The Puppet

I feel like a puppet today, posting words from another's heart and mind. But they speak so clear to me that it's all I have to say:

“What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew and image, I bled a poem for you. You were pretty, and my friends believed that I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed,

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared you me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teach us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which he is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, you heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my
orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you , and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then and only then understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us."

Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz as excerpted from his play Polaroids

To Job or Not To Job

I am in the middle of a faith-walk. It's glorious. Glorious and uncertain. And right now it involves my job. I've already done the stepping out part and now is the patient part.

I really don't think that I am not patient. In other words, it's not the patience part that gets me. It's the uncertain part. I know that time will tell if my step is solid, but it's not time that I trust. It's God.

I trust that He is leading. He knows what He's doing. I am just following. So now that I am having to make some decisions, I have to act. But I am not sure what He's saying.

This is where I hear from a lot of people not to trust my emotions. He he he. That makes me laugh. Don't trust them? Then what do I trust? My thoughts? But my thoughts are a direct correlation to my emotions. My knowledge? My knowledge is filtered through my emotions. How can I possibly shut off the most beautiful avenue to knowing myself, my emotions?

No, I will spend more time exploring my emotions. I will dig deeper and listen. God talks to me all the time, non-stop, through my emotions. They are the voice of my spirit and God is spirit. So exploring my emotions is a great way to talk with the Lord.

If it sounds strange, read a Psalm. Had David ignored his emotions, we would have lost one of the most transparent, genuine, prophetic and poetic books of the Bible. David often struggled with decisions--often even the aftermath of a poor decision--and wrote about it with strong emotion. For now I am struggling with a decision about my job. And feeling some pretty strong emotions myself.

Berries and Gardens

A few things off the top of my head: strawberries don't last forever and nut grass can only be ignored for so long.

It's the end of summer and strawberries are everywhere! And I love 'em. But to get the organic (which is a must) you have to spend a decent penny and, like any budget-keeper, I always try to save anything that costs extra. So I saved my strawberries. I kept them in a nice container in the fridge and saved them. Not sure what for, but they were expensive and wonderful, so I had to stockpile them. I saved and saved and harbored and protected. And then when I went to savor, they had molded.

It's almost as if "things" don't last forever.

The worst part is that I had a chance to share the goodness with friends, but this sudden fear grabbed me: if I share, I can't enjoy! I know it's not true, but I just love those berries. As I threw out the molded ones, I realized that strawberries don't last forever.

I also saw this morning that some people think they don't have nut grass. A weed that can overtake a garden in days, nut grass is as evident as the day. Its tall green blades shoot straight up out of the soil and underneath the roots connect deep to one another, forming a long chain. It doesn't look unattractive, but does serious damage.

I worked in a guy's garden today and he warned all of us that he had lots of nut grass. In fact, I spent all of the morning pulling it up. But I realized that not all of us can be so bold as to confess our nut grass overgrowth.

Some of us would rather point our finger at the man who talks about his weeds. I can see the scoffers and boasters shaking their head and belittling the weed-filled garden.

You know, the same people who stockpile their strawberries from friends.

But it's the guy who works out the weeds, who admits it and pulls 'em up, whose garden grows. Us scoffers eventually have to face the nut grass. And by then it's practically killed everything.