|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
|
I hate classrooms. I can’t sit still. I get bored. My mind wanders, and I grow restless. But I like learning from a chair. Life lessons are painful, while chair lessons are comfortable. Classrooms are safe. The lessons are academic and there’s no danger of getting dirty or hurt. In a chair, I can lean back and absorb. And if the lesson is just too hard and the application too much work, I can always claim that I know what to do and that’s all that matters.
Maybe that is why God doesn’t teach from the classroom. His tactics seem much more like a boot camp. But this boot camp for the blessed sure feels like hell.
Here, my weaknesses are drawn out. And when I try to back down, I’m prodded on. I do try to give up now and then. I pack my bags and swear I’m just leaving because it’s too much. I sometimes make it as far as the gate. But then, on the threshold, when no one stops me, I pause, stop, bow my shoulders and turn. I don’t really want to leave. I don’t really want to have my own way. As hard as it gets, it’s where I want to be.
And when I return, I’m handed a shovel and led to muddiest part of the trail. This, I’m told, is what bogs me down and it must be shoveled out to clear the path. I stare at it and think about turning again. I don’t like shoveling muck. It clings to the shovel and to the feet. I ask if perhaps I can just go around instead. But no, the way is through, and it is my shit to remove. So I wade in and begin shoveling.
The classroom would be easier. The chair more comfortable. God would be a better teacher, I reason. He would explain as one who completely understands the topic. His words would be the truth. He’d hand out the notes. His tests would be easy.
And as I sat in the chair, my stomach would grow as my butt became cushy. My arms would droop and my legs shrink. Atrophy would set in, but I would be smart. I wouldn’t need the calluses on my palms; the ones on my finger tips would be enough for me to write out the orders and direct the masses.
But instead my palms are blistered as the muck is cleared off and solid ground is uncovered. At the end of the day, I turn tired and weary and walk back the clean path, and slump into bed and relax knowing the day’s work was good.
Before sleep overcomes me, I realize this boot camp is better than the classroom, because God is a trainer and not just a teacher. Education under his direction does more than teach the mind, it trains the body. He never leaves it with just understanding, but builds strength, endurance and determination. And when I do leave this training ground and encounter the world, I have confidence not only in knowing but also in being equipped to do.
| | |
| An old friend, from another era of my life called today. It was so good to hear his voice and remember the days when I used to just walk down the hall and hang out with him for hours while pushing the thought of homework away.
And that familiar voice echoing over the phone reminded me of so many other voices that have faded off into the distance. Friends whom I would love to just sit and talk to over a brew, or while lost somewhere in the woods, or while flying down some long highway. Companions that will always be part of my life though we have parted ways.
It will be so good to soon have one friend who will be my companion and whom will never part ways with me on this bottom half of the horizon.
To the rest of my friends scattered all around, I miss you and really hope to have another good conversation with you soon.
| | |
| A year and a half ago, I stood on a beach and watched the setting sun. I remember the wind biting through my winter coat, and cold desolation of winter spread out over lake Michigan. The solitude dove deep too. I remember the peace and the serenity and the loneliness. The water lay between me and my friends from Chicago. I didn't belong on that shore any more. Home to which I'd returned didn't feel quite like home, because I had changed. But as I stood there, separated from home and friends, God showed me a beautiful glimpse of the future.
I saw it in the setting sun. It slid out of the sky where it had been for so long in the background, unnoticed for its commonality. It pierced the horizon, grabbing attention with its fire. It split the panorama of the landscape, sliding quickly into the focal point between water and sky. One couldn't help but look at it, to dwell on it, to watch it and to wait for the moment when the waters would baptize the fire and the divided body would flow back together.
And I saw it as an illustration of the day to come, when some girl would slip out of the background and into the focal point of my horizon. I could see how the passion would burn brighter and brighter, until the waters baptized our future and we became one to walk side by side past the horizon.
(Megan and me on the beach in Michigan watching the sunset)
I knew that one day I would stand on that beach and ask some girl to join me in that journey.
A year later, under a dark clouded night, I walked down that beach with a girl who had slipped out of the background and into the foreground of my attention. I stumbled beside her, too nervous to say what I wanted, but as we drove away, she dug it out of me, and I confessed I kind of liked her.
It only took two months for me to decide that I wanted to return to that beach with her to ask her that question. But I felt the timing was not right, that I was supposed to wait for August eighth before taking that walk.
It was a long wait, it seemed. In the interim, a vacation to that beach on that day was planned. But those plans were interrupted and delayed. I grew frustrated and learned I couldn't let go of the vision.
So a few days ago, we drove the seven hours back to that beach. We arrived five minutes late for the sunset, which had just slipped by behind the rain clouds, but the moment, though deterred, was not lost. I didn't see the sun, but I could see her and the nervous smile on her face as she agreed to marry me. Despite the gray surrounding, it was a beautiful moment.
And I hope that is how marriage will be, plans will fall apart and conditions will turn, but the beauty won't be washed away.
| | |
| It is there, right over the horizon and creeping up. I can see it coming and am excited. Already it is apparent in the little things. The slight yellow in the leaves. The crisp breath in the morning air. The season is changing.
I've been waiting for this change for months. I'm having a hard time waiting any longer. The day has come and gone. It's harder to wait now that it is gone. But what did that day mean? I took it as the definite point of change, but maybe it was really just the beginning of a shift. Maybe that's what God meant by setting that day on the calender. But I don't want to wait any longer. I want the new season to be here now. Tomorrow is too far away and I just wish that I could have Yesterday again, in case it repeated would hold what I missed.
There was purpose in missing it. It's just hard to remember that now. It is not regret that I should feel, but promise. For the season will change. It is in the air even now. And that change will be glorious.
| | |
| Recently I found myself staring at the paths of bodies in the heavens. I notice that not all follow the same direction. At first glance, it seems a chaotic system with no control, no reason, and no hope. One comes and another goes. Two or three follow side by side for awhile and then depart. And occasionally two connect and become one.
So are the orbits of lives. Friends draw near out of the billions of bodies. They follow side by side for awhile and then depart. It's sad to see them go. I look back at the past and try to reach out and grab hold of those grown distant. I despair at the distance. I look forward and try to predict how long one will follow with me, but I can't comprehend the system.
But looking back, I see that there is a glimpse of purpose in the chaos. While I can't grab the pattern or comprehend the forces, I can see the affects of unseen force in directing the flow. I trust there is purpose in the unseen.
| | |
|
