REUNITED

It's not like Jesus broke up with me. We didn't get into any kind of argument. I was never mad at Him, and He was never mad at me. I get that and all. I really do. Sadly, in reality, some things went down that made it seem to me like maybe Jesus broke up with me, or that maybe He didn't want to be around me, or that maybe I wasn't worthy being around Him. And, quite honestly, some things went down that made me angry - not with Him, but rather with those of us who use Him as an excuse to exclude, as an excuse to hate. It's kept me away. I should know better. My bad.

Just when I think I'm about to get back on track with things, and start hanging more with my man crush, I realize I'm still trying to work through some things. It's me that's holding me back. It's my distorted thinking, my belief that I've got to take care of my baggage before I return to Him. So awkward, so troublesome, so frustrating to think this way, when I know good and well that it's with Him that I need to do all this. I've never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but I've got more sense than this.

Together. That's how we'll make it through all this. Together.

EMPTY

I’m witnessing the shouts of ignorance far too often these days. It’s not just the absence of love, which frequently finds space to avoid, but rather, it’s the presence of hate, which claws into words and actions with reckless abandon. We’re becoming soiled by its unyielding desire to destroy, and we’re convincing ourselves that it’s contrary to our intentions. I remain unconvinced that we are so dumb. There’s far too much available at the tips of our fingers and within reach of our ears and eyes to believe that we can blame it on misinformation or misunderstanding. No, we are complicit in this drowning of our compassion.

The reaction to “illegal” immigration has been both fascinating and disturbing. A revelation of our collective stupidity when ignoring our past is one possible way to describe it, especially considering most of those who speak so intensely about others not belonging here can trace their own lineage easily enough to demonstrate their own ancestors were “illegal” immigrants. More accurately, though, it’s a full exposure of the egocentrism that festers in a pool of privilege born of white power. Masking racism with an interpretation of the law that prevents it aligning to ourselves and ignores the factors contributing to present circumstances is conveniently but blatantly disgusting.

Defending the use of racial slurs would seem at first glance to be beneath us, even in the imaginary “post-racial” society so many of us believe we have. And yet, it’s a constant barrage of pompous dismissals alongside supportive comments when it comes to defending the use of words or symbols anyone in their right mind would never say or show directly to the face of an American Indian without rightfully and promptly being informed they are racist. Arguing the right to not listen to those we deem unworthy of our discomfort speaks to the pervasive ethnocentrism so dominate in our society, and highlights specifically how our power and privilege leads us to believe we can make pointless comparisons.

Defining a loving relationship between two mutually consenting adults within the parameters of our narrow and misguided minds has created a false sense of righteousness, especially among those who consider themselves followers of Christ. Scripture is used to defend this hatred in a way that magnifies both the ignorance of how marriage is defined within The Bible, but also in a way that ignores the history of how The Word has been distorted in history to oppress with such sweeping certainty. Instead of finding ways to expand love, we demonstrate how sick we can be by relating it to offenses with no comparison. We rush to make an exclusive club, while acting as if we are unable to recognize how we falsely define relationships as being about what happens in the bed instead of what happens in the heart.

For hatred of a leader, and at the expense of people in need and women who deserve nothing but our thanks and respect, we justify our criticisms of a system designed to provide care that we all deserve. Criticizing endless numbers of people being able to access what should be a basic right? Seriously? Imagine the progress we could make if we were demanding ways to continually improve rather than destroy access to healthcare for all? What if we cared less about pitching in a bit more, waiting a bit longer, and acting a bit less like the entire world revolves around ourselves? What if we cared more about doing absolutely everything we can to see that all people everywhere – regardless of background, circumstances, or “pre-existing conditions” – were cared for the way we all wish to be cared for?

As I write this, a decision announced by a prosecutor from a grand jury about whether or not to allow a family to have their day in court for their child is being shared. It’s not an indictment of all law enforcement everywhere. That’s a distortion and distraction of epic proportions. It’s not about just a single case. That’s downplaying a long history of injustices. No, this is a decision related to an issue that defines the state of racial divide that continues to exist day in and day out all around us. To pretend it doesn’t exist means we aren’t paying attention to the statistics that make clear the disproportionate numbers of people of color who face academic struggles and discipline referrals in schools, but also arrest, imprisonment, and death at the hands of our society.

