march haiku

the wind is restless.

pacing between two futures.

winter's hold.  spring's push.

letting go

i never really cease to amaze myself.  it seems like i spend most of my time trying to get over all of my selfish ambitions.  fixing problems, self motivating, trying to be more disciplined . . . it's all a circular struggle of trying to let go of everything i've been . . . things that are "wrong" with me.  in a recent self-pity party -- you know, the party you invite no one too but then get livid when no one shows up -- i realized that humanity does this in all our areas of life.  we tend to spend a lot of our time trying to "let go" of bad habits, and usually to no avail.  we also spend a lot of time "letting go" of bad or past relationships, only to find ourselves in the midst of them again, not knowing why but kicking ourselves for allowing it to happen.  we say we need to stop worrying, "let go and let God," citing that it is a matter of faith and trust . . . "it's not getting better because i have little faith," " i need to trust God more."  yes, you do and i do.  but we will always need to trust God more.  how many times did Jesus say, "you of little faith?"  God knows that we're lacking in this area.  

but that's not necessarily the bad news.

what i've seen 

i'm not so sure it's faith that's hard for us.  i can't speak for everyone, really i can speak for no one but myself.  and what i've seen in my life is the fact that my real issue with letting go isn't the letting go part . . . it's the "clinging to something different" part.  in His sermon on the mount, Jesus gives us insight into man's relationship with money.  He says, "no one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will hold to one and despise the other.  You cannot serve God and money."  it's not an issue of faith it's an issue of service.  granted, the two are tied together, but stretch this out into the practical issues of money and then beyond.  we serve money because money serves us.  we work 60 hr weeks because we get a return on our investment.  a pretty immediate one at that.  work now and in two weeks you'll see the fruit of your labor.  we like that.  and we're selfish about it.  working is good, providing food and shelter for families is a godly charaterstic.  but do you serve it?  Jesus tells us not to store up for ourselves treasures on earth, but rather treasures in heaven.  one rots, one does not.  the question is not whether or not you should work, but who you're clinging to.  in your passions, where is Christ in comparison to your income?  if a call goes out to either defend your faith or your income . . . whom do you defend?  do you defend the God who saves you or the money that buys you?  in His sermon, Jesus follows this one statement with many about anxiety . . . about worrying what you will have or not have.  "if i defend my faith, and follow Christ at the risk of losing my job . . . how will i eat? how will we live? where will my income come from?"  i've learned that if i have these questions, i know it might be time to examine my heart.

stretching it into other areas of life, why do we have such a hard time letting go?  for me it's because i'm letting go of something familiar, comfortable, close, and tangible . . . no matter how destructive i know that it is.  in Galatians, Paul writes in a similar vein that Jesus spoke, "for am i now seeking the favor of men, or of God?  or am i striving to please men?  if i were still trying to please men, i would not be a bond-servant of Christ."  it took me a long time to learn a hard lesson that the phrase "pleasing men" usually has more to do with pleasing myself than any other man.  we may not do things to please second or third parties . . . but how often do we do things to gain our own self approval or our own self worth?  relationships are where i have seen this played out in my own life.  so many of the relationships that i have had in the past have been beneficial for me because many of my "needs" were met . . . although all along they were some of the most destructive forces i have seen in my lifetime.  but i didn't want to let go.  i had "delusions of grandeur" that possibly in the future all could be made right, that i could fix what was wrong with them and make everything great.  letting go of these relationships was not done over night, and in some cases it is still a struggle.  but i could not even begin the struggle until i decided that i would cling to Christ instead of the relationship.  instead of investing in a hurtful relationship i had to invest myself in Christ and in relationships that were healthy.  i had to dead bolt the door on the relationship, no matter how bad it hurt, and run headlong into Christ.  it was only then that my heart began to free up, and Godly, fruitful, wonderful relationships began to flower in my life.  when i was consumed with a selfish and hurtful relationships i had no eyes to see the others.  i had to close my eyes to them, and only then were they opened to the others.

the same principle applies to other areas of our lives as well.  we just don't have the capacity to easily let go of one . . . and cling to the other.

