You think I sing for joy

You think I sing for joy

When in reality, this song is my lifeline of hope;

Faith’s final stand against the onslaught of despair.

My lips keep moving long since my heart has stopped,

For only in silence will doubt become defeat.

You think I sing for joy

When in reality, this music is my marching song

For trudging on and on through dreary days.

Thirsting for the more abundant life:

Resigned to the rain, yet longing for the sun.

You think I sing for joy

For despite the gloom, guiding stars gleam.

Storms do not last with their overcast,

But as day follows night and season follows season

So comes the calm.

You think I sing for joy

For the depth of the Father’s forgiveness

Is matched only by the width of His love.

And in my weakness,

He is Strong.

You think I sing for joy

I do.

A Different Christmas Story

I have a Christmas story to share: my Christmas story. Or rather, God's Christmas story in me. This story didn't start this way. Only afterwards did I realize its meaning, deep, deep down.

Growing up in a Mennonite Christian home, God was a household name. He was everywhere: at school, at church, at home, and at my friends’ homes. However, at thirteen years old, I didn’t understand Him or His call to become a Christian. In fact, I refused His call because I didn’t recognize it. But something quite indescribable nagged and festered in the back of my brain. I could almost imagine it away. Almost. Except when I couldn’t.

Sunday sermons and kindly parents mentioned the call of God. He calls for entrance to your heart. He calls everyone. It isn’t an audible call, but a call of the soul. In a sense, it’s a terrible call because it is far from peaceful. Why, that’s exactly the way I felt. But surely not. I had heard how to accept the call many times. Pray to God. Tell Him you’re sorry for your sins. Ask Him to forgive you. Ah, but that didn’t really make sense. I didn’t think about my sins much. I wasn't that bad. Besides, who said God was calling me?

Something was wrong. I was unhappy and didn't know why. Falling asleep betimes was more of a nightmare than sleep itself. I was depressed and horribly hollow. So I gave in. I couldn't rid my soul of its turmoil, so I asked Mum to help me. With her, I prayed to God for mercy and peace. It wasn’t a “correct” prayer. It was a crude and confused prayer. Somehow, I accepted God's call. Somehow, He entered my heart and soothed my soul.

It was a miracle. Even retrospect can't figure it out. However, morning came, and with it, the real world. What sort of dream had I had? What figment of my imagination had conjured peace? It must have been a farce. My heart seemed a fountain of confusion. Weren't my troubles supposed to melt like mist in the morning sun?

What I thought was a once-and-for-all transformation turned out to be the first step of a life-long sanctification. Through His church and the Holy Spirit, God started teaching. He showed me salvation is simple: just believe. He showed me His presence isn’t an emotional high but a sustaining strength suited for real, everyday life. He showed me that it isn't His plan for my troubles to disappear. Rather they remain so He can reveal the Solution. Most importantly, He showed me what grace really is. He showed me the stark truth: I am a sinner. He showed me that I deserve to be shot dead; only His grace has freely given me life. He showed me and keeps showing me that it’s not about what I have done, but what’s been done for me.

And that is God's Christmas story in me.

Destination: Nostalgia

Beware of the rampage. Consider yourself warned.

I recently visited the drainage ditch behind our place, officially called The Creek. I was awed by the incredible biodiversity. All types of plants, bushes, flowers, rushes, and grasses grow in or along The Creek.  Plus, there are singing insects and their less musical relations; the frogs and their slimy, bubbly noises; and all sorts of watery creatures that I didn't see, but knew were there anyway.

The orderly randomness of nature fascinates me - but it's exceedingly difficult to describe. Essentially, whatever grows best, lives. How can beauty arise from mere competition? 

Parts of The Creek were completely overgrown with flowering bushes. Hidden were the steep banks, hidden were the flowing contours, hidden was the very water. Partially hidden were some sort of red berries that I would have killed for as a kid. And so the journey to nostalgia begins.

Large bushes are a monument to passing time. They never had a chance to grow while certain young boys were on the move. Mighty waterworks we built: large-scale dams, locks, reservoirs, islands, and dredging projects. These grand constructions, however, were products of cognitive maturity. The history of The Creek began years before our brains bloated. The history of The Creek began with a curiously endless succession of muddy pants.

