Unsatisfied By Average

The Musings of a Stubborn Believer

Category: lessons (page 9 of 12)

Consuming Treasure

September 8, 2011 / / 11 Comments

I sit on black leather watching the day wake up past curtains drawn back on french doors. My thumb in the COL on my lap, my other hand behind my head… Countless yellow flowers sing “September!” in the morning sun’s first glow. 
My mind is far away.
I know God gives back. You’ve heard it said He never closes a door without opening a window– Never takes anything away without giving something better in its place.
I know.
But what of the times…

You know what I mean? Sometimes God grants that the fire should burn through our lives, and take away the dross…
And other times God grants that fire should burn through our lives, and completely consume the treasures.

And He doesn’t give them back.
I’ve had my share of fire over the years. And I’ve held on to more than my share of promises.
[The sun creeps across the floor and up the side of my desk; warms the cover of my journal.]
And I’ve probably written miles of ink lines in those books.

But this week, this morning, I’ve learned something. 
Something that gives me chills up and down my spine… and makes my blood surge jubilance.

The times when the fire burns through and takes treasures, leaving nothing to hold on to but memories of fire and smoke–
God has still given. 
He did give you something better. 
He gave you the fire.

My soul tingles.
If I am a soldier, if I am a victor, if I am free…

It is thanks to the treasure of losing everything, and never getting it back.
I sigh and smile.
I am free.
“Blaze, Spirit blaze. Set our hearts on fire…”


The Unthinkable

September 5, 2011 / / 9 Comments


“I am the vine, ye are the branches…”


Metaphor run into the ground. Heard often, preached often, embroidered often on the wall by the bathroom sink.
Just one minute, pilgrim. 
Halt your hurried steps long enough to answer just this: 
Do you realize what a branch is?
It is the branches that tell whether a tree is alive or dead. It is from the branches that a million leaves open to gather up the sun. It is the branches that turn the used-up air of living organisms back into Oxygen. 
It is the branches that hold the fruit…
All the fruit.

A branch that is dry in the height of spring testifies to a tree starkly dead in the midst of bursting life. 
Only this Tree, this Vine, can’t die. 
If it looks dead, it’s a lie. 
The branches are lying. 
Tied up there with twine, but disconnected.
But do you wonder that the world looks no further than the fruitless bough and pronounces the Tree unworthy? 
“I am the vine, ye are the branches…”

Incomprehensible is the honor of holding the fruit born of His strength and sap.
Unthinkable the dishonor of surrounding Him with fruitlessness.

Worthy?

July 14, 2011 / / 3 Comments

Twelve words throb strong in my heart this morning.

What? How is that possible– now? Ever…?
Forever?
I tear myself away from my Bible to proceed with my day, only to have my to-do list constantly interrupted by staring-off-into-space moments…
So I’m back.
To tell you.
The promise for tomorrow, and for today—
“…And they shall walk with Me in white: for they are worthy.”
Revelation 3:4  

Aim Higher

July 12, 2011 / / 4 Comments

Seems like these days, to be a “Christian” is to try resist temptation (most of the time),

to try to figure out how to be the same while being different,
and to make pilgrimage plans based on the weather report.
I’ve had enough of that.

So I aim to reclaim the name Christian. 
To reclaim a life of perpetual resistance, and perfect obedience.
To realize that to make a mark one must be different… 
And instead of waiting for fair weather, to run into darkness. 
Because that’s where shining makes a difference.
And because that’s what Christians do.

“Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and princes shall rule in judgment. 
And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land…” (Is 32:1,2 Emphasis added)

Above the timber line: looking down from Arizona’s tallest peak.

It Seemed So Far Away…

June 8, 2011 / / 12 Comments

Just a few days ago, it seemed so far away.

I know the smoke is making eyes water in Iowa, 1,000 miles away. And I know that the flames have left blackness half the size of the state of Rhode Island, (and counting fast) where last week were the most beautiful forests to be found a day’s drive in any direction. 
It makes me sick.
But it still seemed far away.