more than this, and for me this was the crux of the issue, i had to hate the one before i could love the other.  before i could love my Savior i had to hate sin.  before i could be passionate about Him i had to shun what was not His.  and that, for me, came down to selfishness.  for you it may be something else, but in the end it is sin that keeps us from clinging to Christ.  it is having a comfort and need for something other than Him.  i still find myself clinging to my selfish passions . . . but by grace and patient love God is showing me that He is so much more brilliantly beautiful than anything that i could manufacture on my own.  

don't just let go . . . cling to Christ.   

my valentines

my son is seven.  

my daughter is five. 

i have friends who's children are older and i have friends who's children are younger.  i have friends who's children are smarter and i have friends who's children are dumber.  

my kids aren't the tallest, strongest, fastest, most well-behaved, geniuses, or anything else we as american parents often want our children to be and against reason sometimes think they are.  

they sometimes get in trouble at school and get in scuffles with friends.  they get cuts and bruises, broken arms and broken hearts.

they stomp away from obedience and cross defiant arms.  they argue and throw tantrums.

they often won't eat all their food, take their dishes from the table, or turn off the light.

they wiggle in church and fidget during prayer.

they do 1,000 other things every day that would drive any parent up a wall.

and i would have it no other way.

my son asked me to read him poetry . . . my heart skipped.

my daughter will push her way through people just to hold my hand . . . i will always keep one free.

my son likes the music i like . . . he says "i like it because it's yours."

my daughter climbs in bed with me . . . i love her knees in my back.

my son offers me his own money when i am low . . . giving.  at 7!

my daughter writes "i love daddy" everywhere . . . even when i'm not there.

i see their joys and i feel their hurts.  they make me laugh and sometimes i have cried.  they defy my expectations.  they are my greatest source of joy and they are my greatest source of lessons learned.  they are not perfect . . . yet they are.

i love them with all my heart and i wanted to tell you.

in just a few moments, when i lie down in my bed, i will lie down alone.  no wife by my side i'll fall asleep in silent obscurity.  it is my own making . . . consequences like snow falling slowly into place every night.  i have no one to share these things with.  the joyous stories of my children go often untold.  they are treasures i store up in my heart to push into the dreams i hope to have each night.  sometimes, like tonight, i have to stop and take stock again of how fleeting this life is, how transient our stories appear compared to the eternal foundations of our God, and how i am nothing but a living testimony of His grace that i get to sit here in an empty kitchen and be able to share at all what a wonderful, wonderful gift my children are to me.

the following two poems i wrote for each of them.

to my son

 

you, me, the irony

of listening to the crash test dummies

at the auto shop

 

and the realization that re-do's

don't come in your size shoes

makes me stop

 

and take stock of this brief moment . . .

that time won't wait for what i meant

to do, fly with you, make you into

 

the kind of man i was supposed to be:

having wisdom, knowing responsibility,

leading you, teaching you, believing you

 

will grow up, but don't rush, let's pretend

while we can, that super-heroes always win in the end

and chase our shadows where time ticks

 

away in the darkness of a crocodile's belly,

if it's gonna tick, why not let it go silly

in a land where i can pick

 

you up and throw you into

the air a thousand feet up, and always catch you,

hitting the ground never in view

 

because here, where time ticks on the wall,

i cannot bear the weight of letting you fall . . .

re-do's don't come in your size shoes.

to my daughter

 

every time you make me tea

i have to remember to drink your smile

and remember that your tea is always best

with a little sugar.

 

and i have to remember mondays

and blueberry coffeecake

and being home to hold you

with your arms around my neck.

 

because i'll need to reach back

when i come home to see you

making tea for someone else,

with smiles and sugar, or

 

sitting in my chair on friday night,

while you're out getting coffee,

planning your cake,

your arms around his neck.

distractions made easy

there's something about not having people over, not being too affected by appearances, being able to "make do" with whatever and an overall nonchalance toward daily living's habits and rituals that makes the more practical points of my existence . . . well, non-existent.  the needs of my apartment are staring me square in the eye and when i turn around i can feel them boring holes through the more tender, empty parts of my skull.  each room is a neglected piece of my life that has been told, "soon, i'll get to you soon."  the kitchen is my practical roommate.  he's there when i need food or drink, microwave or coffee, the rare moment of actual "cooking" . . . and not cooking for cooking's sake (such as the artists would tell you is the only way) but for the mere need for food. the dining area is actually a dining/conservatory/office/catch all.  he is the roommate that catches all the flak for nothing, ends up being dumped on most of the time and only occasionally is used for his specific gifts.  the den is my laid back, long day, gotta get my feet up "forget the world" roommate.  he does nothing but entice me with his music and movies and tv shows . . . mind altering drugs which medicate the numbness which is often ascribed to the monotony of that thing we call "work."  i won't delve into the bedroom . . . most do not appreciate a venture toward the darker corners of ones dwelling.  let's just say he's the roommate that all the other roommates throw up on.

