I keep getting a whiff of something great. It's just enough to keep me going, keep me searching, keep me hoping.
It's the nights spent in sweet fellowship with girlfriends. A stimulating conversation with a stranger. The warmth and comfort of your loved one's arms. A Sunday afternoon drive with a very young old soul.
Let's be honest: I'm chasing something I'm never going to find or fulfill- not completely. And that is part of the tragic beauty of it all. Yet, I refuse to believe God is a cruel, irony-laden tease. It's just not so.
We're made to seek out something more, and we're made to work passionately to improve the fascinating yet fallen world around us. It's called pressing toward the mark.
We won't be able to fully experience that high we're craving in a sustainable way this side of new heavens and a new Earth. But I'm convinced that the more time we spend wth the Creator of all things good, the more we can taste and see here. And it's well worth the investment.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Waltzing in Warm Rain
I had forgotten how nice a good rainshower can be.
We were sitting at dinner last evening with a few friends when the bottom dropped out. Torrential rain pounded down in sheets for what seemed like an hour. Rivers flowed through the streets and the trees strained under the weight of water.
As others lamented forgotten umbrellas, a girlfriend piped up, "Oh, I love the rain!"
Another friend, laughing, confirmed the fact, "Yes, just last week you went dancing out the door in a storm. I've never seen you so happy."
I was struck by the childish simplicity of her statement and all of a sudden the evening's shower didn't seem so bad. And it hit me how often that is the case. How a situation that might look dreadful, a shower that threatens to soak, might be just the refreshing cleanse that I need. And how something as simple as the way you deal with a rainstorm reflects so much about how you deal with life.
This evening, as the rain came down once more and I sat late at the office, I felt my spirits rise in anticipation and I rushed to finish my work that I might catch a few drops.
Sure enough, I made it out in time for a waltz in warm summer rain. And it was glorious.
Like swimming in ditch rivers and taking mud baths with my sister. Like front porch swinging, book in hand in the midst of a thunderstorm. Like getting caught mid-hike in the woods with your first love. Like shielding a bride in a golfcart as you dash across a courtyard.
I had forgotten how nice a good rainshower can be. Thank you, Lindsey, for reminding me.
We were sitting at dinner last evening with a few friends when the bottom dropped out. Torrential rain pounded down in sheets for what seemed like an hour. Rivers flowed through the streets and the trees strained under the weight of water.
As others lamented forgotten umbrellas, a girlfriend piped up, "Oh, I love the rain!"
Another friend, laughing, confirmed the fact, "Yes, just last week you went dancing out the door in a storm. I've never seen you so happy."
I was struck by the childish simplicity of her statement and all of a sudden the evening's shower didn't seem so bad. And it hit me how often that is the case. How a situation that might look dreadful, a shower that threatens to soak, might be just the refreshing cleanse that I need. And how something as simple as the way you deal with a rainstorm reflects so much about how you deal with life.
This evening, as the rain came down once more and I sat late at the office, I felt my spirits rise in anticipation and I rushed to finish my work that I might catch a few drops.
Sure enough, I made it out in time for a waltz in warm summer rain. And it was glorious.
Like swimming in ditch rivers and taking mud baths with my sister. Like front porch swinging, book in hand in the midst of a thunderstorm. Like getting caught mid-hike in the woods with your first love. Like shielding a bride in a golfcart as you dash across a courtyard.
I had forgotten how nice a good rainshower can be. Thank you, Lindsey, for reminding me.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Love letters
I must credit this post to Tim Keller's The Prodigal God. There are no original thoughts, simply original expressions.
I lost myself down memory lane one recent evening and decided to make note of a few old flames.
At one point in my life I was enamored with the sweet, funny guy with striking eyes and witty ways. He knew how to catch and hold the attention of a crowd, and for a brief moment held mine as well. Fluffy blonde hair you loved running your hands through and sea blue eyes that feigned innocence with dangerous ease.
