Two Left Feet

My feet felt light for the first time in months

It was like You came walking across the room
Straight at me and then straight through me

And then stopped and stood still for awhile

I knew then that I’d been lonely for quite some time

And as we started to dance, You gently took off my tear-soaked coat

And let it fall heavy to the floor and then

We danced some more

I do not dance well.  This is a fact.  I can blame it on a variety of factors, but the plain truth is simply that I can not dance, nor should I try.

It's that stupid rhythm thing, y'know?  I can hear the rhythm fine, but the translation to movement is where I get lost.  And the more I get out of rhythm, the more I analyze each move.

"Should my left knee bend now?"

"Do I sway right now?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with my arms?"

Shockingly, intense analysis of each limb's movements does not lead to graceful dancing.  The more I try to calculate movement, the further I fall out of rhythm.  It's a vicious cycle.  

I think dance needs to come from the heart, not the head.  There needs to be an instinctual, shameless response to something larger than myself.  Instead of trying to control the rhythm, I need to give myself to it.  

And this pretty much sums up why I struggle with a lot of things in life.  It occurred to me recently that life is a dance, and for most of my life I've been at least half a beat off.  I have grabbed and grasped and tried my best to control every outcome.  Even when the music invites me one way, I stubbornly stomp another.

It's like I'm getting on the dance floor determined to dance a samba, even if the band plays a gentle waltz. And the worst part about it is that in life I am capable of dancing wonderfully.  For the few moments I've managed to let go and simply move to the music around me, I've been able to join in life's joyous rhythm.  I've allowed myself to be swept away by One who is music and movement itself.  

The only catch is that I have to allow myself to be led.  It's not always an easy thing to let myself be pulled into the dance, it seems my natural impulse is take the reins myself.  Maybe it's a guy problem, or I have control issues, but I've always fought against being led.

I do think part of the problem is that there are some misconceptions about what it means to be "led".  It seems that we've somehow used that language to imply that Father lays out a specific path for us to take and then it's up to us to walk it.  At least, that's what I had always thought.

Now I'm wondering if maybe it's not a specific path we're invited down, but rather an invitation to dance down whatever path we are on.  I tend to focus too much on my particular situations and circumstances and remain unaware that Father is asking me to dance in the middle of it all.  

I fight and I struggle and I cling so hard to the many frustrations and disappointments that fill my day, all the while missing the fact that I'm being invited to let them all go and join the God of Love as he leads a dance of grace and joy. Sometimes the hardest thing of all is to surrender my right to be miserable.  

So now I'm trying to quiet myself a little bit, to take a deep breath and listen for the faint strains of music in the midst of the everyday.  I'm trying to remember that my feet will move to the rhythm if I let them and that if I really want to dance, I need to face each day with a soft, tender heart.

When all is said and done

When all is gone and still just begun

I will be asked what I did with my time and why

Can You be my alibi

Cause I know I spent it dancing with You  

~ Blindside, My Alibi

Peace in the Corners

My wife and I went to North Carolina last fall for our vacation.  One evening I was randomly wandering around downtown Charlotte by myself and came across the library.  I was quite heartbroken when I realized they were already closed, but I found this wonderful quote (pic on right) on a column outside.

I have started to realize that I really do find peace in the corners.  It may have to do with security, with knowing limitations, with feeling protected and sheltered.

I often find myself gravitating toward the corner of a room when I'm in a new social situation.  Part of it certainly has to do with my introverted nature.  But on the whole, it just gives me a level of comfort as I navigate a new environment.

Right now I'm at a point in my life where I can't see any walls, let alone a corner.  Everything seems vague and nebulous, poorly defined.  I struggle to find a place of comfort and security.  On the one hand, I seem to have a lot of options.  I could try to change jobs, or move, or change my life in a different way.  On the other hand, I have no place to rest or recharge.

By being able to move in any direction, I find myself paralyzed.  With no map or landmarks, I don't know which direction to move.  My fear of making a wrong move prevents me from making any sort of progress on my journey.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to just pick a direction and start running.  Damn the consequences!  All forward motion is progress!

But then the "what ifs" start playing in my head.