My heart aches. My fists clench. My anger boils. Being white, straight, able-bodied and minded, economically stable, and male, I’m privileged enough to not have to live this day in and day out. Still, my heart aches. My fists clench. My anger boils. We are brothers and sisters, and we are all both victims and perpetrators.

I look for my God in all of this, and I remember He is where He always is – within us.

TIPPING THE SCALE

We're supposed to say we're sinners
But we don't like that word
It casts a shadow over us
It beats us down
It exposes us

We're supposed revel in God's Grace
But we can't believe it's real
It covers us with love
It lifts us up
It heals us

We're supposed to reach out in love to all
But we have to qualify that
It works for many
It fails for some
It excludes us

Sometimes the sin is just too damn much for us, no matter what we say we believe
And we search The Word to justify ourselves
Instead of seeking The Word to correct ourselves
And we think we speak the truth
When The Truth is cast aside

We believe love should cost us nothing
But love costs us everything
And we should spend it all
With a smile on our face
And tears in our eyes

WALKING THE ROAD

My shadow last fell at the doorway of a church around a year ago. Today, that changed. There was no popular worship music belted out by a live band. There were no people decked out in hipster clothing. There wasn't any slick marketing scheme designed to draw me in, or back again.

I did hear some words used that I haven't heard spoken in a loving and inclusive way at church in a long time. There was music and praying, speaking and listening, and there was sharing. There was also a message, interestingly enough, focused on walking on the road to Emmaus.

Somewhere along the way, real has become less about cool tunes, raised hands, stiched jeans, hippie dresses, and untucked button front shirts. Somewhere along the way, real has become more about genuinely speaking about Jesus Christ, and His message of love for absolutely everyone.

Welcoming isn't about power and privilege and fitting the mold. Welcoming isn't about exclusion and 'Merica and earning instead of sharing our blessings. Welcoming isn't about being pro-life, but only for whomever is deemed worthy while stripping those deemed unworthy of any voice or control.

I'm unsure of what's next for me and church. But, today I went to church. It requires steps if one is going to walk the road. Today I introduced myself to a church. They also gave me a bag of homemade noodles. So, I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

ECCLESIOPHOBIA

God is not scary to me. I'm not afraid of who He is, or what He does, or how He feels about me. I mean, I know we're supposed to fear Him and all, but that's not the same thing, I think. Let me put it this way: If I pissed God off, and He's after me because of it, then I've long been screwed, and there's no way I'm getting out of it.

It's not like that. I love God. I feel as safe with Him as I do my family and friends - and they're all very good to me. He loves me like they do. Actually, I believe He loves me even more than they do, I think. Let me put it this way: Even though I know I've pissed God off, He's after me because He loves me like a wild man, I'm saved because of Him, and I'm so thankful I'm not getting out of it.

I'll tell you what spooks me though: Church. And, hey, I get it. Church is people, and people can be, well, people. I know I am. But, as I wander along this path I'm on, meandering through the wilderness, searching for a new church home, I'm finding myself consistently comfortable with God, but increasingly uncomfortable with church. Quite frankly, I don't know if I even want a new church home.

We're all broken. And, I think most of us are fairly comfortable actually admitting that we're all broken. We all make mistakes, we all rub each other the wrong way at times, and, I honestly believe most of us try hard to forgive, and try hard at doing better. But, what makes me so unwilling to give church another shot is the consistent hate and hypocrisy at so many places. I mean, stop saying we're all broken, and then walk around acting like what you really mean is that everyone but you is broken. Stop hating, and then trying to pretend it's loving. When you treat others as less, you're hating on them. Then, when you try to justify treating others as less, you're still hating on them. Own it.

