Rest

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I always thank God for you because of his grace given you in Christ Jesus. For in him you have been enriched in every way–in all your speaking and in all your knowledge – because our testimony about Christ was confirmed in you. Therefore you do not lack any spiritual gift as you eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed. He will keep you strong to the end, so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God, who has called you into fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord, is faithful. — 1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Still in my pjs… just spending time with the Lord, listening to Rita Springer and worshipping along with her. It’s nice to have Fridays off. To have the apartment to myself. To rest and just enjoy God’s presence in this place. To take time out from the worries and struggles and darkness of my life and just be at peace.

Peace.
In Christ I have all I need. I lack no spiritual gift. And He will keep me strong to the end. He is faithful.

Amen. And Amen.

Arise?

I fell out of bed this morning.

No, really. I fell out of bed.

Realizing I was running late, I sat bolt upright in bed. Perhaps that was my first mistake. The room seemed to sway a little.

I tend to sleep in the middle of my bed, which is a standard double, and that’s where I found myself this morning. So I scooch over to the left side. I always get out of the left side of bed. Even though my bathroom is on the right side of the bed, I always get out on the left. Don’t ask me why. I just do.

So, anyway, I scooch over to the side and go to stand up. Now, my bed is one of those pillowy soft beds. So it’s rather tall. I can’t sit on it and still have my feet on the floor. Consequently, when I go to stand up from sitting on my bed, I have to slide my butt down the side a little before my feet hit the floor.

Something happened between the butt-sliding and the feet-hitting. I have no idea what. I just know I was suddenly very aware that the floor was rushing at my face at a rapid speed.

Then I heard a loud thud and felt a sharp pain in my forehead. Things came crashing down all around me. Books, my glasses, my journal. I looked up to see what I’d hit my head on and found my bed stand staring defiantly back at me. Wood can be very unforgiving.

I ended this journey on all fours, surrounded by the pillows I’d discarded from my bed last night, books, an open journal and a dvd — where that came from, I don’t even want to guess.

I was mad. I don’t know who I was mad at. I don’t even know who to be mad at in such a situation. But I was mad. My head hurt like crazy. I was confused. I wasn’t even fully awake, for goodness sake! Someone should pay for this!

I’d like to say I stormed into the bathroom in my rage. But I was still too dazed from my trip to the floor to storm anywhere. And I’m getting too old to to do that first thing in the morning anyway. I’m so stiff when I first get up that I look more like a duck than a lady. Lovely.

So I waddle into the bathroom and start my morning routine. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that I finally woke up enough to realize how ridiculously funny this whole thing was. And then I couldn’t stop laughing.

Not the healthiest thing when you’re face is under a strong spray of water…

So, that’s how I started off my day.

Of Roots & Dreams

Larry and I have been having an interesting discussion in the comments of his Generosity-of-dreams post. Here’s his latest comment to me:

One of the first gifts God gave me when He brought me back to Himself was the idea that “the first bricks go on the bottom.” Churches and sermons are full of fire and zip, and the implication is that we’re supposed to be instant Christians. Just add Jesus.

I’ve held to that idea ever since. I’m not going to allow myself to be buffaloed into overextending myself, as I’ve done in the past. I’ll let the bandwagon just roll on by, and I’ll keep walking in the belief that Jesus is holding my hand and that we’ll catch up with the bandwagon if we need to.

I think there is a lot more to the life that God wants to give me. Us. All of us. We don’t, however, have the patience of the oak tree that spends its first few years making roots so that a four-inch tree has a six-foot root underneath.

I believe that God’s life needs that root. I believe that there is much more to the life He wants to give us, but we can’t live without the root.

In short, I think you’re doing fine. You’re making roots. Sometime, if you just simply keep following Jesus, you’ll find out what your heart desires and He will give it to you. Being enraptured by Jesus’ glorious face is, I believe, where we start.