what i've seen

distractions are easy when they're stealing you away from those things which are of little or no concern to you.  those things which concern you most; for some it's relationships, for some work, for others family and home, and others a secularistic life style of out and up all night, have a tighter grip on your attention and little can steal you away from them.  it's not a profound statement, but it does give me pause to think of what things in my life hold my attention and what other things i'm neglecting toward a sadder end.  

historically, i've seen myself give way to myself.  there were no needs greater than my own and no avenue worth traveling if it did not end in my needs being attended to . . . even to the detriment of others.  hopefully, though, by the grace of God and an altered perspective on life and living, i am giving way to the needs of others before myself.  i still see glimpses of the old self when i look the mirror, the selfish and needy sinner within.  turning off the light on that person hasn't been easy and often times it still isn't.  guilt can still plague my mind.  my distractions have shifted from my needs being externally met to a focus on trying to fix how i "used to be" in an attempt to change my self perspective.  this never works and every attempt leaves me looking at the messes everywhere else.  a wake of wreckage has followed me for years and God's grace has cleaned up much of it.  but i struggle so often with my internal wreckage, my own innability to paint my life differently, and the rueful truth that no matter how many smiles i paint on my face, it is only by seeing myself in light of the cross and in the hope of the resurrection that i will have any peace, contentment, joy, and lovliness in this life.  

it's a process.  it's an easy process some days.  it's a downright hellish one others.  but it's a process.  tonight my apartment will be clean.  partly because it needs it, but also because for a few minutes i was given the grace to see how the smaller things in my life reflect the larger ones.  my kitchen may represent my witness day in and day out.  my dining area the mirror of my tendency to dump myself on others and not give heed to their needs . . . not be an ear or hear, or a shoulder to cry on.  my living area is my slothful desire to quit life and be a bum in a time when i must spend time with my children, be productive at work and develop relationships wherever i am.  and my bedroom . . . 

we are not lights in and of ourselves, we are mirrors.  and whether the light inside is bright or dim, we will reflect what is truly there, regardless of what we paint on the exterior of our washed out lives.  

the poem below was born out of a bad day and is a complete contrast of how my days begin when i look in the mirror and see the love of my Savior.

morning

the imprint of your frame still

lingers in my bed, and the sheets you messed

as you kicked and pulled yourself

away from sleep—your silence louder than the screaming alarm.

 

folding back the warmth,

feet recoiling from the cold,

i force my eyes to your pale back

and watch you dress it in guilt.

 

your goodbye closes with the door and with it I begin

another morning, just like the last—

drawing a smile on the bathroom mirror,

trying desperately to shower off the shame.   

longing to lose

for the past week, i have started this post about 7 times.  each time i was either distracted or just not "feelin' it."  for me, that's frustrating.  "i feel thin, sort of stretched,  like butter spread over too much bread."  that feeling leaves little room for deep thoughts . . . everything has seemed shallow.  

my prayers are more groping in darkness than basking in light.

my thoughts are more placid meanderings in uncertainty than driven faith.

my actions are grounded in momentary flits rather than consistent, active obedience . . .

perhaps like the apostles as they waited in that dark period of days with no teacher. no messiah. no friend.  we have tiny glimpses of what life was like for those days between Jesus' death and resurrection.  a burial.  a waiting in the upper room.  a trip to the tomb for final preparations to the body.  but we all know that the worst times, the darkest and most alone, are the times between the busyness.  when all we do is sit idle in our chairs, wishing we could mow a lawn, or balance a budget.  but instead we must sit alone with our thoughts, such terrible company.  it has been recently, for me, thoughts of uncertain futures.  guessing games of relationship and career. and my thoughts are not kind . . . mostly because i am selfish.