The Creek's entertainment started with its wildlife: both human friends and animals. We were captivated by trying to capturing everything we could: frogs, tadpoles, minnows, crayfish, and even a snake or two. On bold and blood-thirsty days, we armed ourselves with sling-shots and obscure plant bulbs (don't ask me to explain) and set out frog hunting. Luckily for the frogs, our aim was atrocious.

Depending on who you ask, age brought compassion. In this case, it meant tormenting frogs instead of attempting to murder them. We were geeks from the get-go. Cutting-edge technology in the form of odd bits of PVC pipe revolutionized our fun. Bopping frogs on the head grew boring swiftly. A new method involved carefully sucking the pipe full of water and blasting a frog with a tremendous water canon salute. Another favourite was placing the end of the pipe directly beneath a frog and levitating it by blowing bubbles like mad. Fortunately for us, the frogs were too stupid to find a new location along The Creek.

Although summer brought the highlights, winter could be great fun. Well, except for a singular sledding incident. My older siblings constructed a great snow jump on the steep bank - and were too chicken to try it themselves. So yours truly was stuffed squalling into a small sled and shoved heartily down the slope. They thought it was fantastic. My tongue, on the other hand, suffered from a close encounter with my teeth. As you can see, the term "compassion" is rather ambiguous.

The past wasn't without terror - maybe the rustling in the grass was something more than a muskrat! But as I wandered and remembered and relived, I smiled. The memories I have forgotten remain forgotten, for I can't remember that I have forgotten them. My journey ended as I considered nostalgia of itself.

As we know, events happen before nostalgia happens. What would happen if we would switch the two around; have nostalgia before the event happened? What are those feelings of "having been here before" or "having experienced this previously," even though you can't remember when or how?

I have heard the thought that heaven is like earth, only far more real. (And perfect, obviously.) How can something be more real than the reality we live in? But maybe it's this way: maybe the reality we live in now is just the nostalgia. Maybe the love, joy, and peace we experience here feels faded by time in comparison to heaven's reality. Maybe the real event is yet to come.

Am I crazy? Quite likely. But whatever you do, don't hold me responsible for ideas encountered through nostalgia.

Good Day - Bad Day

Have you ever wished someone a bad week? No, I don’t mean to one of those people who make life difficult. I mean to a good friend. I haven’t either. But sometime, I just might.

Recently, one of my friends wished me a good week. I feel special that they cared enough to tell me. But it set my mind to turning. Suppose, just for once, we’d have a perfect week. Everything would run smoothly. We wouldn’t feel overwhelmed or overstressed. We’d get along with everyone perfectly. What a smashing week! Let’s have another one!  And so we would. And another and another and another. Some people might love it, some people might become bored, I’d say, “Where’s God?”

Cause I’m not perfect and I doubt you are (yet), so perfect weeks are beyond our realm. We may as well accept it: we’re going to face days that don’t run smoothly. We’re going to feel overwhelmed and overstressed. We won’t get along with everyone perfectly. What a smashing week – not in a good way.

So where is God in our lives? When tempers flare and words burn; when stress towers above us; when time denies us a slightly sane pace; when we jerk at the end of our rope. Is He standing off on the sidelines? Or is He in the thick of things, helping us, holding us? It’s our choice. Jesus says “My grace is sufficient for you: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Perhaps those dreadful days have a purpose. Perhaps stress is an invitation directly from Christ. Instead of trying to plow through on our own limited strength, God wants us to tap into His unlimited, unfathomable power. That is not to say the bad day will magically disappear. That is not to say the bad day will become a walk in the park. That is to say we will endure, for God will never stop helping and holding us. To the Almighty One, more stress for us means more strength from Him.

So do I dare? Yes! I think I do. I won’t go so far as to wish you a bad week. Instead, I hope you have a good week with a one or two bad days – so God can reveal Himself and His power to you and those around you.

How Long?

I was wandering through the moonlight a couple nights ago. You know those power poles with the cross bar on top? It's shadow stretched across my path and caught my eye. There, in the silvery light, I saw a cross as I'd never seen one before. I wish you could have seen it too. It was ugly. It was menacing. Yet beautiful, all at the same time. Sometimes I wonder if I even begin grasp the slightest idea of the greatness of God's love.