We’re used to living in a desert. If God were to dump all of what He wants to onto us we’d choke. It’s like feeding someone who has been starving for years: you don’t put him before a table loaded with pizza and steak. You start with broth.

God is a most excellent builder. He will do for us what He has promised.

His comment brought such hope to me! And a spark of life. This is what I miss from LA. I miss my Life Group. I miss my friends like Wendy, Ron and Leticia. I miss the times we had of communing together; with our hearts and souls intermingling, so that we shared in each other’s struggles and pain. Not just a time where we shared “prayer requests” but where we shared our hearts. They were safe places I knew I could bear my soul without condemnation or judgment, where it was okay to be who and where I was right then, where I could get words of encouragement and hope that spread across my whole being like a healing balm…. I think Larry’s found that with Nate and Debbie, and I envy him. I envy Wendy and her close proximity to all our other friends…

Ah, but that is rabbit to chase another time… right now I want to go back to the idea of growing roots.
Larry said:
“I believe that God’s life needs that root. I believe that there is much more to the life He wants to give us, but we can’t live without the root. In short, I think you’re doing fine. You’re making roots..

As I began my reply to him, an image popped into my head. A dream I’d had in ’97. Yes, I know. It’s a bit freaky that I remember a dream from that far back in my life. Even more freaky is that I remember it with vivid clarity. I also remember God’s interpretation, which came the following morning, with the same vivid clarity.

Now before you get even more wigged out that I’m going all “charismatic” on ya 🙂 (my apologies to my charismatic friends), this is an unusual thing for me. I don’t normally have dreams interpreted by God. In Love with Jesus I am. But Daniel or Joseph I am not (however, I have suddenly developed a strange affinity for talking like Yoda… weird).

The dream starts with me coming out of my parents church in Riverside (which, in the dream was my church… everyone at Magnolia Ave Bapt please stand and wave… thank you, you may sit down now…) As I approach my car, I realize all 4 tires have been slashed. Now what do I do? Suddenly, the church is no longer in Riverside, but in LA (for non-SoCal’s, they are about 50-60 miles apart) and I call my dad — in Riverside — and tell him what’s up. He says call AAA and have them get the tires okay enough to get out to him and we’ll go together to get new tires. I call AAA, they come and do their thing… but as the guy is leaving he tells me his is a very temporary and fragile fix. I cannot, repeat cannot go over 35mph, or my tires will explode and I will most likely cause a huge accident. The picture I got in my mind was of me killing myself and several others around me… Yikes!
I knew I needed to head straight out to dad’s, but I had so many errands I wanted to run! So, I ran them, all the while knowing my dad was waiting… patiently… for me to arrive so we could take care of the tires. I woke before arriving in Riverside, with this very uneasy feeling that lasted all morning… yet still feeling the warmth mixed with twinges of guilt of knowing my dad was patiently awaiting my arrival.

God interpreted the dream over a day later (Perhaps this was so there would be no mistaking both the dream and interpretation came from Him…). Driving home for Life Group God suddenly brought the dream back to mind my with stunning clarity. He pointed out that this was about my life; the tires represented “feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.” Eph 6:15 — Erwin had been going through the armor of God in his talks on Sundays, this one had been the previous Sunday’s… and the key word this piece of armor was “discipline.” God said, as long as I continued the way I was, I would still be okay, but I wouldn’t get where I wanted to go very fast. I was left with this feeling that He was waiting, patiently (as my dad was in the dream) for me, so we could get the “tires” replaced so I could go-go-go.

This dream and God’s interpretation has come back to “haunt” me at various points in my life. Almost like a quiet, “God said this would happen…” sigh of my spirit. Or perhaps God’s spirit in me…. I never heeded God’s warning back in ’97 to “take care of my tires”… not really. I’ve made good stabs at it. Worked at being disciplined in time in the Word, time with Him, in living a godly life. But I lack consistency, so I don’t think I’ve ever achieved it… I certainly don’t see myself as disciplined now.