what i've seen 

Christ has shown me the past couple of days why it is that i sometimes need to sit alone with those thoughts.  it's because i never did it all those years ago.  i think the Lord is teaching me to struggle.  like jacob He is inviting me to wrestle with Him . . . because for so long all i did was wrestle with myself.  it is no bad thing to wrestle with the Almighty and lose.  jacob lost, and in his losing he won.  the pains of a hard fought time of reflection and meditation, of recounting time's spent and finding Christ in our everyday experiences are pains that reap reward.  over and over i have seen the fruits of hard fought relationships.  relationships that seem on the brink have been saved because each party was willing to put aside selfish ambition and seek the other's gain. and that is what Christ has shown me.  and this is what He's said, 

"friend, brother . . . i will fight to make this work.  i have conquered death.  i have conquered sin.  i have conquered the grave and all that darkness thinks it has claimed.  and i will conquer you, too.  your selfishness i will overcome with kindness, your pride will be destroyed by humility, your fears will be calmed and dispelled by my word.  you will see life and you will see it abundantly." 

it is a fight that i long to lose.  i will not completely lose until i see Him face to face . . . but each and every day, as i fight against my sin, as i implore Him to manifest Himself in ways that i cannot deny, as i ask Him for bread and not rocks, for fish and not snakes, as i reach out and take a fist full of His cloak as He pins me to the ground and i say, "i will not let go until you bless me," . . . i find yet another blessing waiting in the dislocation of my life.  the gnarled, ugly, and beat up life that has been covered in Grace.  

on the eve of our great nativity

my advent season culminated along the I-45 corridor.  on the causeway between dallas and houston, i and a myriad of my fellow journeymen traveled southward toward family and friends . . . a great "getting together" for this our much anticipated holiday season.  there was pushing and shoving, honking and "waving;" all of those little things which make our journeys so memorable.  ah the yuletide spirit.  and in the midst of my lonely drive i was reminded of grace and why i was making the trek at all.  

2000 some odd years ago a tiny family traveled much the same corridor en route toward a great "getting together" of family and friends.  a census urged the man and his wife toward the tiny town of bethlehem; a counting of men, women and children.  to be sure there were scrooges in their midst . . . "bah humbugs" and the stress of the unplanned travel expenses, preparations gone bad and dad forgetting to make reservations at the hotel.  if only they could arrive at their destination . . . the rest could be had.  and nice, quiet sleep.

that's all i wanted  tonight to be sure.  and now at nearly 1am christmas morning i am typing instead of basking in dark stillness.  but my mind is a rush of emotion and thought . . . and getting it out on "paper" seemed to fit the need.

grace has a nice way of forcing itself upon me at just the right moments.  tonight it was a lesson learned regarding the incarnation of our Lord, accompanied by a song entitled "All is Well."  over and over the song repeats, "all is well" and it hit me that my mind and heart are so often smitten by the dreariness of life . . . and that all is, indeed, "not well."  as i listened to the song my mind and heart were opened by grace to one particular line of powerful poetry:

. . . tonight darkness fell into the dawn of love's light . . .

over and over again my mind tries to wrap itself around the magnitude of what happened that dark night in bethlehem.  the dark night of sin and despair, the waiting in anticipation, the hopeful expectation of deliverance was ushered into the arms of a virgin girl in a quiet stable across from an inn . . . without fanfare and without a breath of resistance.  the king was born and all was well (insert here thoughts regarding the creation of the universe and and the cumulative "it is good." do we see a pattern?).  "the dawn of love's light."  christmas is our beginning, it is our spiritual dawn.  follow the star . . . and all is well.  follow it from cradle to cross . . . and all is well.  follow it through miracles and sermons, friendships and journey . . . and all along the way all is well.  follow it from nazareth to capernaum, samaria to jerusalem and everywhere in between . . . and all is well.  and follow it to the garden, and follow judas' footsteps and his lips on Jesus cheek . . . and all is still well.  follow the fists that pounded his face, and trace each thorn as it pierced his skull . . . all is well.  walk along with him along the "way of suffering," carry his cross with Simon the man from Cyrene and eye all along the way the hill called "the Skull" . . . and find that all is well.  follow the nails, follow the spear, follow the words of the thieves and the soldiers, follow the words of your savior, follow his final breath as it falls from his cracked lips and falls at your feet . . . the light of love succumbing to darkness . . . and all is well.