Hate isn't sanctioned. It never has been, it isn't now, and it never will be. We can pretend like it is, we can attempt to point to laws or God to say it is, we can use smoke and mirrors to give the appearance that it's something else in order to justify that it is, and we can continually attempt to make ourselves feel better by hoping that it is. Try as we might, though, hate isn't sanctioned. And, as long as I see any group promoting hate as though it is sanctioned, and the voices of love are ignored and dismissed, I can't allow myself to be a part of it. I'm sure there's a church home for me just waiting to be found. He'll help me find it, because He's after me, and thankfully that will never change.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM HIM?

I suppose we're all looking for a way out, a way in, a sign, a something.

I suppose we all need to pay closer attention.

I suppose.

WASHED BY THE WATER

Sometimes water doesn't clean and renew. Sometimes water dirties and destructs. Sometimes it brings chaos and loss, agony and suffering, hopelessness and despair.

And the pain of the unknown.

And the desire for relief.

And the gathering of hearts that can unite.

And the dawn of a new day.

And the certainty of knowing that all will be well again.

We are not blessed with simplicity throughout our lives, but we are blessed with restoration. I can see beyond the barriers, I can trust in what lies ahead, and I can be reminded that we can - that we will, in fact - be washed by the water.

LET'S NOT AND JUST SAY WE DID

Following years of painstaking research, I've come to the conclusion that there's one group of people who are least likely to truly and fully accept the message of Christ's love for all of us:

Christians.

O.K. Fine. It's not actually following years of painstaking research. Rather, it comes from mere observation and experience. Now, being an evangelical Christian myself, it's pretty tough to come to this realization. His love for us is so overwhelming, so complete, so all-encompassing, so unfailing, that He actually died for us. It's an amazing message, and I've discovered it's one that is actually received fairly well by those who don't claim to be Christians.

They don't struggle with Christ. They struggle with Christians.

It would be so much easier for people to believe in and live out the love of Jesus Christ if His followers were more consistently living out His message. Christianity is famous for delivering a message that it's not a religion, but rather a relationship. And yet, the message sent out is one of exclusivity - a privileged club that only some get to belong to, and that many can get kicked out of.

"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Love. Just love. Make it the favorite, make it the focus, and the relationship with The Big Guy will actually flourish.

HOME

My mom makes rhubarb custard pie. I mean, she makes a lot of things, but the pie is what sticks out in my mind. There's a uniqueness to the flavor, the sweetness and tartness combining in a way that only happens when she makes it. Or, at least I think so.

I do think about food a lot, and when I go home, it stays on my mind. Gotta get my Arni's, Dog n Suds, and Frozen Custard. Traveling around town when I'm back at home, my belly makes a point of getting fulfilled, and somehow it all makes its way toward my heart. Still, as much as I love food, that isn't why home is home to me.

It's at home where I truly feel loved. I'm accepted and respected for who I am. I'm trusted and supported. I'm not looked down upon, or judged, or ridiculed. That, to me, is what makes home so very special. Love is what it is, nothing more, and nothing less.

While I recognize this as my temporary home, and being uncomfortable is a part of not being truly home, I also know there's no reason in subjecting myself to unnecessary discomfort. As I look for a new church home, I realize it's no more about seeking nonexistant perfection than it is accepting that people have to be pointlessly judgmental.

My oldest daughter recently finished making her first rhubarb custard pie in solo fashion. My mom taught her how to do it. As she progressed through the process, I knew it was going to be wonderful in its own way. I knew it was going to taste like home. Sure enough, it did, and I know why.

FIRE & BRIMSTONE

Exhaustion is what happens. Mentally and physically, it wears you down. You start to not only believe you're not good enough, you begin to question if anyone else is. But then, somewhere inbetween the scoldings and the exile, you begin to find hope again. Soft and encouraging words are spoken, and the reassuring comfort that comes from knowing where you stand rises to the top. And you know, once again, that everything will be all right.

I haven't given up yet on believing that we, as Christians, can actually stop judging people long enough to love them. I still trust that the message of Jesus Christ is one that conquers all inability - especially among Christians - to demonstrate grace, mercy, forgiveness. I remain certain the gift He gives us won't continue to be spit upon with self righteousness and a lack of humility. I really do know that pride may interfere with, but will fail to conquer, three facts: We all are broken, our place is not to judge, and we must love one another.

