"...the stubborn souls are the losers here tonight..."

I find myself pretty perceptive about most things. I can sit in a room full of people and I can (with a little observation) start piecing together certain traits of a person's personality and use that to better understand them as a person. By the way, I used three forms of the word person in that last sentence... enjoy. Usually it's this awesome thing that helps me be a little more insightful with friends than I might have before been. All that is to say...

I hurt a friend these past few weeks. I had no idea this was happening, because I was too focused on me and on my intentions. Even if I am perceptive, at my very core I am overwhelmingly self-centered and it was easy the past few weeks to not notice and not care because I simply allowed my own wants to come before.

Never have I been this blown away by my own short-sightedness. I had to write about it, while it's still in my mind, so that I can come back and remember. A few days before, I was neatly putting into a mental box my feelings on things, and I put my friend into a box with everything else, without wondering or asking if I might actually be wrong or lacking persepective.

It seems like there is hurt around me, and people are struggling to find their place. I know I am from time to time. My battle lately has been to trust that people I care about actually care about me as well. That seems so pathetic and obvious, but it's been my deepest fear and source of distrust for as long as I've known it exists. Honestly, I don't know what God intends for me with my friends here exactly, but I am pretty certain it was to be better than I have been lately. Even the people that enjoy my company, whether they know it or not, I've probably been a less than adequate influence.

I'm still sitting here blown away. God is good to me, even when He has to break my heart to grow it back into something better. I can do nothing but give Him praise, because He has never turned His back. But right now, I feel pretty foolish in spite of myself.

"...I wish it were Sunday, cause that's my fun day..."

Short post today, since it's Sunday. Probably also because I'm quite tired from working out. Why that's a fine segue for the next paragraph.

I think my feet are finally starting to return to their strength. I'm not 100% 24/7, but I am getting stronger on my workouts everyday and the pain is less and less after each time. So God willing, I can continue to restore this body and get to business.

This is where I leave, but probably not forever.

"...all I need is a miracle..."

We've been looking at Acts 3 this past week, and studying a story of Peter and John with a beggar at the temple. It's a dramatic scene: a man who's been begging for years sees these two men at the gate walking in and asks them for money. Peter and John both look at him immediately, and they move toward the man. The man is expectant since probably every time before, this meant that some coins were going to be dropped to him. But Peter has the man look him in the eye and says, "Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk." Peter takes him firmly by the hand and brings him up.

I can only imagine what that beggar was thinking at that moment. Probably something like, "Hey, idiot, what are you doing? I can't wa...whoa. Wait a second. Um, guys... I guarantee you this wasn't happening 5 minutes ago." Because at that moment, where seconds ago he was a cripple lying on the ground, God made him able to walk again. That's what makes miracles so powerful. One miracle can immediately alter the course of things. This man's healing certainly did.

It got me thinking today about miracles and healing. I wondered why it was that there doesn't seem to be that miraculous gift given to many people today. Don't get me wrong, I do believe miracles exist and healing occurs everyday, but not in the evangelistic way it used to, I suppose. Can you imagine if Christians had that gift today? I have seen men and women who have disabilities and deformities, and I would be so glad if I could walk up to them and say, "By the name of God, you are healed." But I can't. Maybe my prayers have helped a friend in the past, but God did not give me the gift of performing signs and wonders to those I come into contact with.

So why does it seem like there are less miracles and healings?

Well I think the biggest reason is our growth in knowledge and power as humans. More and more of what we do is relegated to the marvel of modern medicine. If a girl's pnuemonia goes away overnight, it is easy to say that this medicine or this treatment caused it and we should all be thankful. If a baby born 3 months premature survives, it's easy to say that our advancements have made it possible. And to some extent, I think that's true. But it also masks that no matter what, God is always working. No matter what the circumstance.

It's so easy to explain God away in our world. At the end of the day, no one can prove the "big bang theory", yet so many of our smartest and brightest have no problem taking that scientific leap, as long as God gets no credit. Don't get me wrong, I have a very mixed opinion of creationism vs. evolution and all that good stuff, but that's for a different time. But that's just one example of how easy it is to discredit God.

The second reason I think maybe they don't exist the way they do is the time and place they were occurring. It seems that whenever God created the miraculous and brought so many back to Him was at times when the world needed it the most. God parted seas, stopped the rain, gave a king fifteen more years of life, and helped a small kid beat a mighty warrior all because the people He loved were in dire need. When Jesus came to Judea, the people were losing hope. They were under the rule of now their 4th oppressor in the past 600 years, and no sign of reprieve was anywhere. Jesus came to Israel at their darkest hour and gave them light. I believe that he didn't heal people completely to make them better, but to tell the people, "Hey, did you know that even now, God is here WITH YOU?" As more and more people came to know the Way, the miracles seemed to move further into the background.