I keep coming back to this poem ever year. :') It's so poignant.

“How long must I put up with you?” 

Jesus’ actions answered his own question . . . 

Until the rooster sings 

and the sweat stings 

and the mallet rings 

And a hillside of demons smirk at a dying God. 

How long? 

Long enough for every sin 

to soak my sinless soul 

That heaven will turn in horror 

Until my swollen lips pronounce the final transaction: 

“It is finished.” 

How long? 

Until it kills me. 

Max Lucado 

from A Love Worth Giving

Deep Riches

I was shutting down for the night, resting with my Bible in my hand, when a thought struck me: there's nothing like the Bible to put me to sleep. I reflected on this statement; comforted. Then the irony washed over me. As if! 

As if the Bible was light, superficial reading. As if the words of the Majestic One could bore my little mind. As if God's Book is the type that drones on and on until I drift into la la land. As if the Maker of the unimaginable could fail to tickle my finite imagination. As if! 

When I consider God's glory and unlimited power, I wonder how His Word could fail to inspire. Then I look at my weakness, and, well, you know how it goes. For if you are like me, not every verse is a rocket-ride revelation. If you are like me, the Bible lies within reach - and too often, stays there. Exciting things fill my mind. My computer keyboard becomes shiny and polished from use, while my Bible remains shiny and polished from lack of use. Maybe, maybe it is time for a new perspective of God's Word. Perhaps I could fill my mind with a different, singular Exciting Thing. 

I have a quick exercise for you. It will take but a second. Find your Bible and pick it up. Hold it for a moment. Just cradle it in your hands. Please be careful, for you are holding part of God. That binding, those thin pages, most importantly, the words - contain part of God! And since your Bible is in your hands anyway, I'll let you find the origin of this thought: the very first verse of John. Isn't it a miracle that God would trust us with something so precious? 

So, what about those times when God's Word seems rather, I don't know, stale? What do you do when God's love letter stops communicating His love? I'm afraid I haven't found a definite answer either. However, there seems to be a certain mystery about the Bible. After all, aren't God's ways higher than our ways; His thoughts higher than our thoughts? Yet "thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." (Isaiah 57:15) For "an highway shall be there...  for wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein." (Isaiah 35:8) 

God's Word doesn't have to be complicated. He made it for people like you and me. Read God's Word, because I think He wants and waits to talk to you. In fact, I think that He wants to talk to you so much, He can hardly wait for you to give Him some time. I also believe that in waiting - quietly - for Him, He will speak. Perhaps just a little is enough. For I've begun to view God's Word as the Israelite's manna in the desert: enough sustenance for one day. After that, we get to - get to - have some more. 

Jesus encourages us: "Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened unto you." (Matthew 7:7) Read your Bible. Just start wherever. On second thought, I wouldn't recommend the lists of names in 1 & 2 Chronicles. Then again, knowing God and His surprises... So go, search out His ways. Hang on tightly! It's quite a ride as He reveals "the depth of the riches both of the knowledge and wisdom of God! [for] unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:30) 

Irony of ironies, as God’s presence fills you, His Word just might lull you to sleep. Whether faith or doubt fill your mind, God's power does not change. Whether a storm is beating against your house or your heart, God’s promises remain the same. Rest in His loving words: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Camaraderie of Literature

I have a delightful, insightful passage to share with you. It comes from the book titled The Master's Violin by Myrtle Reed. An excellent read if there ever was one.

I'm fascinated by the physical book itself. Copyright in 1904, it is over one hundred years old! My mind wanders through the history of this span of time. The paper and binding that I hold in my hand has survived the mistaken glory of World War I. It escaped the perilous, penny-pinching poverty of the Great Depression. Then it soldiered on through the next global conflict: World War II. In fact, it was forty years old by the time the atom publicly unleashed its astronomical power. Danger wasn't past. Its next foe was subtle: consumerism. The post-war economic success ruled: if it's old, junk it and buy a new one. And still it lived on. Today it combats the digital revolution. Liquid crystal is the new paper and binding. And just this morning, it was bombed by cinnamon roll icing. A certain careful reader wasn't quite careful enough.