Perhaps the dream is not just about discipline… Perhaps that’s just the human definition I put on it because that was the one closest at hand at the moment to understand “feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.” — which was very, very clearly stated by God (while the discipline wasn’t — I inferred it because of Erwin’s study)…. or perhaps part of growing roots is discipline… or part of discipline is growing roots…

The Amplified Bible puts verse 15 this way:
And having shod your feet in preparation [to face the enemy with the firm-footed stability, the promptness, and the readiness produced by the good news] of the Gospel of peace.

That would certainly imply discipline, at least in part. It doesn’t cover the whole of the verse… preparation is more than just discipline. It also involves practice, skill, alertness, a ready stance — like the feet spread that you get when you’re bracing yourself against a strong wind gust… just like a tree must have deep roots that will brace it, hold it steady, give it stability if it is to survive gale force or hurricane force winds…

“[Most] blessed is the man who believes in, trusts in, and relies on the Lord, and whose hope and confidence the Lord is. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters that spreads out its roots by the river; and it shall not see and fear when heat comes; but its leaf shall be green. It shall not be anxious and full of care in the year of drought, nor shall it cease yielding fruit.” — Jer 17:7-8 Amp. Bible

I guess God is working on my feet, huh. I’m growing roots deep into the heart of God. That’s good. Because I just can’t seem to get enough of Him these days. So perhaps bigger, deeper, longer roots will help… I still need to work on the discipline thing… I need to become more consistent. I hope that part of God’s work on my feet will include helping me in this area too. ….Perhaps one day, someone will want to put this on my tombstone….

How beautiful upon the mountains were the feet of she who brought good tidings, who published peace, who brought good tidings of good, who published salvation, who said to Zion, Your God reigns! — Isa 52:7 Amp. Bible with Lu’s alterations

Spoken Of — And Spoken For

This is a special passage to me… God used it many times during my year overseas to comfort and encourage me. It came back to me again, as I searched Scripture for answers to a different question.

Amazing how God always comes through… even when we are searching for something different than what He hands us… Yet in His hands we find everything we are looking for.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.

Isaiah 61:1-4

Advice To The Players

I found this article today. It’s got some wisdom in it. Take a moment to read it in it’s current context… and after you’re finished saying, “Yes and amen!” (which I think you will regardless of your political bent), go back and read it again with a different frame: the American Church today. And see what God perhaps stirs in your soul…

Five Reality Checks For Democrats

by Tish Durkin
New York Observer
November 16, 2004

Democrats of Manhattan, rise and shine! It’s been over a week now. The American people have spoken, and what they said was: They don’t want you. The vote is in, the map is more red than blue, that smirking jerk you love to hate is back for four more years. So now what?

Clearly, your most frequently stated option is not a realistic possibility. If you were really going to kill yourself in the event that President George W. Bush got re-elected, you would have done so by now. This leaves you, like every other loser, with two things: a bitter taste in your mouth, and a choice. You can sit around and keep telling each other how stupid and scary the winners are. Or you can put down the hemlock and the Häagen-Dazs, splash some cold water on your face, look in the mirror and tell yourself some awful truths.

Read your lips:

Bush is not an idiot. Kofi Annan is not an oracle. Michael Moore is not Everyman. Women are not ovaries with feet. And to be an American is not an embarrassment.

Lest this sound like gloating, I confess to having a pronoun problem here, and will hereby switch from “you” to “we.” I voted for John Kerry. As a liberal separation-of-church-and-state type, I don’t like the idea of a President who owes his political life to a conservative religious base. I can’t fathom George Bush’s policies on the economy and the environment. As for Iraq, while I find nothing of genius in the Democrats’ prescriptions at this point, I find astonishing the idea that the administration’s performance there is, on balance, something to reward rather than something to punish.

Curiously, then, it is not the party I voted against that is driving me nuts right now. It is the party I voted for. It’s the same feeling that I got about the Democrats after 2000: I agree with them, but I can’t stand them, in the exact same way I can’t stand anyone who would rather whine than shine.