The athlete was cut, disciplined, gifted to be sure. His talent was equal parts genetics and dedicated hours of practice. Watching him perform, maneuvering through the court or on the track, was truly exhilirating. The same resolve that made him a great player kept him by my side for years.
For a snippet in time there was the wildchild thrill-seeker. Never still and never dull, he was always looking for a sidekick for his next adventure. I admired and identified with his spirit. Spending time with him gave me an opportunity to break out of my mold in the least daring way possible. It was a slow trudging start on the long road to freedom.
The musician I entertained more for my own selfish pleasure, enjoying the adoration he showered upon me. My appreciation of the songs he wrote in my name was more a testament to my overgrown ego rather than musical ability on his part. He had a way with words, but the experience merely renewed my appreciation for a more emotionally balanced, self-respecting "manly" type.
The former athlete turned politico took me back to younger, fonder times. He shared my campaign-crazed mentality and obscene work hours which made our time together all the more convenient. He possessed a savvy, an instinct, and a fearlessness that propelled him far past his contemporaries. I admired the fact he was different in every way, yet we shared the same spirit. He was a breath of fresh air I'd badly needed at the time.
The wordsmith was many things but each stemmed from his zest for life and people and new experiences. His finesse with language could cut you to the core one moment and lull you into an admiring stupor the next. And as maddening as I found other qualities of his, he just might be one of the most honest people you'd ever meet.
For each of these man-children I developed a fondness (however fleeting) based not on their actions toward or for me; no desires and requests met; certainly not their abilities to fulfill all my wildest dreams. While the ways they showed affection, admiration, and pursuit all played a part I found myself endeared to each one simply for his own being. For his essence, for all the qualities that made him; for his very nature.
Why is it so easy for me to admire and communicate and engage with these, and yet a struggle to enter into fellowship with my God? With the embodiment and originator of all noble, intriguing and praiseworthy qualities? Who has very personally, intimately, patiently, persistently rescued me from my own silly self time and again. From death and the grave, from very real and present perils. Such a shame that my natural tendency is to approach this Jesus coldly, with the likes of a laundry list rather than a love letter.
Why do I thank him for what He has done for me, but forget to marvel at all He simply is? Yes, he has a track record, a resume of faithfulness, but do I love Him solely for what He has done for me? Is He not worthy of my affection regardless of my state, regardless of outcomes or results?
Just as the gap between my sin nature and His perfection separates me from Him, so it is an appreciation of His very being that draws me into deeper relationship. Into a more joyful and purposeful existence.
A purer motive and a truer heart of worship.
I lost myself down memory lane one recent evening and decided to make note of a few old flames.
At one point in my life I was enamored with the sweet, funny guy with striking eyes and witty ways. He knew how to catch and hold the attention of a crowd, and for a brief moment held mine as well. Fluffy blonde hair you loved running your hands through and sea blue eyes that feigned innocence with dangerous ease.
The athlete was cut, disciplined, gifted to be sure. His talent was equal parts genetics and dedicated hours of practice. Watching him perform, maneuvering through the court or on the track, was truly exhilirating. The same resolve that made him a great player kept him by my side for years.
For a snippet in time there was the wildchild thrill-seeker. Never still and never dull, he was always looking for a sidekick for his next adventure. I admired and identified with his spirit. Spending time with him gave me an opportunity to break out of my mold in the least daring way possible. It was a slow trudging start on the long road to freedom.
The musician I entertained more for my own selfish pleasure, enjoying the adoration he showered upon me. My appreciation of the songs he wrote in my name was more a testament to my overgrown ego rather than musical ability on his part. He had a way with words, but the experience merely renewed my appreciation for a more emotionally balanced, self-respecting "manly" type.
The former athlete turned politico took me back to younger, fonder times. He shared my campaign-crazed mentality and obscene work hours which made our time together all the more convenient. He possessed a savvy, an instinct, and a fearlessness that propelled him far past his contemporaries. I admired the fact he was different in every way, yet we shared the same spirit. He was a breath of fresh air I'd badly needed at the time.
