Oh To Be Thrust Out! (Matt. 9:38)

My Dear Lord,

Send me. Send me where the battle rages and the wall has been penetrated, that I might stand in the gap. Send me where the arrows fly and danger lurks at every turn. Send me into the darkness that I may defy it in Your name, causing it to flee at the sight of Your glory. Send me to the place men tremble to consider, to hearts which love their own destruction and to people who know not You. Send me out like a sheep to the slaughter, like a man condemned to bear his cross, that I may follow in Your footsteps. Send me where the wilderness and desert collide, that I may learn how to make it a place of springs. Send me far from all I've hoped or known, that heaven alone may be my sanctuary. Send me into famine, that I may learn to eat of the Bread of Life; send me into nakedness that I may find dress in Your blood and righteousness. Send me to the place that daily begs my death-and teach me to give it without reserve. Send me to the place where I can best fall to the ground; me, a small kernel of grain, producing a hundredfold for Your Kingdom.

Perhaps I tremble to ask such of You. But Your hand will not lead me where Your grace will not keep me. And when You are through, I shall come forth as gold. And the Church, oh may it be, will increase to the glory of Your worthy name.

Amen.

Riding with the Sirens

There are some things in life one hopes never to repeat. Like bending back your fingernail all the way to the quick or eating brussel sprouts. Once upon a time in a land about two states over, Brooke had one such experience. This, however, was much more painful than being told if you didn't finish all the vegetables on your plate you wouldn't get any ice cream. This was at a drama competition, state Trumbauer to be exact, and it happen to be my knee cap deciding to switch locations. Why it chose the very end of the play to execute a game of hide and seek I'll never know. But I was shuttled to the hospital wearing a toga of sorts, my hair powdered white with hairspray and cornstarch. They got me out of the theater on a flat carried by four guys in like garb. Now that's a snazzy ending to any competition, if I do say so myself. I went to physical therapy for months.

Well, it's been about eight or nine years and my knee has gotten bored. So it took the opportunity as I was cleaning a client's house yesterday to make a similar escape. It's funny how quickly your mind absorbs what's going on. In the split second between knowing something wasn't right and hitting the floor, I ceased processing my visual intake and my focus went to a sort of blackness inside my mind where I saw my knee cap sliding to the side of my knee as I fell. This was just in my mind, to inform me of something I already knew. Then the vacuum hit the floor beside me, still on, and I screamed. I do believe it's save to say this is the most excruciating physical pain I've ever felt. I really had hoped never to relive it.

As providence would have it, I was cleaning with the new addition to the team, Kristen. This was Kristen's second house, and her first time cleaning with me. She called and asked if I was alright. Seeing stars, I didn't even hesitate to reply with a negatory. She abandoned her vacuum (still on) and hurried over. I had landed on my butt, but I still had to get into a better position. She calmly told me if I could relax a little, it would be easier. Easier said than done. My limbs were shaking rather violently, even my other leg, and it was laughable to try to relax. But, as often happens when one is in this much pain, I listened to her because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about...and I was ready to do anything to make it stop. The vacuum raged uselessly in the next room while I managed to get into a sort of fetal position. I assured her, in a feeble attempt at bravery, that she could leave me for a moment and turn off the vacuum if she wanted. So she did, as I tried in vain to pop my knee back in myself (that's what I ended up doing last time anyway). I decided it might be a better idea to call 911. Kristen, it became evident, has been trained in this sort of thing.

"Yes, I have a friend who has fallen, she thinks she's dislocated her knee cap. I am a first responder."

Even in my pain, my know-it-all side called out, "I KNOW I've dislocated my knee cap." More for accuracy's sake than anything else.