Now as then, Democratic partisans seem to be more interested in coming off as wronged rather than defeated. We have lost an election—and so far, we are acting as if we have lost a contact lens, crawling around the red parts of the map in search of the speck of strategy that would have turned it blue. We are all set to keep on ridiculing the President’s syntax, when it is our message that no one can make sense of. The party of F.D.R. and J.F.K. has turned itself into the political equivalent of the woman who responds to her husband’s leaving her by living in her bathrobe for years: It’s O.K. for her to be miserable, so long as enough people around her know that he’s the bad guy.

In short, the Democratic Party is losing the American people—and so far, we aren’t even looking for them.

To get started, we should go with the five rules of reality-checking:

Reality check No. 1: Bush is not an idiot—and even if he were, saying so, over and over again, would not be a strategy. It would be an insult to the 59 million Americans who voted for him; a gift to anyone and everyone who wants to paint the Democratic Party as a coven of elitists—and a slap in our own face. For a group of people who pride ourselves on intellectual superiority, we seem remarkably capable of ignoring the most basic questions. Here is one: If Bush is an idiot and he has beaten us twice, what does that make us?

To hear many of this week’s wound-lickers tell it, it makes us the poor, put-upon souls who are simply too intelligent to live in this country with the moron majority. And anyway, the beef goes on, George Bush didn’t win twice. O.K., he won this once, but barely; if a few precincts in a few states had gone the other way, Democrats would be reaching for the Champagne rather than the cyanide. And his first election, of course, he stole from Al Gore.

Such is the Democratic stuff of which Republican dreams are made. Once the drama of 2000 subsided, the question that would have obsessed a vital political party was not whether the Supreme Court ought to have decided on Florida as it did. The question would have been: In a time of peace and prosperity, why was it anywhere near that close? Similarly, the real question now is not what could have been done here or there at the margins to put John Kerry over the top. The question is: If the economy is a mess and the war is a disaster, why isn’t the President a lame duck? If, as the Democrats would have it, it is so obvious that Republican policies are harmful to so many Americans on so many fronts, foreign and domestic, how is it that more than half of the Americans who voted have been solidly convinced otherwise?

If one is serious about finding answers to such questions, one can look in two places. Either their side is at least partially right on some fairly major points, or our side cannot articulate its way out of a paper bag. In neither one of those areas is the stupidity of the opponent a fruitful field of analysis.

Reality check number No. 2: Kofi Annan is not an oracle. Whenever an incumbent has a mess on his hands, it is natural for the challenger to reach for the easiest possible alternative. In the case of Mr. Bush and Iraq, the alternative put forth by Mr. Kerry was the specter of some wider, broader, happier international coalition which would allegedly make a great deal of difference on the ground.

Far be it from me to suggest that international co-operation does not have its uses, or to argue that the Bush administration has done anything other than deprive itself unnecessarily of those uses. That said, the most perfect coalition is a thing of serious imperfection. To take a quick case in point: Of all the things that makes Iraqis distrust and despise Americans, none is more pressing than the fact that after the first Gulf War, the first President Bush urged the Shia majority to rise up, then failed to support them, thereby sending countless rebels—and non-rebels—to their slaughter. Right or wrong, his decision to hold back was a function of the constraints placed upon him by the broad international coalition that he had assembled. That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have assembled the coalition and then kept his word to it. It simply serves to remind that just as a coalition can buoy an effort up, it can also bog it down.

Second, it is worth bearing in mind that one of the most salient and disturbing features of the situation in Iraq is that of paralysis, and therefore it is worth entertaining the possibility that a broader and more active coalition might make that problem worse. Exhibit A is Falluja. Sickening though it is to say in light of the many innocent people who live there, it is simply a fact that that city is a home base for terrorists who are, in effect, more anti-Shia than anti-American, and whom local sheiks have proven, over a very long period of time, unwilling or unable to expel by peaceful means. As Prime Minister Ayad Allawi has long grasped, unless and until these killers are killed, Iraq will remain a bloodbath. This week Mr. Annan, for his part, advocated against the taking of any action against Falluja, without offering any viable alternative—probably because there isn’t one. Now if Mr. Annan were an oracle, he would know that inaction would lead to greater peace and stability. But since he isn’t one, it is at least as possible that a U.N.-backed approach would cause the situation to deteriorate even further.

