Unsatisfied By Average

The Musings of a Stubborn Believer

Page 6 of 32

Sympathy with Humanity

I wasn’t complaining. Though it sounds a bit like it now…
On a peninsula of rock jutting like a castle between a gorge and a vale I stood, breathless from the scramble. Hands in my pockets and with eager step, if heavy heart.

Perhaps a few will understand when I say I carry on my heart at any given time a thousand reasons to laugh, and a thousand reasons to weep. Most all of them with first and last names.
Such is the cost of loving humanity, I suppose.

Anyway, this post isn’t about me.

I’d just gained the crest, just finished a brief review comparing the power at my disposal with my far-too-often dismal performance, just realized afresh how deep mercy reaches, and

It’s not fair, You know? I deserve the lot of the criminal, but here I stand in converse with The Infinite, while people I love slowly die in the clutches of fear….

Can you see why happiness means nothing to me when it’s mine alone?

…So, it’s all or nothing.

Either I am to be completely at Your disposal to help the weak, comfort the wounded, and actually lift, and heal, and effect a lasting change, or…

Or, I want out right. now. 

Because it hurts too much to be in sympathy with humanity.

Ever have you been in that place or time when suddenly every tree in the wood seemed to drop its jaw and gape? and you wonder:

what did I do. What did I just say?

The only answer is this electric silence.

I glance one way and the other. Wait.

He never says. But suddenly it’s as if every snowflake has recovered from shock and found a voice.

He would know.

He would know just exactly how much it hurts to be in sympathy with humanity. And He chose it, over the alternative, not because there was no alternative. For Him, there’s no “out.”

For Him, there’s no wanting out.

“For we have not an High Priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.”  Hebrews 4:15 

Thanksgiving

It’s the morning after Thanksgiving.
I miss it already.

So I’m going to keep it going another day, another week, another month…

We compare notes around the hearth and it turns out we’re all thankful for more than circumstances…
We’re thankful for the sunshine. And we’re thankful for the shadows, which always prove that there is a sun up there.
We’re thankful for happiness. And we’re thankful for strength, gained at the cost of ease.
We’re thankful for uncomplicated communion, and for friendship tempered by tears.
We’re thankful for sympathy, a gift best given by a heart that knows what it is to hurt…

We’re thankful that He sees beyond this moment and hands us what we’d choose had we His eyes, His heart. We’re thankful that He condescends to suffer humanity to share His joy, His tears. We’re humbled at the confidence he bestows upon erring mortals when he gives us His Name, His reputation…

Let the chime stay in the kitchen another day, a reminder to express Gratitude.
And let Thanksgiving never end.

Forty-Four Words

If God ever fails to do something good, be sure it is for one of two reasons.

One, He is working on something better.
Or two, His arm is being restrained by my failure to intercede.

Let me never be guilty of the latter.

Holy Ground

My steps slow at the threshold of this little hollow around which two trees hold their arms like parents in a perpetual embrace. This space between, this sheltered cove, like their child, eternally living in the safety of their shadows. Wind sings through needles and boughs, and I bow.

History holds in her hands the tales of two classes of men. 
Those who have given their souls away to be used and abused by Darkness in exchange for a little gold, a little lust, a little glamor…
And those who have given their lives away so someone else could live.

Like a man spilling his life blood for someone paler, to find it filled again, or not.  

I press palms into mat of pine needles and press my soul into the door.

I want to be the second kind of man. I beg You to make me through and through, the second kind of man…

–    –    –

I rise, back slowly away from the place. Look down for my shoes.
I sit to slip them back on, and while I do, I steal a glance back towards the cove embraced by the cedars.

And that, is when I thought of you.

And this warrior in me, this fighter that is sometimes a stranger and doesn’t fit in my skin, this thunder that must come from elsewhere because I don’t have the spark to ignite it, it suddenly flashed and roared like the end of the world. And then it was gone. But it left a burn, a throbbing ache. And a breathlessness, and a racing heart.
And this prayer:

Let each of us find in this life ground so holy that shod feet never step there.  


Never, oh never be satisfied till you have found your burning bush.  

And What If The Sun Didn’t Rise?