It seems like our world is nearing that place again. Our peers, friends and family fall into despair faster than we can reach them, and many feel like there is no hope and nowhere to turn. Perhaps, a time of God revealing his power again in these ways will come soon. But I guess that is not for us to know.

The last reason might simply be that we are not the people meant to be an instrument in such ways for God's will. God still heals and performs miracles, but does it in His own timing. It's so hard for us to understand that, because we want people to be better. If you think I wouldn't have loved to look at my grandpa whom I loved so dearly and tell him, "In the name of Jesus, your cancer is gone", you're misguided. But what do I ignore if I do that? He lost his only love to illness a year earlier, he was ready to finish the race. He touched an entire town with his kindness, and no one would ever be his equal. He was done. What would healing him have done? I always assume I know what God should do more than He does, and every time I get it after just a little bit of thought and prayer.

God is mysterious, but only because He can see so far down the road, that He has the map all sorted out. We are only able to look right in front of us, and as such we cannot see what His will is all the time. Maybe that's why we don't perform miracles like we used to do. Maybe God has His own timing and maybe the little things we do for each other are the miracles themselves.

I don't know, I haven't really studied enough to have a definitive answer. All I know is no matter how much I learn, it always comes back to faith. Do I have enough faith in God to believe that even if a miracle doesn't happen and a prayer doesn't go my way, that His will is so perfect that I know it will be for good at the end? That's my own challenge. To still love God's will even if it contradicts my own, and leaves me broken for a time.

"...i'm in a hurry to get things done..."

A woman and I were walking from the parking lot to the post office to do our post officing business. I have a long stride, but was certainly not walking with any competitive fire or movement. She then proceeds to jog up ahead of me, open the door and shut it behind her so it would slow me down... only for us to both be in the same ungodly long line.

As luck would have it, two clerks were finished with customers at the same time, and so we both got to go simultaneously. Guess who was done first? I'll give you a hint. Me.

If you think I didn't find that all a little ironic and lifelessonable, you're insane.

Or smarter than me. Whatever.

"...all I need is something to keep me holding on..."

I've been working out with my senior pastor the past few weeks. That's right, not youth, worship, or children's pastor.. the head man himself. I'd like to briefly describe what that experience is like... so you can catch the surreal nature of this partnership. These quotes are summarized and said with the most respect possible.

Pastor Andy: "Alright, well don't hurt yourself too much. Go light. I like to use this machine to warm up." He then proceeds to put the weight on the highest setting and bang out 10 reps like it was nothing.

Me: "Ummm... what? I... wow. Alright let me try." I then put it at probably a third of what he has it at.

Pastor Andy: (watching me struggle like a dying deer) "Don't push it too much. You'd hate to pull or tear something."

Me: (still channeling the dying deer) "Yeah... (gasping breath)... I know... (gasping breath)... wow, this is heavy."

Pastor Andy: "Lets get some water."

I come to find out that he has been committed to working out for almost 4 years and he rarely misses. I've loved the motivation he provides me as well as the just plain down to earth way he's teaching me to lift. God and I decided that I've been wasting a lot of time lately and it's time to get moving. I think He's put Pastor Andy in my life right now to boost that process. For that, I am incredibly blessed.

The End

"...the bleeding heart show..."

I want to be able to say that others around me fail me and that is the reason why I myself sometimes fail.

It's more and more obvious that I do a pretty good job of being my only excuse for failing. And that is disquieting.

I think tomorrow would be a good day to bounce back and accomplish some things I've needed to do for a long while.

I can't think of anything better than writing a post like this to end the night. But now I'm quite sleepy.

"...my sin...is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more..."

One of the most dramatic and tragic stories of modern Christianity is the life of sacrifice lived by a man named Horatio Spafford. I first heard his story from a dramatic re-enactment on a children's radio program, and his story has stuck with me like an engraving ever since.

Spafford was a very prominent lawyer and Christian in Chicago in the 1800's. He was influential both in the political and judicial world, as well as with major American Christian leaders. Blessed with both leadership talents and incredible wealth, Spafford used his gifts to do amazing things for the Lord.

We can never understand God's will fully, and with Spafford I often wonder why God chose him to bear all of these burdens. First, his wife Anna and he lost their oldest son to disease. In the midst of grieving for their son, the great fire hit Chicago in 1871. Biographers seem to agree that Spafford lost most of his investments in this fire and so lost most of his wealth. His friends, including influential evangelist D.L. Moody helped him recover, but pain was not yet gone from Spafford's door.