Finally, in order to assess an argument for a greater international coalition, one has to consider what that beefed-up coalition would be expected to accomplish. No question, the arrival of more countries on board would mean a welcome sharing of the burdens of occupation. Not so clear is the link between the presence of more countries and the mitigation of horror. After all, the violent chaos in which Iraq finds itself is, in large part, the work of foreign jihadis coming in from neighboring countries, both feeding and feeding on the forces within Iraq. Thus, in order for an international coalition to have an effect on that, it would have to include nations like Iran, Syria and Saudi Arabia. Good luck.

Reality check No. 3: Michael Moore is a filmmaker of talent and a self-marketer of genius. He should never have been appointed Democratic ambassador to the working man. I bring up Mr. Moore not because I think that he played some role in Mr. Bush’s re-election, or that he doesn’t have his base-stirring uses. It’s because he so strikes me as the personification of the Democratic Party, in that he so robustly refuses to hear or see so many of the people he purports to champion. What is missing from his films is precisely what is missing from the Democratic approach to the electorate: the quality of searching. Never, in the course of viewing a Moore film, does one get the feeling that he is putting his own worldview through the paces, finding out something that he didn’t already know. Like the Democrats, he also seems to have missed American political life since 1980. He doesn’t seem to entertain the possibility that an honest-to-God, respectable, working-class American might also be a true-blue conservative, and even have reasons for being such … not reasons that a liberal has to embrace, but reasons that a non-losing liberal would have to take seriously in some way. Just so, the Democrats are on God knows what cycle of fighting a class war that is of no interest to the class on whose behalf it is supposedly being fought. The tax cut benefits the rich, so we are going to spend yet another election blasting the tax cut for benefiting the rich, never to delve into the issue of why so many non-rich Americans so manifestly could care less.

That doesn’t mean that such Americans aren’t downright wrong; one can, of course, argue that those traditionally Democratic constituencies who have defected to the G.O.P. have done nothing but hurt themselves in the process. But the task is to get those people back. Ridiculing their recent taste in candidates is an interesting way to go about this. This isn’t rocket science: If you were a blue-collar Democrat who had voted Republican for the past several elections—whether out of national pride, or social values, or a belief that the tax cut was good for you—and then somebody came along to lampoon you and all your candidates, how would you react? Would you hit yourself on the head and say, “Hey, they’re right! What have I been thinking?” Or would you say, “These arrogant windbags have no idea who I am,” and go out and get a Bush-Cheney sign to stab smack in the middle of your front lawn?

Reality check No. 4: American women come in all shapes and colors. Three of those colors are conservative, very conservative and extremely conservative. Thus, it is time to shed the notion that politicians who are 100 percent for abortion rights are good for women, regardless of what else they favor. Long treated as the price of admission to viability as a big-time Democrat, this is, in fact, the flip side of the right-wing fanaticism which says that any politician who is against all forms of abortion is morally superior, regardless of what other positions he holds. Democrats would argue that Republicans are bad for women on a host of non-ovarian quality-of-life issues, too—but they sure don’t spend much time spelling that out in a way that could appeal to a woman who does not necessarily view Roe v. Wade as a gift from God.

And finally, reality check No. 5: Democrats cannot lay claim to leading a country when so many of them speak so frequently about leaving the country. The United States just had a hugely contentious, hyper-democratic election in which many people voted, nobody got killed, and the day happened to be carried by the other side. And what is the chic line for Democrats to take as a result?

“I’m moving to France.”

Now that’s the way to get America back!

