he laid down his guns...

I sat today in the back of a church and looked at small man lying in a box.

He was 101 years old when he passed away.

The most I was around him in life was the few times I rose in the early, damp dawn and slipped down to the church to pray. He was already 99 or 100 then, but he was there, faithfully every morning. I remember seeing him in the darkness of the sanctuary, the only light coming from the platform and that not quite reaching him, his hands in the air for an unbelievably long time (longer than I could have held mine outstretched) speaking to his Friend of nearly a century.

In a way I envied him in that box. I start and stop and fall and God picks me up and dusts my skinned knees and whispers to me to do better. So, in some sense I envied him for where he was, that he no longer had to worry about the cares of life, but perhaps more in an ephemeral sense, that his work in this life was done and he had been ready; really, longing to "lay down his guns" and enter into rest.

"Be still, my soul..." the words have been playing and playing today. I have a long way to go, but I want to follow Lee Carroll's example and "...bear patiently, my cross of grief and shame." I find an increasing tendency to laziness and the comforts of this life and it frightens me. I want more than anything to do great things for God.

"No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him." II Timothy 2:4

borrowed table full of stuff...

It is 4:22 am and I can't sleep. I just got back from the Keys and I have to be up at 6 am to get ready for our yard sale and I can't sleep. Visions of packing and tickets and visas and funds (or the lack) are dancing like sugarplums in my head. I sometimes see how it will all play out and then at other times I can't see anything.

I took Ty (my nephew) with me tonight down to the Keys and we had fun just chatting and laughing together. On the way down, when we were already on the islands, we put the sun roof back and stared (I did watch the road intermittently) through the hole in the ceiling of the car at a vast, inky black field of lights. Immense globes of flame, dancing and singing praises to the Creator. It is wonderful to find yourself in a place, like that, surrounded by ocean and so few lights that the stars just seem to come from everywhere. You realize just how small you are and in that moment you are in your proper place; in absolute awe of the infinite God.

I am sure that even those who would call themselves atheists, look at a sky like that and feel that same awe, only their troubled mind lacks a definition for it.

So, in the morning I will place some of my belongings on a borrowed table and submit it to a thousand scrutinies by complete strangers. Perhaps some will find themselves unable to live without it and should that happen enough times; maybe, just maybe I'll leave my room a little emptier than I find it right now.

Well, I guess that's all I have to say really. God has been good to me, but then again, that's nothing new. He always has been. Goodnight, or perhaps I should say, good morning.

black holes and the synaptically-challenged...

At this moment I'm sitting in what I will call,

controlled

chaos.

I am still uncertain of who has the control, but daily I am having misgivings that it is me. My room looks as if a random collocation of rogue atoms in the universe banded together to create a monster. I have books stacked upon books in various corners and sectors representing everything from Crime and Punishment to Here Be Monsters! I have clothes stacked awaiting yard sale, CD's piled on my desk, on my record player (also soon to be auctioned) and I begin to feel just a little disconnected. Things that once seemed like old friends grow price tags over night and I feel my relationship to what is temporal begin to shift.

Somehow in the coming few days I have to sort through seven years...no, wait; twelve years of life. I see myself as Linus with this unsightly cloud of clutter that seems to suspend itself awkwardly in my wake. It is sobering to think how much stuff I have generated in such a short life. Simplify.

I am moving. I am going to Africa once again. If I allow myself to dwell on what needs to happen between where I sit in this black hole of organization, to when I step into a cramped, aluminum tube to jet across the cold Atlantic, I am uncertain how it will all play out, but in juxtaposition to that position is the knowledge that I know Christ has called me to this and He has not and will not leave me to my own synaptically-challenged thought patterns and memory blackouts. Things will happen, needs will be provided and when I look in retrospect it will look like the inside of a fine pocket watch with every tiny gear and perfectly machined component fitting into its place. And this mirror, this clouded glass will reveal itself and every "chance" happening will prove to be ordained and planned and set in place by a loving Father.

I try not to worry about the days ahead or fret about whether or not everything will happen, but try and enjoy the days that God has given me here with friends and family; they are so few. My mother received a DVD for Christmas, a Hallmark movie called The Magic of Ordinary Days. That thought has really struck me. Do I see the magic that is in every "ordinary" day?

If we could fathom the forces at work in the sun and the universe as we fly through space and discover truly, what happens every time we see that sun slip into the morning sky and feel that cool ocean breeze weaving through the trees and across the water in tiny ripples; no day would be ordinary again. These days are magic. Every breath is a second chance, a gift from our Father. Use them well.

If I cross your mind, pray for me as I try to harness the chaos and hopefully emerge with a few well-packed boxes and a greater appreciation for all the blessings that I have received.

#itsthe011son...

I suppose this should be the post where I lay bare my plans for the New Year and all my supposed resolutions. The fact is, I have never really been one to make that many resolutions, if any, but I think more than most this year has given me pause.

I actually fell asleep before the changing of the guard between 2010 and 2011. Delani woke me up on the couch about a quarter after midnight and I wearily walked to my room and went to sleep. It was the next morning that the beauty of the new year really sank in. It's like a clean slate, a new beginning. Yes, I know all the various cliches are rather trite, but I think amidst all the verbiage, there is some truth; we all get a second chance with the new year.