I love to wonder where this book has been. Whose bookshelf has it sat in? Whose hands have held it? Whose mind delighted in its semi-philosophical lapses? Perhaps someone... No, to begin would only lead further from the paragraphs I am unsuccessfully trying to share.

So here you are:

      "Of the things that make for happiness, the love of books comes first. No matter how the world may have used us, sure solace lies there. The weary, toilsome day drags to its disheartening close, and both love and friendship have proved powerless to appreciate or understand, but in the quiet corner consolation can always be found. A single shelf, perhaps, suffices for one's few treasures, but who shall say it is not enough?

       "A book, unlike any other friend, will wait, not only upon the hour, but upon the mood. It asks nothing and gives much, when one comes in the right way. The volumes stand in serried ranks at attention, listening eagerly, one may fancy, for the command.

     "Is your world a small one, made unendurable by a thousand petty cares? Are the heart and soul of you cast down by bitter disappointment? Would you leave it all, if only for an hour, and come back with a new point of view? Then open the covers of a book.

      "With this gentle comrade, you may journey to the very end of the world and even to the beginning of civilization. There is no land which you may not visit, from Arctic snows to the loftiest peaks of southern mountains. Gallant gentlemen [and ladies, of course ;] will go with you and tell you how to appreciate what you see. Further still, there are excursions into the boundless regions of imagination, where the light of dreams has laid its surpassing beauty over all.

      "Would you wander in company with soldiers of Fortune, and share their wonderful adventures? Would you live in the time of the Crusades and undertake a pilgrimage in the name of the Cross? Would you smell the smoke of battle, hear the ring of steel, the rattle of musketry, and see the colours break into deathly beauty well in advance of the charge? Would you have for your friends a great company of noble men and women who have wrought and suffered and triumphed in the end? Would you find new courage, stronger faith, and serene hope? Then open the covers of a book, and presto - change!"

Sounds a bit like God's Book, doesn't it?

Sky Scrawl

I am sorry that they missed it so completely.

They were inside where the biggest star was the one who could say the funniest things. I happened to be outside where the biggest star was the One who "tells the number of the stars, and calls them all by their names." (Psalm 147:4)

Don't take me wrong. I think relationships are one of the most important, lasting, fulfilling things in life. But like all introverts, I sometimes tire of an incessant cacophony of jokes. Okay, okay, I admit I was slightly miffed. 

It had been overcast all night. I knew what was up there if only the clouds would roll away. I knew it was new moon. I knew the world's greatest light show was happening - only the curtain was still concealing it. So I waited patiently. Well, I thought I knew what was happening. I returned outside. The curtain of cloud had rolled away. 

Awe.

The sky was on its nightly rotation. Millions upon millions of stars. Jupiter, Pleiades, Orion, Sirius, and Cassiopeia arrayed as only they can be. Their friendships seemed deep and ancient, reaching back to "when the morning stars sang together." (Job 38:7)

The ageless beauty always surprises me, but something else was waiting. It was a message. The size of the letters weren't measured by pixels, but by light years. The power of the message wasn't measured by decibels, but amplified by silence. What I saw was a signature - God's signature. 

The magnificent creation was honouring the Creator. The heavens shouted with joy, "Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable!" (Psalm 145:3) "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing." (Revelation 5:12)

The glimmering stars scrawled God's everlasting promises across the darkness. God can't help but remind us of His love, "for God is love." (1 John 4:8) Through the silence of His signature, His Word thundered: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3) "Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15,16) "But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." (Isaiah 43:1)

Truly "the heavens declare the glory of God." (Psalm 19:1)



I recently received a book called Indescribable. Its title, ah... describes it rather well. It is packed full of amazing, colourful images of God's universe. If you think science-fiction is crazy, then take a look at reality. This book delves deeply into fascinating details - but not so deeply as to lose you in the vastness of outer-space. Coincidentally, one of the authors related an experience similar to mine, which always intrigues me greatly.

And now I will share two excerpts that impressed me especially.