The wordsmith was many things but each stemmed from his zest for life and people and new experiences. His finesse with language could cut you to the core one moment and lull you into an admiring stupor the next. And as maddening as I found other qualities of his, he just might be one of the most honest people you'd ever meet.
For each of these man-children I developed a fondness (however fleeting) based not on their actions toward or for me; no desires and requests met; certainly not their abilities to fulfill all my wildest dreams. While the ways they showed affection, admiration, and pursuit all played a part I found myself endeared to each one simply for his own being. For his essence, for all the qualities that made him; for his very nature.
Why is it so easy for me to admire and communicate and engage with these, and yet a struggle to enter into fellowship with my God? With the embodiment and originator of all noble, intriguing and praiseworthy qualities? Who has very personally, intimately, patiently, persistently rescued me from my own silly self time and again. From death and the grave, from very real and present perils. Such a shame that my natural tendency is to approach this Jesus coldly, with the likes of a laundry list rather than a love letter.
Why do I thank him for what He has done for me, but forget to marvel at all He simply is? Yes, he has a track record, a resume of faithfulness, but do I love Him solely for what He has done for me? Is He not worthy of my affection regardless of my state, regardless of outcomes or results?
Just as the gap between my sin nature and His perfection separates me from Him, so it is an appreciation of His very being that draws me into deeper relationship. Into a more joyful and purposeful existence.
A purer motive and a truer heart of worship.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Counterfeits
Lately my girlfriend and I have been talking about counterfeits and how to spot them when making major life decisions. Sometimes things can look deceptively right, too good to be true. And sometimes they are. But I would be amiss to assume any good thing is not simply a good thing from above. And I don't think that gives the proper due to our Savior. So how to tell the difference?
Everything isn't always laid out clearly in black and white, this I know. Yet we too often try to tiptoe through the minefields on our own and end up in a world of trouble. The one thing I do know is the Lord likes to be consulted in the matter, and he does answer prayer. I've watched it happen too many times to discount.
What brought this all upon us was the visit of my girlfriend's girlfriend a few weeks ago. This darling girl was sharing with us a prayer she had prayed in her own life:
Granted, in this case she had been praying specifically for the Lord to bring her her husband. The fact that that same weekend she was also spending time with her soulmate and new fiancee made her approach all the more appealing.
What is easy to overlook is the fact that God was faithful in every way he answered her prayer: he certainly kept away the counterfeits for a time. She recounted how for a while it seemed nothing worked out and there were more than a few heartaches along the way. Times of loneliness, impatience, frustration. I'm sure there were times she regretted praying that prayer.
But still I'm praying it, in every area of life.
And thank God for that testimony, and for the very present answer to a friend's friend's prayer. Seeing them together, sharing a little in their excitement, while knowing with every fiber of my being that they truly are a match made in heaven, is the best hope and encouragement a girl could have. It reminds me that God knows what He's doing, even when we don't. And the best things in life: career choices, education, friendships, relationships--- all are worth waiting for His best.
Everything isn't always laid out clearly in black and white, this I know. Yet we too often try to tiptoe through the minefields on our own and end up in a world of trouble. The one thing I do know is the Lord likes to be consulted in the matter, and he does answer prayer. I've watched it happen too many times to discount.
What brought this all upon us was the visit of my girlfriend's girlfriend a few weeks ago. This darling girl was sharing with us a prayer she had prayed in her own life:
Lord, I'm tired of doing things my way. Please work out your will in my life and keep the counterfeits away.
Granted, in this case she had been praying specifically for the Lord to bring her her husband. The fact that that same weekend she was also spending time with her soulmate and new fiancee made her approach all the more appealing.
What is easy to overlook is the fact that God was faithful in every way he answered her prayer: he certainly kept away the counterfeits for a time. She recounted how for a while it seemed nothing worked out and there were more than a few heartaches along the way. Times of loneliness, impatience, frustration. I'm sure there were times she regretted praying that prayer.
But still I'm praying it, in every area of life.