Worth It All

It was a long, dark weekend. Depression Day followed Depression Day… you know, those days when you just can’t get out of bed; so you hide under your covers till way past noon, stay in your pajamas way past afternoon and finally shower around dinner time…

No, perhaps you don’t know.

I don’t understand Your ways
Oh but I will give You my song
give You all of my praise.

There is a darkness that overtakes you. A darkness that is not spiritual, yet impacts your spirit in monumental ways. It obliterates everything in your life, and everything you’ve ever learned. It is all-consuming. It sucks you in and blinds every sense you have. It’s darker than a moonless night, darker than a room with no windows and no lights. The kind of dark where you can’t see your hand even though its an inch from your face. The kind of dark that horror movies are made of

It is a darkness that is profoundly misunderstood by the general Christian public… and even by most well-meaning Christian lay-counselors. Sadly, because of this, most suffer the darkness in silence. Until one day death finally takes them. Or, they hurry death along in their own way.

You hold on to all my pain
with it you are pulling me closer
and pulling me into your ways.

My darkness is inky black. It is filled with sorrow, confusion, guilt and rage. I scream and kick and cry until I’ve spent myself and all that’s left is exhaustion. No one knows I’m raging, no one knows I’m crying, screaming, kicking, spent in sorrow, confusion, exhaustion.

No one knows because no one can see it. No one can see it because it all happens in my soul.

To look at me, you’d probably think I’m tired. Or irritated. Or uninterested. Or perhaps just aloof. I, myself, can hear the chiding voices of previous mentors and counselors. “Now Lu, you can’t let yourself withdraw.” “Get back into the game.” “Just go back and do the last thing you left undone.” “Somewhere you’ve made a wrong choice, chosen a wrong reaction, and now you need to get up, go back to where you left off and go. Go!”

I cannot go. I cannot. I have nothing to give. I have nothing to go to. I cannot see the way to go. Won’t somebody please help me.

Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it all,
Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it all.

God Speaks. Every day He speaks. Every moment of the day He speaks. He never demands I get out of bed. Never scolds or chides. Never says I’m lazy or a cry baby. Never says I’m weak for withdrawing. For hiding. Never.

God Speaks. In a gentle, loving voice, He says, “it’s okay. You are okay, just as you are. I am in this darkness with you. It’s okay to be here. Don’t try to be something you are not. That’s not living in integrity. Don’t try to pretend you’re happy and that all is well inside you when it’s not.”

“We’ll get through this,” He says. “We’ll get through this together.”

You hold on to all my pain
with it you are pulling me closer
and pulling me into your ways.

How can the God of all creation, the God who has all power and all might in the palm of His hand… Who watches over every living creature… How can He care so much for little me? Why does He care?

All my life… All I had, all I thought was mine, all I thought was my life… it’s all been demolished. I stand in the ruins of me. Not just of my life. But the ruins of ME.

Yet God daily uses this destruction and pain to create deep intimacy between us… intimacy I never knew was possible. In that space, He reveals to me the depth of His gentleness. And patience. And love.

Now around every corner
up every mountain
I’m not looking for crowns
or water from fountains
I’m desperately seeking, frantic believing
that the sight of Your face
is all that I’m needing.

His love. His gentleness. His enduring compassion draws me in. It creates in me a need. Or perhaps it only awakens a need I’d always had.

Either way, I need to see His face. More than I need His praise. More than I need His power. More than I crave His word. I’m desperate for His presence. To see HIS face, feel HIS touch. To see Him in my mind’s eye and know He is here. Right now.

I will say to you then:
Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it all,
I believe it.
All my pain and all my joy,
It’s gonna be worth it

Is this enough? Is this enough to live for? Am I not supposed to have a mission? A purpose? Goals and objectives and various ways to use my “gifts” and “talents” for God? Is it enough to say, “it will be worth it. One day, all this crap will be worth it.”

