We are not home yet

There are so many cliché phrases that talk about what “home” is. But what do you do when the definition of that word gets frayed? Today I was at a familiar gas station and I saw a man wearing the jacket with the logo of my favorite football team. Is that what home is? Is it the place where strangers collectively feel the destruction of storms, pray for rain, and experience the triumph and defeat around a television set? I drove past nostalgic buildings where memories danced through my head. Inside jokes made me laugh silently as I replayed a moment in time. But what do you do when the constant fabric of what used to be in your life, ceases to be constant. “Home is where the heart is,” So they say. What do you do when your heart is split in so many different pieces, each with different area codes? They say Home is where things seem the simplest…but what do you do when nothing seems simple anymore? What do you do when you are left searching for home? I think that, is when you truly get a glimpse of how the Christian walk is supposed to be. You can memorize the verses, you can read pilgrims progress, and you can talk the metaphors with the best. But when life ceases to be “comfortable,” and you are pushed out into the place where nothing seems familiar…that is when you get to see life as the great journey it is meant to be. We are moving toward something. We are traveling with a purpose. We are not meant to ride a carousel, going around in circles, surrounded by the same realizations and images. We are not meant to make houses among familiarity. We are meant to be pilgrims passing through. We are meant to be waiting on something greater, working towards a grand mission, loving and experiencing moments, but not clinging to them a long the way. That is when we realize that home is somewhere we have never known. Home is a place adorned with colors I have never seen, smells that have never reached my nose, sights that I cant imagine, people that I have met a long the way, and a God that has no adequate description or flowery words that could even scratch the surface. This is home. This is where we’re heading. And we can thank God for the joys and experiences a long the way; but on the days you feel like you can’t find security, simple remember…you are not home yet.

"I find in myself desires which nothing in this earth can satisfy; the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world” C.S. Lewis

"two paths diverged in a wood...I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." -Robert Frost

We all make choices. Every day. I look back at my choices. Maybe it wasnt a choice. Maybe there was this road that diverged that I took because I felt like I had no other option. But somehow I elevated it up on this pedestal. I made it this heroic decision. It became something I felt strong and confident in. It became a source of pride...and strength. I liked my path. I liked the elite wooded area that no one else got to see. I was wrong, but I thought of the other wood as inferior. What do you do when these paths diverge again, only this time you are given a choice? Torn between who you have tried to be and maybe who you are supposed to be.

I dont use this blog as often as I planned. I am not good at writing my thoughts down as I should. I think the problem is that i just have so many. I think to much. Normally when I write, I wait till a whole bunch of random thoughts morph into some kind of mega thought and then that mega thought finds this great wise conclusion...then I share.

But in the meantime...my head hurts.

I like knowing the answers, I like having things figured out. But sometimes, I don't. Sometimes I just let my head run, and the result is unpredictable.

the thoughts of right now...no conclusion....no clarity

Familiar weight

I thought I had learned to drop my carpet bag. I thought I had learned what it meant to put it down and walk away. But I find myself returning to it again and again. Its weight is comforting. I don’t know how to walk without it. I was never meant to carry my bag. Someone offered to carry it for me. I don’t know how to give it to Him. I like the weight; the burden is a familiarity. It makes me feel strong, it makes me feel secure, it makes me feel independent, but more than that, it’s all I know. I have the bag’s pattern memorized. I can trace the lines and the stitches in my mind. I know the fabric well. It is my bag, but it is not meant to be. I can’t put it down; I don’t know if I want to, I don’t know if I can. I don’t remember what the freedom feels like. He’s willing to show me. He said He would teach me. But how do I give to Him what I have held onto for so long? The carpet bag isn’t bad, it’s what this unpredictable life has given me; but it is not meant for me to carry…how.do.you.just.drop.it?