Kristen came and knelt beside me and I heard a cool female voice on the other end of the line telling her not to move me, not to give me anything to eat or drink, etc. And, as the hospital was apparently three blocks away, the paramedics showed up relatively quickly. As they came into the hall I quipped, "I'd stand up to greet you, but I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment." I saw a gleam in the eyes of the first paramedic and he laughed. Oh yes, we would get along just fine. While I answered all the standard questions and tried to haggle with the men about fixing me there rather than taking me for a rather expensive ride to stay for a couple of hours in a rather expensive building, my boss showed up. It was a regular party in the hallway. I couldn't help but think of the poor client who had just left, telling us she was going to run an errand and she'd be right back. She would be coming home to an ambulance in her front yard. Ah well, what can you do? The paramedics assured me they couldn't do anything there but take me to the hospital (I couldn't help but wonder that if I had managed to do something life threatening perhaps their freedom would have been a bit more expanded.) So I told them I would go to the hospital, but I wasn't taking an ambulance. They said that was fine. So they wheeled the stretcher into the hall. It looked impressive. I asked if it was the deluxe model and they said the upgrade had four wheel drive. The process of transferring was something I would love to forget. It was one of those times when you would really rather just stay on the rug on the wood floor, where the pain isn't going to increase anymore than it has. The second paramedic assured me it would hurt a great deal. Oh good. So they heaved and they hoed and they got Brooke's sorry self onto the stretcher. I began to think about how much more pain that inflicted in the simple transfer, and how if I refused to take the ambulance and went in a car, the transfer would have to be made two or three more times. But if I stayed on the stretcher, the transfer would be once, at the hospital. With a grimace, trying hard not to think about how much money this was going to cost me, I agreed to go in the expensive vehicle.

The ride was uneventful. They didn't even put the sirens on for me. But it was short, and I was taken in through the stretcher entrance. As they wheeled me through the ER, I did the usual thing and looked into each room as I passed. I soon decided that was foolish. I looked like a wimp compared to these people and the amount of blood on most of them was disconcerting, so I kept my eyes straight ahead.

They put the stretcher parallel with a gurney and I asked if maybe I could just stay on the stretcher the whole time. "Sure," the paramedics smiled, "you can stay with us until five. Then we're going home." Ah, nuts. The second transfer to the gurney was also painful, and they had to pick me up twice. I asked for no more, though they would have preferred it. The nurse asked me on a scale of one to ten what my pain was. "Oh, I'd say a seven." The throng of nurses around me looked up in surprise and the one speaking to me said, "Normally everyone says ten. We aren't used to anything lower, so when you say seven, we're all astounded." Maybe, like Brian Reagan, I should have said eight. Ah well, no morphine for Brooke. But they did suggest I get some drugs in me. I asked if it cost money and they said yes, but the second paramedic reasoned, "You want the drugs. I've had my knee cap do that before. You want the drugs." And I saw the logic of his argument. So Brooke was given the drugs. And, while the pain didn't really go away, it was dulled some and I began to talk a whole bunch. By this time my boss had followed me to the hospital and found me, and she was sitting in a chair at the end of my gurney, with a huge, amused smile on her face. I told her right before they shot me up that if I spilled all my deepest secrets, she wasn't to breathe them to a soul. Looking back, she didn't promise anything...hm.

We sat around for the better part of two hours. They took X-rays of my knee...though I could have told them what they'd find. And eventually we were wheeled into a room, where they gave me oxygen and shot some milky white liquid into my veins and I was out like a light. I woke up five minutes later to my phone ringing in my pocket. I answered it and scheduled a meeting with someone and hung up, promptly forgetting most of the conversation. My knee felt a million times better, and it was all surrounded by foam and straight sticks. Ahhhh...it's like being immersed in cool water on a hot day. They came in to take me for more X-rays, but I asked if it would cost more money and she said yes. I declined...I knew it was in. She went out and the doctor came in and told me that compared to the rest of the cost of today, X-rays were nothing. Then he shared a sort of backhanded way to bring the cost to about five percent of what the whole thing originally cost. He told me if I did what he suggested, the medical director would be able to drop the price that much for me, but that they couldn't do anything if I didn't complain.

I consented to the X-rays. And, wonder of wonders, it had gone back in just fine. The nurse came to finish me up and take all the tubes out, and she told me that she completely agreed with the doctor...and that he was the medical director.

That made me smile. Wow. So perhaps that will take care of things if I follow his advice.

It was not the way I had expected to spend my day yesterday. And I had to go to a rather formal banquet that night with a leg immobilizer and crutches. But I'm thankful it was nothing else. And that I had such a wonderful experience with the people there, that the knee thing wasn't so bad. I thank the Lord that he was so faithful in keeping me in it. And I'm looking forward to seeing how He will provide for the money I'll need. =)

Today my butt is sore. And my leg is in that foamy thing for the better part of the next week. I hobble around my house with my crutches and take large quantities of time to do general tasks. It is keeping me humble, that' s for sure.