what i've seen

from my viewpoint little is well with life a lot of the time . . . finances, relationships, bleak national times and an uncertain personal future, it doesn't always look good.  and it is because i do not look through the eyes of light, especially love's light and in particular the way it dispels the darkest of nights.  the grace to be where i am today and not where i should be is all of grace and too often i forget what was given that first christmas morning.  Jesus was God's "widow's mite" . . . Jesus was God's most expensive and rarest gift . . . Jesus was the one selfless act that defined grace as it would come to be known in the life of the church of God . . . God made flesh and born to die, that for all of those who are his own, all will be well.

my love for my Savior and His grace is so full of holes it's a wonder i haven't sunk.  but even in this, grace keeps it afloat.  with each gift we receive and with each gift that we give it is my resolution to paint for my children the dawn of love's light.  all of its bright colors and all of its majesty . . . painted on the canvas of simple grace.    

 

listening to Mozart

we visit and re-visit ourselves,

discovering over and over what

we would have changed

if we could then

 

counting again and again the number

of times we've convinced ourselves

that change is future

not past,

 

wondering what Mozart would

have done had he finished,

instead of dying so young,

with more ahead of him than behind

i have to read this poem to myself over and over again before i can believe why i wrote it in the first place.  long drives home are usually the worst.  reflecting on past and future, pensive thoughts on whatever "life" is, kicking myself, self-pity, you know how it goes . . . and the one thing i always come back to is Mozart.  i'm not entirely sure why.  i'm pretty sure i should always be coming back to Christ, thoughtfully praying to One who saved me from myself--but often times i don't.  it's Mozart.  

boy genius.  prodigy.  pinnacle of musical excellence.  the "it" man of his day.  yet burdened and overcome by fear. i have heard it said of him that he exited a rehearsal session for his "Requiem" in tears, gripped by sorrow and never returned.  it was his last rehearsal for the piece he never finished, ironically, because of his early death.  some have also said that although commissioned to compose it for the late wife of a wealthy man, Mozart was actually writing his requiem.  his own death march.  his own ode to the dark.  looking death in the face must be scary for some, especially when there is the unexpected coming.  and, in Mozart's case, a past of sin.  perhaps more sin than he could bear.  the piece for the rehearsal he did not make it through was reportedly the Lacrimosa or "tears" or "mourning."   the lyrics read like this:

Lacrimosa dies illa That day of tears and mourning

qua resurget ex favilla when from the ashes shall rise

judicandus homo reus. all humanity to be judged.

Huic ergo parce, Deus Spare us by your mercy, Lord,

pie Jesu Domine, gentle Lord Jesus,

dona eis requiem, Amen. grant them eternal rest, Amen.

"when from the ashes shall rise all humanity to be judged . . . Spare us by your mercy, Lord, gentle Lord Jesus"---and he ran from the room, weeping.  

what i've seen

true or not it should still hit home in our hearts.  Mozart was an unrested soul in that moment, much like i was a little over two years ago.  getting ready for bed on a thursday night, i was convinced that i wasn't going to wake up.  i had somehow convinced myself that God was going to take my life before morning light came.  i fell asleep to Mozart's requiem playing in the darkness.  i was in no way at peace, but resigned to the fact that eternal sleep was better than the pain and guilt i was living through.  obviously, i woke up.  morbid night? no doubt.  i was messed up in the head and heart a long time before that but that morning was new for me.  nothing was "all better," all the pain was still there, all the heartache . . . my entire life that had hit the fan and was now painting the world around me in shades of black and gray.  mozart didn't get another morning . . . but i did, and the difference between me and Mozart is that i had the grace of another day to seek the Giver of mercy.  i didn't, and don't, need to wait until the "rising of the ashes" to hopefully plead for mercy from the Lord.  i have been given grace enough to rest NOW in the mercy that is found at the cross.  i can see forward into the hope of eternal salvation by way of that same cross and can embrace each and every dark moment which comes my way because my Savior, too, has embraced those same dark moments, promising that God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.

sometimes it just takes me a while to get back there . . . but He always brings me back there.  it's the only place i'm safe.  it's the only place we have peace . . .