In 1873, Spafford and his family decided to take a holiday in England, since Moody was going to be preaching there. Business matters held him up, however, so he sent his family ahead. In the middle of their voyage, on November 21 of that year, the ship struck another vessel and sunk, killing all four of his daughters. Only his wife remained alive. His wife cabled him with the news of the accident, starting simply with, "Saved alone..."

Spafford, destroyed with grief and despair took a ship to meet his wife in England. It is said that while on board, he wrote a poem that expressed in his most humble fashion, the grace and power of God. Later, his friend Phillip Bliss, who was a close friend and confidant to Spafford in these times, put it to music. The song was called "It is Well with My Soul."

Spafford still wasn't done with his trials. He would lose another son to disease and have only one surviving daughter out of 7 children born to him. Instead of sitting in anger and bitterness, Spafford lived a life that reflected his hymn. He spent the final years of his life in Israel, providing food, shelter and medicine to many Jews, Muslims and Christians in the years before World War I. He too would die of disease right before his 60th birthday, and was laid to rest in Jerusalem in 1888. To the very end, Spafford lived a life of faith and passion, even when he was tested like very few ever have been.

His story makes that hymn that much more meaningful as I despair through simple trials. How often are things really ok, but we are so desperate to feel sorry for ourselves that we reject joy? Is that so easy for us because we are afraid of faith or because we believe we've earned the right to feel like we've been wronged by God? I really don't know yet. I only feel like I have far more to be thankful for than I give myself credit.

It Is Well with My Soul

When peace, like a river,
attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot,
Thou hast taught me to know,
“It is well, it is well with my soul”

It is well (it is well)
with my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet,
though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded
my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh the bliss
of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His cross,
and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

And Lord haste the day
when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound,
and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

"...the mind that knows itself, is a mind that knows much more..."

So I wasn't especially in a reflective mood yesterday evening as I left the Ram where I had dinner (by the way, a big big thank you to all my friends who made it out last night, a big thank you to Lindsay for getting us the table and definitely to Emily who got a hold of most people to go), but just like the face I make when things get awkward, some things are simply bound to happen.

I have beautiful friends. The people that I am so very lucky to consider my companions on this incredible journey are flawed, messed up human beings just like I am (I know... Britton, not you... stop talking that way you mighty man among men), but there is so much beauty in the people I know, that I can't help but almost be overwhelmed by it. There are friends who always make me laugh, friends that I can relate to on different issues, friends that would do anything for me if I needed it, friends I can feel an incredible connection with on so many things, and for some of them, they fulfill all of those things all at once.

I looked around the table last night for a bit and watched my different friends with their conversations and nuances and I had to laugh to myself. God is good, on so many levels. Here I was 5 months ago so painfully introverted that the mere idea of going to church was so paralyzing that I would sometimes miss it just to avoid being around these same people. I would sit at home and pray for a connection, for even just a person that might one day care. And to see what God has done with such a lame guy, am I even worthy of it? Can I even claim that I ever deserved these blessings? There are few things more uplifting than the presence of a good friend, and I am so glad to know that I get that chance so often.

Don't worry, I'm pretty certain that I know how mushy this post was. But I simply do not care. I thank God for his grace and his mercy and I thank all of you in my new home that have made me feel so cared for here.

Today I get to go into Seattle again and check out the city before a Sonics game tonight. I love getting into the city and feeling it's energy, even if I have no idea where the slappyjack I am no matter where I end up going. You have to love that. Having Taylor here has been great, because when you grow up with someone, it's like riding a bike. After an hour, it's like we never lost touch.

"...instant karma..."

I kid you not... no more than half a day after I posted a list of my ultimate pet peeves, the second of the peeves occurred while 4 guys were over watching basketball. I can't make this up. Touche fate, touche.

"...call on me, Valerie... call on me..."

I have several pet peeves. Not many, but they exist. The first is finding out far too late that the public restroom stall of my choosing has no toliet paper and I'm forced to make a switch mid-game. The second is finding out far too late that the restroom I am using in my house has no toilet paper, but the house is full of people and I panic wondering what I will do. But I have to say that my occasional destructive peeve has to be the awkward, horrible few moments known as the voicemail.

Its no small secret that for the most part I hate talking on the phone. Except for those occasional moments when I feel like talking, I am hesitant to call people. The only reason? The dreaded voicemail. Nothing to me is more awkward. Especially if I'm unclear about why I'm calling. The worst is that I never know how to END the voicemail, so I usually ramble on for 15 extra seconds before I finally just freak out and hang up the phone. I wish I wasn't the only one who feels this way. It would make me feel less weird. But I know how it is.