I can’t find anything to live for. All I look for is Jesus. His sweet presence. That’s the only thing I want anymore. The only thing I can think of. The only thing I can “see” in this pitch black inky darkness. I cling to Him and will all the strength I have in me, I believe.

Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it all,
Its gonna be worth it,
Its gonna be worth it all.

Worth It All written By Rita Springer, from her album “Effortless”

Invisible Presence

There are days, and times, like today… right now sitting at Fido, sort of hearing the noise of the crowd through my headphones as I listen to Phillips Craig and Dean blasting “Your Grace Still Amazes Me” that I feel so incredibly blessed. God’s presence is a constant companion now. No longer do I have to search for Him or quiet my soul…. I know He’s here, I can sense HIm, see HIm in my mind.

How many people here can say that? I look around the room. There a small group huddled around the the bar, laughing and talking… one’s obviously telling a grand story, using his hands and gesturing wildly to convey all that words cannot. Just around the “corner” of the bar from them are two women absorbed in their papers. A man in a wheel chair chats over an empty plate with another man. They seem deep in conversation that interests them both. Throughout out the tables beyond them are scattered groups and individuals, some talking animatedly, some in more serious conversations. Some people are alone, reading, studying or working on their computers. Then there’s the two men beside me. My headphones barely cover over the conversation about music, their many years as musicians, their experiences in the business. I can’t help but notice the tiredness in their voices. Tiredness of life, of the rat race…. as one man told me about a month ago, it seems the magic has gone out of the music for them. And it shows in their conversation.

People continue to come in and out, letting in the crisp air from the rain soaked street. Cars sit in traffic just outside the window… people on their way home from work, or on their way to class or to a doctor’s appointment at Vanderbilt. People heading who knows where…. People move. Some leave, others come and take their seats. Through all the bustle and noise, God’s presence, His shalom envelopes me.

How many here go to bed each night with a hunger in their soul that cannot be satisfied, no matter what they try? How many people here can truly say they experience the shalom (peace) of God resting on them each day, the way I can?

I don’t know how to feel. Do I feel warm and blessed because of God’s presence in my life? Or do I feel sad and in pain for all those who don’t have what I have? I am only one person. What can I possibly do to stem the tide of loneliness in the world? Where would I even begin?

The group at the bar has moved to a table, and has grown from three to five. One particularly good looking man was greeted earlier by another, equally good looking man. By their dress, look and attitudes, I’d say they’re musicians, or somehow connect to the music business, on the artist side. Just now, however, something happened in their group that jolted my heart, excited me and intrigued me about this group, and this man…. A very heavy-set girl, one would probably call her obese, came toward the table, and the good looking man jumped up, greeted her warmly and gave her a big hug. He then led her to a seat and proceeded to make sure everyone at the table knew who she was. They are all now seated and in conversation…. I’m intrigued: Who is this man who seems to draw people to him? People who seem a little diverse. The group isn’t widely diverse, by any means, but they aren’t homogenous either.

Is this the power of influence? Is this the answer to the questions I seek? If so, how does one become a person of influence?

How do I make the invisible God who walks beside me every single day, who never leaves my side, how do I make Him visible to the world around me? How can I help the people in Fido, the people in Nashville, see Him?

Together

I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection! But I keep working toward that day when I will finally be all that Christ Jesus saved me for and wants me to be. No, dear brothers and sisters, I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven. — Phil 3:12-14

This morning I sat on my balcony and took some time to breathe. To inhale deeply of God. It’s been far too long since I did that.

As I sat and watched some beautiful birds flit around the trees, some fighting and vying for the best branches or favorite perches, God and I talked a little about the direction of my life.

I have no idea where I’m going. I don’t know how the bills are going to be paid. It seems that every time I think I see a light signaling the end of this long dark tunnel I’m in, that light ends up being a mirage. Something else pops up. The road takes a sudden dive and we’re back down in the darkness, exploring the deeper recesses of life.

God sat beside me, patted my hand, pressed His thumb to my forehead, as He so often does and assured me He is here.