It would take a jet plane flying from the Sun's surface at 800 km/h well over a month... to reach this star's centre. - Thomas Dubay

Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course... We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television. - Paul Hawken

Emmanuel's Coming - The Other Perspective

We know the story of Jesus' birth by memory. The stable, the angels, the shepherds, and the wisemen. I have grown up assuming that Jesus was born on a beautiful night. It was wonderfully clear, so you could see the stars. The wind was calm and the air was comfortably cool. The stable, warm and cozy, was a rather neat place for a baby to be born. The animals all around were lowing, or cooing, or making some sort of soothing sound. Baby Jesus slept peacefully in a manger filled with soft, sweet-smelling hay. Plus, he was wrapped securely in swaddling clothes. And we mustn't forget the shepherds. They were nice people - another part of the story.

How deeply have you searched the scriptures for details? The King James Version Bible doesn't give many details - at least not as many as I wrote above. So what would happen if we would peel away the gloss? What would the night of Emmanuel's coming be like when viewed through the opposite perspective?

Neither Matthew nor Luke mention the weather in their descriptions of Nativity. Hardly surprising, since they weren't there. Perhaps it wasn't a beautifully clear night. Perhaps it was a very black, stormy night with a howling wind. Maybe it was cold - abnormally cold - and pelting rain. The shepherds might have at first mistaken the angels' song for the wind shrieking through the trees. No wonder they were terrified.

If Bethlehem was bustling with travelers, what about the stable? No room in the inn likely meant little room in the stable. So the barn wouldn't only have been jam-packed with animals, but, to put it plainly, it would have stunk like crap. How many barns have you been in that don't reek of manure? Then add more animals than there should be...

The ferocious wind would have found every hole in the place, sending chilling drafts everywhere. The wild weather certainly wouldn't have calmed the animals. Instead of standing quietly, they would have been stomping and snorting and uttering all types of unearthly sounds. And the hay. You might like the smell of hay, but since when is it soft? It isn't. It is prickly and pokey, and that's from my perspective, not from the perspective a newborn with tender skin. The manger wouldn't have been sanded smooth and coated with child-safe paint. It made a lousy crib with the possibility of slivers, as well as gaps where a baby could fall through.

Enter the shepherds. Not just shepherds, but shepherds. They cared for sheep, but they weren't refined. They worked hard. They were rough and tough and stank of BO. Socially, they were about as far removed from royalty as could be imagined.

Into this setting, the Majestic One was born.

Perhaps it wasn't pretty. Perhaps to humans, it was degrading. Perhaps it was uncomfortable. Who said Jesus was any more comfortable when He came into this world than when He left it? Perhaps the first noise Jesus made was a cry from the cold, or damp, or noise, or pokey hay, or all of them combined. But He did it anyway. He has been there, done that. The Most Holy became the Most Lowly so He could redeem us from sin. And that shows how much God loves us. Only it is just the beginning; just the tip of the iceberg.

While writing, I have found an interesting correlation with the shepherds. People often wonder why God chose them. Perhaps the key was their humble, unpretentious hearts. Perhaps God used them to showcase His boundless love for everyone, especially those that humans judge as inferior. Whatever the reason, this is what I have found: The first people to hear about the Good Shepherd's birth were... shepherds. 

God Heals

Exactly one month till Christmas! Christmas songs, excitement, gifts, and goodies, here I come!

Below are a couple of paragraphs by Max Lucado that rang true with me. It isn't the prayer that delivers you, it is the One to whom you pray.

We know that in everything God works for the good of those who love him. Romans 8:28 

Prayer isn’t what heals us. God heals, not prayer. A matter of semantics? No. If you think the power is in the prayer and not the One who hears the prayer, you fault the pray-er for unanswered prayer. If I had prayed more, better, differently.  It’s a depressing cycle. 

Don’t assume that the faithful will never suffer. 

Remember that Peter was in a storm before he walked on water. Lazarus was in a grave before he came out of it. In Matthew 26:39, Jesus himself prayed to be delivered from earthly pain. Please don’t interpret the presence of your disease as the absence of God’s love. I pray he heals you. And he will, ultimately.

Your and My Romances

Are you enjoying your romance with God? Read it again: Your. Ro. Mance. With. God.