I hope to outgrow this before I'm 50.

"...do what you can to anoint my head..."

Today was absolutely terrifying. Hold on, let me use stronger hyperbole. Today was a day of paralyzing, tortuous fear. Super. In a lot of ways, it really was. Tonight I sang on a stage for the first time. I had a microphone and everything. Instruments were being played around me. People were watching me. I can't even describe the terror (there I go with the hyperbole again) of looking out and seeing my church looking back at me and having no idea what they were thinking. So I did the next best thing I could think of to do.

I gave up trying to care about it.

God is amazing. Even in the middle of all that fear and nervousness, He came to me and focused my mind on what was really my reason for being there. And once that happened, everything melted away. It was just God and I. And I loved it.

This doesn't mean that I want to make singing a normal thing or whatever, but I felt so loved and just wanted to love Him so much by being up there. This is me now cutting myself off at two imaginary drinks and ending this blog.

God is good.

My friends are good.

Today was good.

"...home is heaven..."

The apostles of Jesus were nuts. There, I said it. The apostles were nuts and we never really give them their due. The first thing I say to Peter after we exchange fist pounds and a one-armed slap hug in heaven is to tell him that he was a nutcase. For people like me who live in the U.S., the way they lived their lives and carried about their business is so anthithetical to my upbringing that I had to look up the word "antithetical" before I could even use it. I nailed it by the way. Look it up.

In Acts 2:42-47, it basically says that the apostles and the believers devoted themselves to study, prayer, and spending all their time in fellowship with each other. It said that they shared all they had and sold their own stuff to help each other out. My friends have on occasion said that sharing of that nature was commonplace, but I have to disagree. Unselfish love of that nature is just not common, it's not easy and it simply never happens.

I always think it's funny that the apostles and the believers always spent time with each other, but we today get over people so quickly and we forget that we are selfish lamewads who are conditioned to believe that the world is truly about ourselves (I am so guilty of this, so back off me Stone Casting police). We judge easily, we look for ways to be apart, to not talk about what we struggle with, and we cover it up with jokes and nonchalance. Even in their relationships, the apostles and the believers gave of themselves completely.

I've always been jealous of how the Holy Spirit was so apparent on the apostles that it came on them like fire, literal fire. I have often thought that it must have just been a different time and place, just like the burning bush with Moses or God's smackdown session with Job. But then, it came to me that perhaps we don't see it here, because we don't sell ourselves out the best we can the way they did. What if we have the best of intentions, but we are unwilling to take that step that truly says with our actions, "God, I am willing to be supplied and made happy by You and You alone."? Is that what keeps so many of us from feeling that holy fire?

A preacher I listened to on my $349 iPod posed a question. "How can I be sold out for Jesus in the United States?" It's easy to do that in Africa, where you can't walk without stumbling over a way to help the cause of Jesus. It's probably easier in many, many places. But what about here? How do we show love to those around us? When Jesus said that "whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me," what did that mean for us who live in such a materialistic time?

I think it will take thought, real thought from you, from me and from any of those who wish to make Jesus known to their peers. Even if that just means showing love to a friend in trouble with a hug or an ear to listen. It could mean giving some assistance to someone falling on harsh times. It could be coming to the aid of someone you don't even know, just because it's the right thing to do. No matter how blessed this country is, Jesus is still a mystery to so many people.

The apostles really were insane. For beings of creation like us that are perverted by their longings for money, power, possessions, popularity and respect, they gave us an example of what it means to sell out for Christ in the world they lived in. I pray that if you often wonder what that means to you, that God will put that on your heart, and you will answer that call, and show who Jesus is to a world that is still dark and lost. Because our final resting place isn't with our things, or our unspoken words. For those who believe, our home is heaven.

"Home is heaven
One day Lord, I will live
In Your courts, You'll find me
In worship at Your feet
Hide me now
In the shadow of Your wings
Where I will be"

"...everywhere is somewhere and nowhere is near..."

Ruts are like a dark room that I always wake up in every morning in my room. My alarm goes off, and because it's so dark, I find myself feeling around to get my bearings and acquire some kind of feel for where I am. But all that ends up happening is that I usually fall off my bed, and get so mad with myself that I set my alarm for 30 more minutes. Ergo, I don't get as much done.

This analogy made no sense. Bottom line, I've been in a long rut, but I don't know how to get out of it. Maybe if I start breaking a hole into my wall to let some light in, I could see where I am in the morning.