Change of Plans

I needed to hear from God. SO I did what any good Christian should do- I played into the cliché picture of pleasant solitude with a beautiful view and the warm sunshine. I packed my guitar and some good Christian music into my car and set off to find a good spot. My first attempt led me straight to the river…I mean literally. It was flooded and the road I was on ran right into the Mississippi River. Needless to say, I turned around and kept looking. I did a little exploring and ended up on a narrow road that followed the river. Now, this was the kind of place I was looking for…abandoned, quiet, peaceful…and impossible to get out of. Imagine this scene: a 1989 station wagon without a muffler arrives at a dead end…with no place to turn around. On one side of the road is a cliff whose bottom is covered with the flooded water, on the other side a wall of rock. Straight ahead? Well that was chained off between two cement columns. That was the situation I found myself in. To make matters worse, behind those chains and columns, my once desolate road had now housed some scary building with a no trespassing sign. Two other cars stood stopped in the road.( Only they were facing the proper direction to get out…how the managed this, I am not aware of, had I been aware of it, perhaps I could have managed the same feat) I have never learned how to parallel park. I barely passed maneuverability. Backing up is one of my least favorite things. But I did the only thing I could do; I proceeded to drive my car backwards down a narrow road for a good mile. I am sure the owners of those cars and the jogger I drove past got a good laugh at the station wagon weaving back and forth between cliff and wall all they way back down the road. SO I was on the hunt again, this time I left the flooded shoreline of the river and headed up to safer country. I went to a more public place and decided to sit on an overhang. I thought I had it…my beautiful scenery, my peaceful solitude…but then it occurred to me that by this time the warm sunshine was gone. It was rather cold. My once guitar calloused fingers were not so calloused anymore and playing the guitar hurt, not to mention it was out of tune. Then I looked over and saw a little pile of dog poop. This confused me. I climbed a fence to sit on this cliff overhang…how did the dog get up there? Did someone pick him up and put him there? And if so why? There was grass everywhere else…why would the dog pick the spot with the least amount of grass, on top of a cliff that he had to climb a fence to get to? These were the thoughts that ran through my head….

I got back into my car and drove back. I did not hear any audible voice from God, my decisions did not become any clearer, and my night did not fit the image that I had wanted to create. But at least for a few moments, I did not feel the weight of trying to organize my thoughts, for a little while; I enjoyed life and laughed at myself, for a little while I just talked to God. Maybe sometimes that’s all we need.

Beach Reach '10

How do you explain the helpless somber glances shared between Christians as they watch their peers destroy themselves? How do you explain the power of a worship service before going out to face sin in its finest form? How can you explain the comfort of knowing that you are exactly where you are supposed to be and the awe that comes with watching God work right in front of you? People have asked me a lot since I have been back how my spring break was. But I have found it increasingly difficult to truly explain to them why it was so amazing. I mean, how do explain the awe, the heartache, the wonder, the laughter, the joy, the discouragement, the unity, and the peace that is Beach Reach? God taught me so much. He led me past my selfishness and my refusal to focus on others. He worked in spite of my fatigue and my shortcomings. He showed me that in my weakness, He is so very strong. He showed me that He doesn’t need me, but praise God, He allows me to be a part of His plan!

Right now, my head is flooded with the images of people that I met on this trip. The conversations I had roll through my mind like a slide show. I think about the student in our van, who talked to us for a very long time about how he knew the truth but couldn’t bring himself to give up his lifestyle. I recall the two cops who grew up in a catholic church, but had never heard and were shocked at the truth of the gospel. I think about the guys from England who had been turned off to Christianity because of Christians, but who listened and genuinely sought truth. I think about the hard headed atheist. I think about the well educated agnostics… Then I think about the countless conversations with people who were to drunk to remember their name.

Don’t get me wrong, we had a lot of laughter. I mean, you can’t dance with “Crum Diggity” and not smile. We heard a lot of “songs,” saw people stumble over pick- up lines, experienced the ego boost that comes with slurred compliments, and got to hear one of our teacher’s names chanted by a van full of intoxicated college students. We were the Jesus People, a title that we proudly wore. We wore it in fun, light-hearted conversation. We wore it through serious conversation and debate. We wore it, while supporting a drunk person all the way back to their hotel. We wore it as we loved. That’s what Jesus did, so that’s what the “Jesus People” did their best to do.

The beauty of this trip is in the state you find yourself in when you come back at three in the morning with the smell of smoke and beer on your coat, with your heart broken for people, with your mind running a hundred different directions searching for some way to help, with your prayers naming specific names of hurting strangers, and the calm assurance in spite of it all, because you know that it is not about you.

My parents are funny. They came in on Monday to celebrate my birthday. We were driving through town trying to find somewhere to eat. The chose this place called the "Coach House." They said that it used to be a really "happening" place and that all of the college kids used to go to it. We walked in...it was set up like a diner, full of cute old couples, drinking thier coffee, and eating thier nostalgic homestyle plates of food. Not that this is a bad enivronment mind you, I love old people, and I also happen to love homestyle plates of food. But I wish I could've captured the look on my mom and dad's face. They were crushed. Thier past had been morphed into something completley foriegn. The young kids had been replaced by thier grandparents, the exciting atmosphere had been replaced quiet liesure. Oh how things change. Following this sad turn of events we sat at our table and after about a minute of deliberation, my dad pulls out his phone and says, "Ok, we will be right there..." then he turns to us and says, "Hey guys, we gotta go." (he didn't want to be rude and just leave, my dad is so considerate:)) We stand up and abruptly leave the resturaunt. The rest of the night was rather enjoyable. We picked a brand new resturant. They had never been to it before; they had no expectations. It had good food. It was full of young people...

Things change: the things that I experience now I will never get the chance to experience again. Enjoy them, embrace them, remember them...then move on.