Romance stories aren't unfamiliar to any of us. Most likely, we've all imagined ourselves as one of the lovers in a book. Or perhaps you like someone particularly much. (Be honest with yourself ;) Your thoughts drift towards them. You worry about them, can't wait to talk to them, and wish to know them better. You desire to share their glowing laughter and sorrowing pain. They fascinate you, and if you could, you'd spend all day with them. Or perhaps the rest of your life.

Is this your perspective of God?

The Bible supplies us with plenty of analogies to our relationship with God and Jesus: Father, Brother, the Good Shepherd, Friend. It uses the analogy of a bride and bridegroom to the church and Jesus. But for God and you to be lovers?

You were honest before, so I'll be honest now. Like all relationships, my relationship with God has all manners of ups and downs. As much as I wish I could say there aren't any downs, I can't. One thing I can say, however: He has never been the one to drift away. A few other points. God doesn't need me to worry about Him. And while I haven't carried much of His sadness, He certainly has carried mine. I want to share His laughter and know Him better. I'm fascinated by His majesty, love, mercy, and wisdom. I- I think I'd like to spend the rest of my life with Him. I have a sneaking suspicion it won't be a boring romance.

Faded Rose

This is one of those "back-burner" thoughts. I've thought it strange that people would study a person that has died, finding out about their life, and maybe even idolizing them.

I've been thinking about my late grandfather, William Isaac. I have faint memories of him, but he died before I really got to know him. However, as I've gathered details of his life, I've become quite fascinated. And disappointed, too, that I couldn't have known him better. From what I've heard, he was different, and not in a bad way. He and Grandma always had time to listen to people. He was given first class service at the local china store because he would buy. He loved to give china to Grandma. He was an expert gardener. His favourite flower was a yellow rose; yellow because that was one colour that his colour-blindness didn't cheat him on. As Grandma's vision failed, he was the one that would cook for them. He replaced his Bibles not because he misused them or misplaced them, but because they actually wore out. 

I've found connections between his interests and my interests. I love skating, and my mom says that he was a wiz on skates. Biking was his favourite type of exercise, just as it is for me. I love to sing and so did he. He led songs until his hearing made it difficult to understand selections from the benches. He enjoyed writing and was a skilled writer, especially of poems. I find poetry difficult to conquer, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying writing. I think I get my "Isaac" walking posture from him as well. But best of all, he served the same God I do. By faith, I will see him again someday. 

Not surprisingly, people haven't mentioned his faults. I doubt he was faultless, but my fascination continues. So I want to say something to all of you that can still speak to your grandparents: get to know them, or get to know them better. And love them especially much for me.

Not Like Santa

Do you ever treat God like Santa? Sometimes I do.

Let's pretend it is close to Christmas and we are going to see Santa. We want to see him before he visits us with his slide down the chimney, so off to the mall we go. Unfortunately, the mall isn't simply next door. We have to drive, and it takes a long time to get there. When our journey ends, we get to wait some more, this time in line with lots of other people. Finally, finally, our turn to see Santa comes. We excitedly tell him the many things we would like from him. And then it's over.

Is that sometimes the way we approach God?

Except God isn't like that at all. I don't have to drive a long way to see Him. I don't have to wait for Him to come down my chimney. As a Christian, God is with me all the time, wherever I go. In fact, part of Him lives inside of me. I don't have to stand in line and wait my turn. He turns His head my way as soon as I speak; sometime before. Most importantly, talking with God isn't simply asking Him for the things I want. Who says one of us has to talk? Have you ever sat in silence with God?

I think God enjoys talking to me even more than I enjoy talking to Him. The first thing God says when I start listening to Him is "I love you." The second thing He says is "I love you." And then the third thing He says is "I love you." You see, He knows that I forget how much He loves me, and that I don't always trust His love.

I've been reading an inspiring book by Max Lucado called Just Like Jesus. I really like his writing style, but the subject he writes about is even better. Here's a quote that I'll share with you. It made me cry inside a bit.

"Conclude the day as you began it: talking to God. Thank him for the good parts. Question him about the hard parts. Seek his mercy. Seek his strength. And as you close your eyes, take assurance in the promise: 'He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.' (Ps. 121:4) If you fall asleep as you pray, don't worry. What better place to doze off than in the arms of your Father."