As the unfriendings happen on Facebook, and the unfollows happen on Twitter, and the rudeness festers around the interactions (and lack thereof) with various people, we can get a bit consumed with the goings on with relationships. It's a fair place to be consumed, especially since we're called to be in relationship with one another. Social media or not, "social" is the part that's important. And, if we can't actually remain social, and we can't actually communicate with one another when we're upset, then, well, I'd say we've lost our way.

I'm guessing if we spend less time judging, more time loving, and continue to interact - even when the going gets tough - we'll all be better off. I know I will. I think I better start there, because The Good Lord knows I need to.

UNEXPECTED

I bet that picture of a long, flowing white robe enveloping a massive masculine figure with stunning features and breezy white hair on an elderly Caucasian gentleman is, well, not very accurate.

I’m guessing He’s naked, at least at times, exposed to all the elements, wishing He could piece together something to cover up with in order to hide the shame or increase the comfort.

There’s a pretty good chance He’s dirty and frail, worn from the travel through the darkest places, starving from the unwillingness of those too self-centered and quick to judge to care for one another.

It’s not too far fetched to believe that He isn’t even actually a he or a she, transcending all sexual identification or orientation, poking and prodding at us to get over our unhealthy fixation on what matters not at all, and focus more on what matters more than all.

Not for certain, but not without reason, I’m thinking He spends little to no time with shampoo, conditioner, and various hair care products, electing instead to love all and give to all without exception.

And, I’m not going too far out on a limb when I say I don’t think He is some white dude, but instead the color of beauty and awe and wonder, penetrating our eyes with vibrant hues, rich in texture and substance, and me, and you.

God is unexpected, but only because God is precisely who we should expect, but don’t.

Joan Osborne - What If God Was One Of Us by Pippo-el-peco

NEED

“I’ll pray for you.”

There’s a certain level of encouragement simply from knowing you’ll be thought of, even if it’s just for that moment when it’s spoken. I mean, what bad can come from anyone loving you enough to earn a place in their prayers? It’s comforting. And, still, something lingers, just kind of hangs there, as you think about what may come.

Allow me to be clear: I’m as guilty of this as the next person. Offending with or taking offense at my reflections here isn’t my point. I write to stimulate thought, to promote varied ways of thinking for ourselves and others. Nothing different here.

… A death of someone close to you, or a serious health concern for yourself or someone close to you, and people pray for you to recognize that God has a purpose for challenging you or taking them from this life with you.

… You lose your income and ability to provide for yourself and others, and people pray for you to recognize that God always gives us what we need, and to realize we have much to be thankful for.

… Sins are committed (as we all do), and people pray for you to fix yourself in the eyes of God and others.

“It’s what they need. Prayer isn’t about what they want, it’s about what they need. And, sometimes, you have to love someone enough to do that.”

Really? Spare me. If there’s anything God wants to teach me, He’ll take care of it. I’ll tell you what I need, and that’s your love. I don’t need your “tough” love, or your prophetic insight; no, I just need your love. Anything less than that is insulting to me, you, and God. If I’m giving anything less than unconditional love to someone else when I pray for them, then not only am I not loving them, I’m also perpetuating the selfishness of my own heart.

Pray for me, you say? Thank you. But, let’s not beat ourselves and others up then. Thank you for praying both for what I need, and you need. In fact, let’s do it together … let’s do it right now.

MOUNTAINS & PEBBLES

"You don't have enough faith," Jesus told them. "I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it would move. Nothing would be impossible." ~ Matthew 17:20

I've prayed for the impossible.

But, it's not just about praying. It's about believing. And, it's not about the impossible. It's about the possible.

I used to think it was the big things for which I didn't have enough faith. "I'm asking too much," I would think. "I'm living in a fantasy world," I'd laugh. "It'll never happen for me - Too good to be true," I would settle for with certainty. But, I've been kicking it around here long enough to know that the big things aren't the problem. I've seen them, lived them, believe them. I look onward and upward in wonder, in awe, in amazement.