It’s a corner of the neighborhood that I don’t spend much time in.
Some folk endure worst case scenario whether or not it is an accurate reflection of reality. (It usually isn’t.)

You know, “what if…?”

Well, I’m going to step out of character momentarily, and ask you to dwell on a what if for a moment. Really go there.

What if the sun didn’t rise tomorrow?

I know, I know. But enter in with me. I have a reason.

You keep looking at your watch, your computer, every clock in the house, for they surely must be wrong. But hours tick by and the stars don’t move. The moon doesn’t seem to move either. Truth be told, the earth has stopped spinning.
Oh, and panic strikes. And crime spikes. And governments crack down to try to control fear so deep it abolishes reason. But their fears run deep too, and they can’t help themselves, much less their citizens. Power plants churn out the megawatts at max capacity, to fuel a world which is accustomed to sleeping at night. And people sit huddled in their houses, trying to get cable. But every satellite in the heavens kept spinning when we stopped. So there’s no telecom. Every flight in the air, and every ship in the sea wanders till there’s no fuel to wander farther. Because there’s no GPS either.
After a week, those who have survived fear’s urges to self-destruction start counting the days until the sun will rise. –In six months, when we get around to the other side of the sun.
Oh, but we’ll never get there. It’s already so cold. So cold. The middle of this night is becoming like a wind-swept antarctic. Every green leaf is withering, and with it a planet’s life-giving supply of oxygen. We’ll run out of air, and then freeze white through, before the sun shines again.

What if the sun didn’t rise tomorrow?

Those in eternal noon fare little better. Over there it’s oh, so hot. They can breathe this steamy atmosphere, but they are broiling alive. And the steamy part will only last so long…

Stop there.

I take it for granted that the sun will rise tomorrow. And I don’t have the foggiest idea of all that would ensue if it didn’t. I live in full confidence of the fact.

The sun will rise. That’s what matters.

And something else will happen too, something even more certain.
In the morning when you rise, God will be awake, waiting for you to stir.

He always is.

But let me ask you another question.

What if He wasn’t there tomorrow?

I’m not even going to go there. That apocalypse would make my above description seem like yogurt for breakfast. Utterly routine.

He’s always there. That’s what matters.

But wait, really? 
Is that really all that matters?

We rise and run into our day, shoot something that is supposed to be gratitude His way, while taking Him utterly for granted.

Perhaps partly because we’ve never stopped to consider what would be, if He disappeared.

If some morning He failed to knock on your heart’s door when you woke up, would you even miss Him?
Or did you skip Him this morning anyway, so it wouldn’t make a difference?

And what did you say would happen if the sun didn’t rise…?


He’s there. He’s promised always to be.
Always reaching His beautiful hand towards a stirring creation.

So, one more question:

Am I?

This I Can Do

Meander is a good word.
I’ve gone to answer a silent call unmistakable. Over two fences and down a sandy draw.
Wherever my gaze wanders, my feet follow. From rock to creek to giant anthill and back.
These are the best hours of the day, and they belong to God…

But you know, it is most often in the very cradle of these moments, –these hours that slip away into eternity leaving behind them a quiet deep and peace so sweet– it is in these selfsame that I experience the worst agitations, and the deepest discontent.

Because on the heels of every happiness comes the agony that is the reality of another’s pain.
Someone said love and pain go together. How right they were.

Every time I taste the sweeter sweet, I suddenly start up, all taken by this wild desire to distribute.
And that wouldn’t be so bad, if every starving soul would actually take it!!


Maybe that’s why I pace. From creek to anthill and back.
From joy to yearning and back.

Finally, this:

The very best you can do to bring the beautiful hungry to realize the fullness of joy that is in Christ,
is to be constantly realizing that joy yourself. 

You seek. They’ll find. 

The Key


Once again the truth is pressed home hard on my consciousness.

I shuffle. As if through stacks of mental paperwork on the desk of my mind, searching for the keys. Keys apparently hidden somewhere in the fine print ten thousand words long?

No, not there. The key is here.

Here in plain sight. Written in plain english.

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

The road, the destination, and the journey on that road, to that destination.

Everything.

There you have it.
The key lies in Jesus being everything.