What's the moral of the story? I don't think it's "don't eat your brussel sprouts" or "don't vacuum", though those are extremely valid points. I think it's more that in circumstances like these my faith can crumble or it can be strengthened. I can chose to complain and whine and freak out that the bill is at least as much as the cost of a car and if the hospital sued me they wouldn't even get half that. Or I can decided to trust the One who said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." and "My God will supply all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus." and "If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give what you need when you ask." I really have no reason to doubt. And I'm kind of excited to watch Him work.

David and Bathsheba

I consider this story that has been well read and preached through for ages and I think of how my generation would write it. It would go something like this:

"In the spring, when kings (and others who were born with an aggressive temperament) went out to war, David (who was not the kind of man who really wanted to conquer and kill anyway as it was not in his genes) stayed home.

David was relaxing one evening, walking along the roof of his house, when he noticed a woman bathing. He was not immune to this kind of thing--he was a man and as such could not help but keep his gaze fixed on this. He was powerless to do anything else. He sent a messenger to inquire of her and found her husband was out to war (apparently one of those of aggressive temperament). This made her fair game. She had a will and so did he. He could not help but want her, it was part of his makeup. So he called for her and did as any man would and then sent her home.

She became pregnant. This was unfortunate, as David saw no way to pass this off as her husband's doing. Though he did try and yet her husband would not go home (due to his sense of duty to his fellow soldiers who were still fighting as he wished to be). Seeing that the only honorable decision was to kill her husband and take her for his rightful wife, David acted according to his chemical make-up and had Uriah abandoned on the front lines of battle, where he died. David took Bathsheba as his wife and the village rejoiced. How honorable of the gentle king.

God was not displeased. No. If God was displeased he would have said something, but as it was David had acted in accordance with his true self and therefore could not possibly have been in the wrong. He took some Prozac and all lived happily ever after.

If you have ever read the story of David and Bathsheba (II Sam. Ch. 11-12), you'll notice some interesting changes in the version you've just read.

My generation depends on feelings. If it feels right, it is. You cannot help who you are.

That is the epitome of our culture, and one of the greatest lies we have ever succumbed to. You can help who you are as much as the thief has the ability to put his hand back in his pocket, or the man addicted to pornography has the ability to turn off the computer. It is not that any one person is unable to do these things, it's that they choose not to. You choose who you are by your actions, your actions display your heart, and ultimately, your heart discloses the real you. Maybe men never see it, but God does. He tells us that he "searches every heart and understands every thought of every man".

You see, we have developed the lukewarm drawl of "God will do nothing-neither good nor bad." And soon such excuse-making and procrastinatic apathy will bring wrath of inescapable proportions upon our idealistic heads. For it is not the unjust nature of God that sends Nathans our way, who proclaim, "You are that man," but the love of the infinite Father who is pleased with truth and issues pardon at humility. It is His love that calls us out. And the mark of a true Christian child who answers back with no excuses, "I have sinned."

May we not be lost in the acidic waves of our day, excusing every turn! But, in sobriety of thought, examine our ways, humbling ourselves in repentance until we come forth as gold.

To My Nephew

Dear little one,

I have asked God why. I have sat before Him many hours, waiting for a solution. I have wept many nights for your pain. I have begged for you to grow up healthy and strong. To be able to ride your tricycle, learn to write your name, get into mischief, and play make believe. I have pled for restful nights for you, for days free of pain. Your hurt is our hurt, your wounds afflict us all. And we sit beside you, holding your hand, knowing that is the best thing we can do...feeling helpless that we cannot do more. Oh that a kiss would take it all away! We would smother you with kisses until every blister was gone. If a song could heal you, I would sing through the hours until my voice became hoarse. But that is not how this works.

I hold you close and think long and hard about the role of God's hand in our lives. You know, dear one, that He knit you together in your mother's womb? Yes, his hands of omnipotent grace have molded you since the night of your conception. He is perfect, and His ways are perfect. He cannot make mistakes. This, too, He will use for His glory. And oh, think of the promise! "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time ARE NOT WORTHY TO BE COMPARED to the glory that will be reveled in us." Momentary affliction, little one. This world is not your home, and every moment you must understand this to be true. One day, your pain will be gone, and your strength restored. One day you will be made perfect. One day you will be free.

But for now we wait. How painful it is to watch those you love most weather a storm like this! I stroke your head and whisper every piece of wisdom and mischief Aunt Brookie would have taught you. How cunning are your eyes, with them you seem to communicate better than I ever have. You listen intently and seem to soberly consider such thoughts. But they are just that. Thoughts. Nothing more.