No, it's really about the little things.

But, they aren't little. They're far more than I can handle. And, breaking them up so I can haul them out of His hands only to bury them inside of myself doesn't make them any more manageable.

Life is made up of miniscule moments. Just the right words shared at just the right time with just the right person. Waiting patiently for that critical connection. Communicating encouragement, interest, excitement - faithfully and consistently. Loving others at inopportune places or in uncomfortable situations. Stepping out in faith, and trusting that He will catch you, hold you, carry you, and lift you up.

Faith isn't something that happens to us.

Faith is something we create.    

A PARALLEL LIFE

Life is an opportunity.

It was breathed into me like an injection of loving persistence. Lifted up and pushed out into this world, I was given an opportunity. And, every choice I've made along the way has been mine to make - They've all been mine to make.

Would I make them again?

I've made decisions that destruct me, and inflict pain on others. I've followed my heart, and filled others with love. In ways I deeply understand, and in ways I will be perpetually left confused, I've been cursed and I've been blessed. My thankfulness of this is not in question. My certainty that I'm not alone in forging my path is not disputed.

I just wonder.

If I led another life, the self-destructing decisions, and the pain inflicted on others, might not happen. My heart may follow another path, with others being filled with my love. My curses may be absent, and my blessings may be different. My thankfulness would be for other things. My certainty may be disturbed.

I don't lead a parallel life.

This is the one I have. It's here and it's now that opportunities are presented to me. Caring for myself and electing to not harm others is before me daily. Love truly is everywhere - right before us, hidden from us, waiting to be found, and attempting to be released. Pain will never be absent, and blessings will forever flow. And, I will thank Him, hold His hand, and ask, "What's next?"

He will take me there.

And, I will follow.

SPRING SNOW

When I stepped out into the quiet night air recently, I was struck by the simple beauty of a slow-falling, thick-flake, wet-heavy spring snow. I rested in that moment. It was peaceful. It was perfect.

I look for things like that when I'm struggling. Those miniature vacations that take me away from reality. They're gifts, I know - answers to my prayers. And, if I'm not paying attention, I miss them ... and, far too often, I do miss them.

It's not always like that, though. He doesn't always bring me that spring snow. Sometimes He brings me a storm. Sometimes He brings me precisely what I feel like I am not asking for. It doesn't feel good, and it doesn't make sense, and yet - somehow - it leads me exactly where I need to go.

I like that.

KHAN

I was thinking about wrath lately. You know, that thing we completely misunderstand, get angry with and blame God for, and then praise and thank Jesus for rescuing us from. As maligned as God’s wrath is, and as much as we believe Jesus rescued us from His wrath, and regardless of what we do and do not understand about all of this, something continues to intrigue me about the whole thing.

Many of us are obsessed with God’s wrath, and despise His love.

It made me think of Khan. Wrath, that is, not God or Jesus or love. I’ve never really been a fan of Star Trek, but I certainly understand enough about story telling to know that watching one on the tube or in the theater would be pretty lame without some conflict. Even if that conflict exists in our own hearts. Even if that conflict seems to drown out the real message. Even if that conflict is allowed to consume us to the point of resisting resolution.

A friend of mine recently reminded me that the opposite of love is not hate; rather, it’s apathy. Hate still expresses a great deal of interest, a fair amount of passion. Apathy, on the other hand, is demonstrative of indifference - not just lukewarm, but absolute disinterest and unwillingness to engage at any level and in any way.

We can get distracted from the gift of grace when we fail to recognize that our life isn’t an episode of Star Trek. Our life isn’t even a series of real events that follow the patterns of a tale. Our life isn’t even our own. The story is too amazing to be understood with our fallen selves as it requires a faith in knowing that all that has happened, is happening, and will happen has already been forgiven. Fully. Completely. Without exception.

Sometimes wrath is all that makes sense to us, because love is simply beyond us.

