’m realizing more and more the idea of defending the honor of what is right is not bad, but it hurts like its bad sometimes. Standing up for children in schools who are clearly neglected could cost someone their job; speaking out about the atrocities of certain cultures could get someone labelled and scorned; doing everything for “the least of these…” can get you killed. 

Is it worth it? I think so, but don't know if I'm ready to know for sure...