Two Thoughts

No one is completely open-minded. And I doubt anyone is completely close-minded. Are you open-minded enough to accept your close-mindedness?

Now onto a different thought, here's a beautiful paragraph from the Max Lucado Daily, titled "The Same Hands."

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 21:4) Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears.

More Questions Than Answers

"Hey, how are doing?

"Fine, and you?"

"Pretty good."

Really. 

It's a knee jerk reaction. Of course I'm fine, what else would I be? Everything is always "fine." There is no such thing as pain or sorrow or depression or confusion. Yeah, right. And nothing ever goes wrong, does it.

Have you ever told someone that your life is falling apart, or that you are depressed and you don't know why? Has anyone ever replied to you in that way? Why can't I look at things the way they really are and say things the way they really are? 

Sometimes I'm scared of myself. I used to think I had a pretty good idea of who I was. Right now I have no idea. Sure, I know my personality and my interests, but why do I react this way, when everyone else seems to react a different way? Why do I say the things I do?  Or more aptly, why don't I say the things I don't say? Lol. I really don't know, but I know Someone who does.

No, right now everything is not going perfectly. But I'm not worried. When I admit to a problem, God can work with it. When I admit I need help, I can accept help. Between God, the exquisite thoughts He sends,  prayers, and friends, it is impossible to not succeed.

Sailing Through My Mind

I've gone "Sailboats"-ing the past few nights. On some nights there are far too many interesting memories and perspectives to explore to waste any time in sleep. And so I let myself go drifting through my mind. Many memories and ideas bob to the surface of my thoughts like glowing orbs, and I float around, exploring them as I please. (It's kinda like Google Street View.) Some orbs are lonely, some are shockingly new, others are like old friends, and some are just... uniquely entertaining. Of course, some make me wish I had never ventured into this vast sea. However, a few memories that began poorly have become well-aged, and they plunge me into delightful laughter. These voyages leave me laden with many curios. I usually just leave them scattered around where I can trip over them during the day. Luckily, I've only stubbed my toe once or twice.

I think if someone told me I was weird, I'd be the first person to agree with them. Ok, now that was really weird. But no matter... Do you know what? God loves you and me, not in spite of who we are, but because of who we are. You see, we were His idea in the first place.

Gift of Grace

Why do blog inspirations come at the most unseeming times? Like when you're trying to wind down and go to sleep, but ideas refuse to be calmed. Sometimes the number of intricately connected ideas would take the whole night to conquer and record... 

"And of His fullness we have all received, and grace for grace." John 1:16

Do you comprehend how much we rely on God for righteousness? Do I? The verse above says that if it weren't for God's grace, we couldn't even receive God's grace. We are so sinful that of ourselves, we aren't capable of obtaining God's gift of forgiveness. In my battle with God against the devil, I have come to realize that either I can use God's grace to keep me from sin, or I can use it to forgive me from sin. That doesn't give me license to sin when I want to and expect my relationship with God to remain strong. Rather, it shows that in the end, whatever my actions, it's God's grace that saves me. Whether I sin or not, I still use God's gift of grace.

"Gift." I have come to love that word. I am completely incapable of repayment or justification for God's grace and blessings that He gives me. Recently, I have wondered why I haven't been very happy. I would work hard to find happiness in the experiences around me. Now I am beginning to realize that happiness doesn't come from "out there." It comes from inside; it is a gift from God. Of course, when I realize that happiness is a gift, I realize that all the little things in life (like the beautiful weather) are gifts as well, and suddenly my happiness and thankfulness increases exponentially. Why? Because God has given me the grace to use His grace.

The Coming of Power

Travel back to Easter. The crucifixion of Jesus, the fear in His disciples hearts at the time. Think of what has all transpired in your life... April seems so long ago already. Many incidents have come and gone. And yet, in A.D. 33, Jesus disciples had been cowering from the public all this time. They'd seen Jesus in person after he rose from the dead, but to them, even that must have seemed like a long time ago. Until today. You can read all about it in Acts 2. Pentecost, the might rushing wind, the tongues of fire, and most of all, God's power resting within them. But why the wait? For months, the disciples might have felt that God had forgotten them. He just waited. But when the glory of the Holy Spirit come on them, I don't suppose they would have wished for any other way!