I wonder, though, if a good place to start is by abandoning our tired messages and failed ways of approaching others. Perhaps we should stop scaring everyone into thinking God is just like us, anything like us. Maybe we could focus on how much He is the exact opposite of us. And, when the Jesus I know and others know becomes the Jesus we all can know, wrath becomes less our obsession, and love becomes more our passion.

I think we should start telling that story, the real story, because it truly is an amazing story.

NONTRIVIAL PURSUIT

Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. ~ Matthew 5:48

I used to take pride in how bizarre my behavior could be. My words, my actions, my indifference - all designed to demonstrate my unwillingness to not only conform, but also my desire to stand out as negatively as possible. Pathetic cries for attention, no doubt. I never cease to be amazed how my tattered self is still so intensely desired by the perfection of Christ. Yet, even in my redemption and my salvation, I have discovered that my journey still bends toward that broken path. Perhaps I'm less destructive in my ways, but now, instead of heading straight into the fire, I run away with cowardice. My knowledge of how imperfect I am has led me to have constant excuses as to why I should never even pursue perfection.

I know I have a fickle heart, and a bitterness, and a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head. ~ Adele

Where I once explored new and exciting ways to sin at will, I now passively, apathetically, and willingly succumb to the contentment of doing nothing. Deceived into believing this is much better than the days of yore, I consistently fail to even attempt anything that might be considered perfect. Yet, that is exactly what we are called to do. Are we perfect? No. Can we be perfect? No. Should we pursue perfection? Yes. My ability to analyze my errant thoughts and actions on a daily basis is no different than my ability to analyze my correct thoughts and actions on a daily basis. Knowing I am a sinner is too often equated with not knowing the difference between right and wrong. Oh, we know it. All to well we know it.

Flawed as we are, our ultimate completeness begins now with our own efforts to follow in His footsteps. A worthy pursuit indeed. No the now? Yes the now. Most definitely yes.

GIVING UP

I thought about my girls.

My wife, Cristin, turned 35 on Friday, December 14th, 2012. She was a 4th grade teacher until my youngest daughter, Eden, joined us on December 19th, 2008. A Pinkalicious birthday party on Saturday, December 15th, 2012 marked the 4th year of her life. My oldest daughter, Gwenyth (who blessed us on August 9th, 1999), recently became a teenager, and she gathered with us as family and friends, to celebrate life, to celebrate love.

I thought about my girls. I think about my girls. What would my wife be feeling if she was trying to protect children in her care? What would she have been thinking as she was struck down in the line of duty? What would have been going through the minds of my daughters as their friends were being removed permanently from this world? What would the last look on their faces be, and their last wonderings be, as they realized the end was coming for them?

I thought about me as well. I think about me. As a former elementary school principal, and a current middle school assistant principal, I wonder if I would rush to protect others, knowing that I would likely meet my Maker. Quite honestly, I consider it often. I have the privilege of working with so many children, but many times I am interacting with them and their parents when things are not going well. While most consider me helpful, I’ve far too often had people - young and old alike - express a great deal of anger and hatred toward me. I don’t live or work in fear, but I do live and work in reality.

It can overwhelm a person. Feelings of helplessness, of hopelessness, can drown our spirit. Thinking about it makes us feel so sad, and grateful, and guilty all at the same time. And, then, the debates begin. We observe, and participate in, verbal sparring over what’s wrong, and what must be done to fix it. Answers are sought, not found, and we are left with the feeling of just giving up. So, the cycle continues: Life goes on like normal until the next tragedy that strikes a chord with us puts things at the front of our minds once again. Well, at least for a little while.

Instead of simply giving up, I wonder what we’d actually be willing to give up to bring an end to this depressing and frequent cycle. Would we give up our rights, our money, our lives, to save our own partner and children from being taken from us before we’re ready? Would we give up our pride to yield humbly to another, if it meant saving the life of our family, if it meant saving our own lives, if it meant saving the lives of others? Would we give up our need to be right, our hatred of being wrong, and our unwillingness to listen, if it meant the tragedies that befall ourselves and others may be extinguished? What would you, will you, be willing to give up?