I made a mess of the last year and where it went I cannot really say. I have been blessed I know beyond a doubt. I have seen sunsets and sunrises to make your heart ache. I have seen mountain views and deep snow drifts and stormy seas. I've made new friends, traveled, drank good coffee, listened to beautiful music, said goodbyes, found grey hairs and come to the slow realization that thirty is much closer than I used to think. I have so many beautiful memories, painful regrets and faithful nudges from the Holy Spirit this year and I am truly blessed.

So, back to the resolutions, or lack thereof; I suppose I have a few. To fear less. To grow in my walk with Christ. To be thankful everyday to Christ for not giving up on me when I had given up on Him this past year. To read more. To read better quality. To watch fewer movies and have more conversations. To take more pictures of the ones I love. To not wish I was anywhere but where I am and in the company of those I'm with. To place others before myself. To learn to be the kind of man that my father is; a good husband, a wonderful father, a faithful friend and a fearless adventurer who takes to the skies nearly everyday.

So, goodnight and a happy New Year to all of you.

December 7, 2010...

It was a typical night tonight; so full of the usual distractions that have become commonplace in my life. I watched a National Geographic segment on the White House chief photographer and then took in the mindless, over-dramatic world of Bones in which a CIA desk worker was murdered for uncovering a sinister plot.

It was cold outside to say the least. The weather app on my phone said it could freeze tonight and I believe it. I took some sheets and carefully covered some of the exterior flowers in hopes that their delicate bodies will last the night and then, inexplicably and without reason I began to walk.

I walked down my street, shoulders hunched against the cold and collar turned up, in an attempt to hold out against the invasion of frigid air. My Ipod played loudly in my ears as I walked without any purpose, without any real thought and then I turned to my left and saw the house lights reflecting on the water and I paused. There was something so peaceful, so tranquil that my mind took a picture and wished this moment could last and that everyone could somehow see it through my eyes.

Then I did something that I haven’t done in quite sometime; I took my eyes off earth and stared towards the stars. Somehow, by Divine decree, I had stopped in the one place on the street where the glow from the lamps did not inhibit the view of the sky. I felt a smallness that I had been missing in my egoist search for existential meaning. To have any experience of value in life, one must feel truly small and insignificant and a part of something beyond scope or measure.

I had been absent for so long I felt lost looking at familiar skies. I reached up and turned off my headphones and just breathed. I breathed the cold night air and heard the roar of the waves in the distance, and the subtle sounds of a sleeping town. The stars seemed so close, a collection of tiny lights at the doorway to an inky, endless expanse; so black that you forgot for a moment the sheer depth of space. These stars were friends once as a child when I would lay on my back on the cold ground in Lesotho and stare at constellations that to me had no name; but now they only stared blankly back at me.

It seemed that the more I stood there in the street, the more I stared into the constellations, I began to see more stars, faint at first and then gathering courage and peering out from the gloom. They felt more at ease in my presence and became more pronounced, the stars that had always been visible shone with a fiercer intensity. I was becoming close again and I stood there in the disquieting quiet and heard myself think and felt more than I had felt in months; that I was alive and eternal and fragile and strangely disconnected. The wonder of stars had faded in the glow of computer screens and TV sets and the indescribable wonder of my sight I was pawning away on 30 second media bytes and pointless games.

I turned and caught a glimpse of a star as it made its final, fiery dive into the cold Atlantic. It began to sink in that I am standing on just one tiny light in space as it spins and hurls through the cosmos in perfect precision; set in motion by the breath of Almighty God. Cold air rushed into my lungs and shot back out in silver clouds like smoke. I felt small, I felt insignificant…I felt. I breathed. I lived.

October 3, 2010...

I was struck with a singular thought this morning as I drank my coffee...that life with all of its chaos and sadness, is beautiful.

September 28, 2010...

Life on the road—coin laundries, cashiers and manufactured food. After sometime the locals recognize your face, but no one knows your name. You are another necessary inconvenience in a paycheck. You sit in your room and feel the bittersweet of memories replayed in your mind over and over like a black and white movie. The reels get worn and spaces of film go unaccounted for and the picture begins to pop and get a little grainy, but soon you find you need that hit of nostalgia—an addiction to your own memory.

You just discovered that your new hovel, in addition to the faint acridity of stale cigarettes and the pungency of cat urine, has a closet, which you mistook for an access to an adjoining room. You organize your life and tell yourself that it feels more at home now, but the truth is, you can organize a kitchen drawer or a janitor closet, but it won’t make the inside feel anymore like home.

You feel like tears, but they’ve been replaced by apathy. You check your creativity at the door as you go to fill the most productive hours of your day with mindless work, robotic and brutal. You try to pick it back up at the door when you come in with the sundown, but your body is scolding you so loudly that you can’t seem to remember where you left it and so it sits at night and collects dust next to the old box a/c until you see it the next morning, too pressed for time to use it.

The check is good though and every time you doubt yourself you remind yourself that you need the money. You trade your dreams for a transient and inconsistent currency. You become conscience and designated driver to a group of men you would probably avoid on a street corner or in the lobby of a cheap hotel, like the one you are sharing with them. You hear more variations of f*** then there are cloud shapes in a day.

You’re that guy that gets rolls of quarters. The son that rarely calls home. The boyfriend whose schedule and fatigue make him absent. That guy in the checkered shoes that comes into Panera everyday and never knows what he wants. You are a paradox.

You are the familiar stranger.