Lord, open the doors you would have me go through and slam the others shut, definitively. Help me to accept and let go of the things you do not have for me, as painful and unpleasant as that might be.
And thank God for that testimony, and for the very present answer to a friend's friend's prayer. Seeing them together, sharing a little in their excitement, while knowing with every fiber of my being that they truly are a match made in heaven, is the best hope and encouragement a girl could have. It reminds me that God knows what He's doing, even when we don't. And the best things in life: career choices, education, friendships, relationships--- all are worth waiting for His best.
Dear Lord, keep me in your way and keep away the counterfeits.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Walking the fine line
A strange feeling hit me the other day, and it still lingers.
Its as if I've just woken up from a long sleep only to find I've realized a dream. And I have.
Four years ago, if you had told me I'd be where I am today, doing what I do each day, having these kinds of experiences and opportunities, meeting the people that I meet - I would have said you were crazy. Or maybe I'd have gazed wistfully just before reconciling myself to the fact that it wouldn't happen, couldn't happen, didn't fit into the box I'd pegged myself into.
A very idealistic me once promised myself that if I were to have the kinds of opportunities I now have, if I were to live and work in such a place and time as this, if I were to answer the highest calling I might imagine, that I would never, EVER take it for granted. That I would always stay true to the cause and the course.
You would laugh at idealistic me in the fall of 2006, and you would have good reason. I have many times since. But there's another side to my faded Pollyanna attitude that can't be overlooked. And here is where the fine line is drawn.
Just as absurd as the thought that this place, this job, this life is the end-all be-all is the thought that it's no big deal that I am here. That it doesn't really matter. That I should just enjoy myself and experience this city. That I shouldn't still seek to serve a higher purpose and calling.
On the one hand, a calling suggests an inflated sense of self. On the other, a blase and uninspired approach denies the very real blessing, opportunity, and privilege I've been charged with. To deny would be to squander. And to squander would be the kiss of death to the part of my soul from whence the Pollyanna still escapes, wizened though she may be. And it's just plain irresponsible.
I owe it to myself and to my Maker who placed me here to walk the fine line. To acknowledge the opportunities and bear the responsibilities; all the while realizing it's not about me and it's not about the stone and marble and egos. I began to err on the side of pessimism, but I've been reminded of the bigger picture, and I'm seeing things anew.
Its as if I've just woken up from a long sleep only to find I've realized a dream. And I have.
Four years ago, if you had told me I'd be where I am today, doing what I do each day, having these kinds of experiences and opportunities, meeting the people that I meet - I would have said you were crazy. Or maybe I'd have gazed wistfully just before reconciling myself to the fact that it wouldn't happen, couldn't happen, didn't fit into the box I'd pegged myself into.
A very idealistic me once promised myself that if I were to have the kinds of opportunities I now have, if I were to live and work in such a place and time as this, if I were to answer the highest calling I might imagine, that I would never, EVER take it for granted. That I would always stay true to the cause and the course.
You would laugh at idealistic me in the fall of 2006, and you would have good reason. I have many times since. But there's another side to my faded Pollyanna attitude that can't be overlooked. And here is where the fine line is drawn.
Just as absurd as the thought that this place, this job, this life is the end-all be-all is the thought that it's no big deal that I am here. That it doesn't really matter. That I should just enjoy myself and experience this city. That I shouldn't still seek to serve a higher purpose and calling.
On the one hand, a calling suggests an inflated sense of self. On the other, a blase and uninspired approach denies the very real blessing, opportunity, and privilege I've been charged with. To deny would be to squander. And to squander would be the kiss of death to the part of my soul from whence the Pollyanna still escapes, wizened though she may be. And it's just plain irresponsible.
I owe it to myself and to my Maker who placed me here to walk the fine line. To acknowledge the opportunities and bear the responsibilities; all the while realizing it's not about me and it's not about the stone and marble and egos. I began to err on the side of pessimism, but I've been reminded of the bigger picture, and I'm seeing things anew.
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