Temptation draws me toward cynicism. While I feel somewhat uncomfortable, I smirk as the debate about guns rage with a smug, self-righteous, and vitriolic rhetoric. I raise my eyebrows when comments fly about holding people responsible for deaths, while at the same time whining about putting any amount of “my” money toward helping provide care and health and education for “those” people. And, then, “those” people are standing over my dead family. So, fixing it becomes about taking away weapons that we feel we have a right to - for defense, for sport, for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, for whatever. Fixing it becomes about “those” people taking personal responsibility with little or no resources. Or, fixing it becomes about penalizing more strictly “those” people … long after it’s already over.

I’m not interested in a debate. A debate is just a more civil way of arguing. None of us, in our rational and sane minds, hope to see our loved ones suffer and die, so it doesn’t make much sense to argue about it. No, I’m ready to listen, I’m ready to give, I’m ready to do whatever it takes. Are you?

~ For all lives lost, everywhere and everyday. May each one find the way home again.

ESCAPE ARTIST

I run away from my problems. I hide from them, seemingly protected by the glare of a screen showing me another life, another story - one that's not my own. How quickly I can divorce myself from the grips of reality, and cleave to the comforting embrace of elsewhere. Pages invite me in as well, just as song, slowly at first with distractions everywhere; but, soon I am gone once more, sheltered in a place that grants me solace, even if just for a moment.

As if in a bunker of my own creation, I pretend to guard myself against the troubles of the external. Allowing no admittance, wrapped up in myself, time passes without concern for a single soul. The thought of interacting with another human being crosses my mind like a piercing strike to the shin, planting an ache that will seemingly never heal. "Leave me alone," is the cry of my heart, while the need for attention defeats the agonizing call each and every time.

The simplicity of finding pain when attempting to escape it is an art I have mastered. What once was the drag, the swallow, the gulp of poison, is now the gluttonous pursuit of fare - And nothing ever satisfies - And everything always destroys. I hear the voices calling me late at night, convincing me that it will be the next one, not this one, but the next one, that will take it all away. Buried in my own lies, I look to point the finger when all the while the blame rests in but a single place.

I have always failed, and I'm fairly certain I always will. The success of my endeavors, my escapology, have always relied on phenomena beyond my simple skills. A constant pursuit of me results in my captivity with consistent assuredness. The same outcome is the only outcome deserving any appreciation. It is drenched in sophistication, wrought with preciseness, and handed to me with gentleness unsurpassed. And it is in my capture that I find deliverance.

SOMETIMES

Sometimes no news is not necessarily good news.

When you know with certainty you're going to feel blessed, but God has other plans in mind, it doesn't feel good. Actually, it feels devastating beyond words. He snatches it from your waiting hands before you even get to touch it. He speaks with a deafening authority and resolute certainty that leaves nothing to wonder. And yet, it's still an answer. It may not be the answer you're looking for - an answer to your prayers - but, it's still an answer.

Sometimes an answer is all you want, even when you don't like the answer.

It's not about dealing with pain. I know what pain is, and I know I'm not alone. I've felt it try to drown me with its suffocating darkness, ripping family from this world in mangled vehicles and destructive abuse, and depositing remnants of children on sterile surgical tables and stainless steel bowls. I've yielded at times to its oppressive arm, pushing me away from light, and guiding me toward those secret and sad places where the only choices I make lead not to escape, but rather imprisonment. I've walked its filthy line and fought with ferocity to step out, turn around, and return to reality.

Sometimes reality isn't all what it's cracked up to be.

I want God to be in control of my life as much as I don't want Him to be in control of my life. Yielding everything is as comforting as it is frightening. That warm and gentle place I get to reside in throughout my life only feels welcoming if I'm invited and I choose to visit it. Amazingly, though, it's that same place I'm delivered to when I've spurned the invitation, chosen to avoid it, and need it the most. No matter what I do, or don't do, it's there. It's always there. And, that's when I'm reminded, and I inhale and then exhale with relief and peace.

Sometimes His sovereignty is always His sovereignty is absolute ... because our sometimes is His all the time.