Words With the Father

That moment when the endless empty makes you realize how small you are, how big the world is, (much less the universe.) and how unreasonably kind God is for still having eyes for me.

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,’
even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
If I would count them, they are more than the sand. I awake, and I am still with you.

Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!”

(Psalms 139:7-12, 17-18, 23-24. ESV)

Two Secrets

“We fill our lives with what we love most.”

I was recently asked how it is a life comes to be full of God.
Well I am no expert. But I do have this confidence.
I have an insatiable appetite for holy joy, adamant hopefulness, and unshakable confidence. And I know where these come from.
So, this is my defense.

– – –
Failure is no stranger to me. And there is altogether too much in my soul that competes for God’s place. 
But this I can say: with ever passing day I want less of the world, and more of Christ. 
And this transformation is not hard work, it is a simple gift, which He bestows to all who long to love Him first. 
I will tell you two secrets though– Two secrets that I am learning form the basis of every success I have ever attained. And two things that certainly involve consistent and tenacious effort. 
1. Love does the footwork. God does the rest. I make the room.
The heart will follow what it loves. Love God, and following Him is no struggle. Love the world, and you will forever have to fight to give God anything.
Good news: We were wired to love God. There’s no complicated formula.
Bad news: We’re prone to re-wiring. And the world is only too eager to help. Pleasure, convenience, compromise, popularity, lust, excitement, even friends?… These glitter like gold because they parade as substitutes for God. And we too often fall for it.

In order to learn to love God, God must live in the heart. We come to love best what we hold closest. (No, it’s true. We’re duped into holding close what is actually entirely unlovely, and  so come to love our worst enemy best of all.) The reciprocal is also true.

So, the thing to remember is that I only have one heart to give away. I can’t sprinkle God on top of pleasure. Guilty pleasure gets a foothold by kicking God out. I give God a foothold by kicking guilty pleasure out. (And that’s work.)
2. My happiness is proportional to the abandon with which I relinquish my right to myself.
This is undiluted joy. It matters very little how much effort it requires. 
So I repeatedly relinquish my “right” to myself.
That is, my right to direct my own steps, seek my own pleasure, pursue my own glory, fulfill my own dreams…
 
Because I’ve proven to myself (by repeated failure) that choosing pleasure over principle never, never, never, never leads to happiness in the end. 
And I’m thoroughly tired of being disappointed. 
Now when faced with a choice, I am gently reminded that I have given myself to the Almighty, and that whether or not I understand Him, I can draw contentment from allegiance. 
Then, I no longer sit there forever begging for power. (I used to.) I get up and go. Because He’s already given us enough power to actuate obedience. And He never gives again power we already possess. 
Thus He adds another block to the empire He’s building in the souls of His servants, and I’m perfectly satisfied.
So satisfied, that I become daily more likely to chose Him over any substitute.
And as long as I keep allowing Him to crowd out of my life everything unlike Himself, I get happier. 
The moment I refuse Him, He is crowded off His rightful throne, and I’m at the mercy of a selfish rottenness that has power only because I give it such.
Which power all the host of heroes on white horses defies.

For what it’s worth… I’m sticking with them. 

Believing is Everything?

Minnows flee the froth while they tumble out of the boats and splash ashore, this exuberant rabble.
They’ve been looking for the miracle worker that baked 25,000 barley loaves (not including what wife and kids ate) without an oven yesterday, and they’ve just found Him.

He doesn’t answer their first question at all, rather gently reminds them what alone is really worth pursuing.

“Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which the Son of man shall give unto you.”

(John 6:27 KJV)

Whether or not they actually understand what He’s saying, they are plainly intrigued. So they ask another question. The answer to which has me positively intrigued…

“Then said they unto him, What shall we do, that we might work the works of God? Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe…”

(John 6:28-29 KJV emphasis added)

Belief changes everything.

Because if Christ really came, then God is really good, and self-love is really a lie, and sin is really a destroyer, and who wants to die anyway?

I have some news for you.
Christ came. (Matchless condescension.)
And He comes again, every time a dark heart opens its door. (Again, matchless condescension.)
What more proof do we need of His benevolence?

And if He is benevolent, then where’s the controversy?

Believing is everything.

We only ever hesitate to serve a God whose character we question.

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