Even two days ago as I stood in uniform with a stethoscope around my neck, eyes and throat burning in acrid smoke and blowing dust, watching 10 trucks and two dozen men battle 300 acres of flames while 4 other fires burned simultaneously in our district with less attention (from one brief dry thunder storm)– even then, I could look past the crest of Arizona’s third tallest mountain where the aspens put on their show right after the first frost, and see the smoke… 
distant.

But distant is changing.

My lungs are on carbon overload. 
Ash falls like snow from time to time.

All day we listen to the radio call signs of people we know by first name, in gear for the inevitable.

A fire that started 70 miles away is now barely 30.
And most of the time it is too horrendously windy to use the 20 helicopters and 8 slurry bombers at the disposal of the thousands of brave men trying to fight it.

The Nebbletts flew over the fire themselves tonight. (thanks, Google Earth) and then over to the place they call home, and then back again.

And then they fell serious.

And in a moment, it was as if everything around me came into focus.
–Like all at once I could see things I wasn’t able to, when the fire seemed far away…



Treasure. Simple. Things.

Treasure the frying pan you’ve scrubbed so many, many times. I looked at ours long and hard when I pulled it out of the suds this evening. There are plenty of people that left home this week wishing they had room in their car to take theirs as they fled. 
Treasure the worn corners of the cozy rugs that testify of life lived in your house.
Treasure the dandelions that audaciously grow in the gravel of your driveway.

Dandelions are better than ashes.

Treasure the steaming bowl of soup.
Treasure the down in your pillow.
Treasure the eye’s twinkle.
Treasure the blue sky.
Treasure life.

Treasure life.

Tomorrow it might not be here.
Or at the very least, it might be very very different…



and if you think about it, please pray for rain…



Lean Harder

June 3, 2011 / / 3 Comments
“Lean harder…”

The ground dropped away before them, a steep rocky slope covered by an unstable mat of pine needles.

“My footing will be better with both your weight and mine.”

I watched their feet; the two strong ones on the outside and the weaker in the midst.

Suddenly there was a solidity of step, as the weight on the shuffling feet was trusted to stronger ones downhill.


. . . . . . 


Hours later I thought:

God is like that.

He needs all of my weight for optimum footing in my life. 
I can insist on using my lame feet when the slope is particularly scary, 

but I put myself at risk for a fall…

Jesus, help me remember.

Word of the Day

May 22, 2011 / / 6 Comments

I walked out of church with one line burning in my consciousness.
Of course there was a more elaborate contextual framework than I here have space to write. You just get it raw…

“The [early] church decided to compromise and accommodate.

The result was the dark ages.”

High price to pay.

“The stars do not change, Monsieur.”

May 21, 2011 / / 6 Comments

My God is a constant.

Through an incessant flickering of transients too numerous to compute,
from people and places, to promises forgotten–

I see the Lord high and lifted up,
sitting on His throne.

He never changes.
Ever.

Comforting when that truth is driven home.

Almost overwhelming when it’s driven home by faithful, albeit frail human flesh.

This evening I rejoice in the mercy of just such faithfulness.

My sister’s head resting on my shoulder; from my mouth come words quoted from a cherished tale of Huguenot fidelity:

“‘The stars do not change, Monsieur…'”

and my little sister finishes:

“‘Nor do the angels in Paradise.”

National Geographic


Costly Connection

May 6, 2011 / / 4 Comments

At first consideration, it might seem harmless, necessary…
Or even savvy.

But what if it makes you blind?

To walk with the world is to cease to recognize the prize of being His chosen.

And that alone is too high a price to pay.


Reflections…

March 21, 2011 / / 2 Comments

If I was not formerly convinced that I have no light to shine, no song to sing, and no love to give of my own, I am now. But that is just fine… Why would I want to love with my feeble little heart when I could learn to love with His? Or sing my tuneless human compositions when I could be singing the songs of Heaven?

No comparison.

Now, I’ve said for some time I wanted to be a reflector… But I’ve learned something of late…

Not all reflections are created equal. 

Some reflections are worthy

Some things are best absorbed…

Reflect light.
Reflect only light.

Pray for us this week… And stay tuned for samples while our next CD takes shape… 🙂

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