Hush my little one, hush. Think no more of doctors and surgeries and medicines and tubes. Think on pleasant things: whip cream, sunlight, and the feel of fleece on your cheek. Though sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning. There is a season for everything. Look! Can you see? a sliver of light is breaking, the storm will soon be over. And you will reach the haven where sorrows are no more. Look up, be not discouraged! Trust on, whatever befall! Remember, oh remember! Thy Savior knows it all...

Can you feel it, little one? His hands hold you, close, just as you love to be held. Feel how He lifts you! Not a stab of pain. Sense how He loves you, more complete than we ever could. O, we do not want to lose you, but how sweet your inheritance that waits! We would not keep you from such wonders, from eternity and its rest. He waits for you with open arms...may you run into them unabashed and healed. May such a day come soon.

My nephew, you are brave and beautiful. I thank the Lord for the wonders he has performed through your condition, and for the undying affection He's given us for you. I know that He who has performed a good work in you will carry it out unto completion until the day of Christ Jesus. The day when He will rejoice over you with singing and quiet you with His love.

May His peace be with your spirit. May His mercies flood each morning and His faithfulness pervade the night.

Sleep well, dear one. Sleep well.

And may dawn, with its promise, break through this darkness soon.

Proclaiming that which we all cling so desperately to:

He makes all things new.

A Lesson From Pizza

I passed a man downtown the other day. He was holding an empty white Starbucks cup in one hand and a crude cardboard sign in the other that simply stated: "I'm just hungry."

You can imagine the reaction of all of us, all of the thousands of people milling around. Our eyes shifted from the crosswalk to the flowers and pretended to register nothing in between, acting as though we didn't see him. And perhaps some of us didn't. It is justified, in one sense. I've made eye contact before only to have them call out to me because they know I see. I have trouble putting coins into their cups. You never know what the money is used for. His eyes were a watery kind of red, and he seemed tired.

So we passed him on our way to get pizza. And we passed him on our way back from pizza. And we had an idea, to give him what was left of our pizza. Different scenarios played through our minds, like him throwing the pizza back and saying that's not what he wanted (had that happen before), or having him set it down and continue begging (had that happen, too). But the force with which he took that box was staggering. We offered it casually, we had pizza, would he like it? He grabbed that box like there was no tomorrow and set off for the park with a look on his face that said plainly, "I'm done for the night." For a brief millisecond, I saw a kind of ravenous hunger in his eyes that surprised me. That man was hungry. How long he'd been hungry, I don't know.

But I have to admit something. I'm a bit frustrated at the whole thing. Because we gave him food, but we didn't do anything else for him. I don't mean materially, but more like sitting with him as he ate, talking with him. Treating him like he's human for a change. I didn't even consider this until much later that night. Too focused on friends and myself. But that's not Christianity. And it's not the way that the Lord would have done it. Too often I find myself making a sort of hit and run, wanting to do good but forgetting about the opportunities to be Christ. Christ made time for people. He listened. He was always about his Father's business. And out of love for Christ, my priorities must be the same.

Don't get me wrong, the Lord definitely said to fulfill the needs of those around you (otherwise you fit the definition of James 2), but Jesus often filled a physical need while intending to reach the need of the soul. And I think such behaviour is rare enough to floor people to listen.

Now, to remember to act. =)

Reasons

There are reasons for many things. But many things don't always cause reason.

Welcome! just think, in five seconds you could be on the best blog ever!!!

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Hm. Yet you remain.

I tried writing a blog once. It took a soaring leap as I updated it on mountain dew highs, and then crashed (like a child after hours of wall bouncing) when the soda supply ceased. I assure you, I am on no such high today. Sadly, I think those days of chugging multiple bottles of liquid caffeine for the fun of it have ended. I simply do it to function normally now a days. And since coffee is cheaper and I can't have caffeine past four unless I want to be staring at the ceiling until the wee hours of the morning, tapping listlessly on the wall by my bed for lack of anything better to do, it is safe to assume this is a caffeine free blog. (But caffeine addicts are most welcome.)

Why is this here? There are many possibilities:

1. Why not.

2. I was bored

3. There was something important to say... and is, and will be.

Which one do you think it is?

Perhaps, instead of telling you, I'll let you judge for yourself.