As I contemplated whether life was for the “hereafter”, as Paul seems to be looking forward to, or for the “today”, I looked at God and said, “I want healing now. I want to follow You now. I want to know what you want me to do, where to work and how to get through the days now.

I heard Him whisper, “My healing is for now, and for the future. My salvation is now, and in the future. I inhabit Today, and every one of the Tomorrows. But I don’t work backwards. Yesterday and all the other days that have gone before it, I don’t live there anymore.

“Don’t live in the past, My sweet child. Don’t look back. Don’t look back in regret. Don’t look back in sorrow that the best has come and gone. Don’t look back. I’m not there anymore. I’m here. And We, you and I, will get through this. Together.

Press on, My baby. My Beloved Bride. You and I will have that Wedding. And between now and then, there will be so much We will do. Together.

Disappointment

I walked into the Convivium Wednesday night thirsty; in desperate need of a community to come along side me and just love on me. What I walked into was a gathering of of like-minded people. What I got was a business meeting. What I left with was a heart even heavier and thirstier than when I went in.

What do you do when your ministry team isn’t a community? Should I even be looking to them for that? Am I expecting too much from them? Should I be looking for my friendships and companionships elsewhere?

Should I even be in ministry right now? I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. I’m struggling with depression, on anti-depressants, in counseling…. I can’t even give a hundred per cent at my office because I can’t focus, can’t sleep, can’t….

No one is getting my best. No one here is seeing me at my best. I just don’t have it to give. I try my hardest, but it’s just not there… what I know I’m capable of, it just won’t come. And I feel all the sadder, because no one is getting to see the best of me.

The exhilaration of life I felt just last weekend as I drove over the mountains and soaked up all the beauty and majesty of Tennessee and the Carolinas has vanished. I remember what it felt like, but I no longer feel it.

But I still feel God’s presence. Like a mother hen gathering her chicks, He gathers me under His wing and holds me close. No answers. No insight. No words, except a whispered, “oh, my sweet, sweet child! It’s okay. I’m here.”

He never disappoints. Never. Everyone else around does, at some point. Most not maliciously, or even consciously. It’s just the nature of us humans.

But God, He’s not human. He took the form of one once… but not the shape. He doesn’t act like us at all. He never disappoints. Never.

Convivium

[Latin]–a feast or banquet; or, more broadly, a living together, from con + vivo.

Once upon a time, long ago, people ate meals together. Sometimes these meals would last for days. Sometimes merely hours. Sometimes it was merely the breaking of bread and drinking a bit of wine. Other times a fatted calf was killed and a party ensued the like of which you ain’t seen in, well… ages. People not only at together, they talked. In between bites, or perhaps, when the conversation got good, during bites, they would share their opinions, beliefs, convictions, the latest joke they heard, and all manner of things with each other.

Those were the days, eh.

What’s happened to our world? We go out to eat, but the restaurants are so loud we can’t really talk. We talk on the phone but are too busy to really delve deep into the reservoirs of each others minds. We gather over coffee at Starbucks or Fido and tell each other about the happenings in our lives, but we never listen to each others hearts. Nor, sadly, to we share our own.

Tonight is Convivium. Every other Wednesday Mosaic Nashville’s launch team gathers together to feast, not on food, but on words. Each other’s words. It’s a time to live together, to dine together at the table of our God. Where His Word and our words come together in a glorious feast that satisfies the soul’s hunger and thirst for true community.

We don’t get it right all the time. Sometimes our souls walk away still thirsting. Sometimes our hearts walk away bruised. But we’re a convivium of imperfect humans, so how can we expect our relationships with each other to be perfect?

Tonight I go to Convivium with a very deep soul hunger. The last few days have left me raw inside; beat up, wiped out, and sad. Very sad. Tears roll for no immediate reason. Please, God, let this evening be Your time. Let it be a true Convivium, what it was designed by You to be: a place where I, and every other soul-hungry teammate, can feast at Your table.

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live.” — Isa 55:1-3