"What if I end up in a worse place?"

"What if I hurt somebody?"

"What if I disappoint the people that care about me?"

And I long again for the comforting corner, the wall against my back, the quiet moment to rest.

But sometimes, if I'm conscious enough to put aside the panic and the worry, to be aware, to find the space between the heartbeats . . . I hear a whisper in the sunlight and the breeze.

I am reminded that I will not be given a map that tells me the best route, but I do have Someone who will help guide me.  I am reminded that even wrong steps can lead to beautiful places.  I am reminded that Love and Grace are my constant companions, that they provide me with a corner in which to rest even in the midst of the wide open wildernesses.  

Being Right

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: No you're not wrong.
Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: You're not wrong Walter. You're just an asshole.
Walter Sobchak: Okay then.




I used to think it would be nice to have the answer key to life, the universe, and everything.  Trying to maneuver through life using only instinct and guesswork has always been uncomfortable for me.  Everything would be so much easier if I had something that told me exactly what to do and say.

And I've approached much of my Christian life the same way.  I tried to use the Bible as a book of answers that could solve any and all of my issues or predicaments.  The whole point of being a Christian seemed to be to get all the right answers so I could live the right way.  Those who professed to have the answers seemed to be the most spiritually mature.

But eventually I began to realize something.  Having more answers didn't make you a better person.  Even when I felt like I had a lot of the whole God-thing figured out, my life was a mess.  And I began to see it in others as well.  Talking a good game loses its luster when you start to see through the cracks of the facade into a person's broken life.

So now I was really lost.  If getting all the answers wasn't the point, what the hell was I doing?  Where was I going?  What did I have to show for all the time and effort invested into getting it all figured out?

Why worship being right when you can be right and still be an asshole?

It was really in the midst of this confusion and loss that Father gently and quietly began to invite me into something else.  Something that was even better than having the answer key to life.  He began to show me how my desires were misguided and how there was something much better than what I had been looking for.

He invited me to know a Person instead of a theology, to know a Father who loves me beyond my comprehension, to know a Jesus who is actively at work around me and asking me to join in.

It is, in some ways, a much more difficult path to walk.  I like concrete solutions to problems.  I am somewhat of a linear thinker.  I like to have a toolbox full of principles that I can use to fix any situation.  Learning to hear Father's voice and walk alongside him in everyday life can be scary at times.  Letting go of my need to control things has been a difficult transition.

But you could not pay me to go back to my old rule-driven, paint-by-numbers religious life.  Knowing all the answers in the world can not give me a fraction of the peace as enjoying a quiet moment with Father.  Life is more unsettled now but it is finally life.

And this has really begun to work through into other areas of my life.  I'm less concerned about being the person who is right, and more interested in truly hearing other people.

I've begun to realize that to have really meaningful dialogue, all participants need to at least consider the possibility that they're wrong.  Once I let go of needing to be right about everything, my conversations with other people became so much more enjoyable and rewarding.  People have started to be more important that my own agenda.

And lest you think I'm trying to simply preach a different set of answers, let me assure you that this is all still very much a work in progress.  This is not something I think I am going to master in this lifetime.  Some days I do better at quieting the noise and distancing myself from distractions in order to create a space for Father to speak.  Some days (or weeks) I remain consciously unconscious, choosing meaningless busywork because it can be much easier.

But now we see another example of why knowing a Person trumps the quest for answers.  If I stumble on my walk with Father I am not given a failing grade and told to go study harder.  On a journey together there is grace to sustain me when I falter, there is loving correction when I screw up, and failure is never the final word.

A New Day

But I can't stop thinking

How you just keep making

Sense of all that was broken before

And I won't keep faking

'Cause I'm done with taking

'Cause with you, I'm not broken anymore

~Not Broken Anymore (Blue October)

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions.  I don't really get the concept of waking up one day, making a list of things to do better, and then magically becoming a different person.  I just don't think it works like that.

Sure, some Type A driven people probably thrive on that kind of thing.  But for me it would simply be a new list of things I failed at, a way to track my shortcomings.  Plus, on January 1st I'm usually deep in my sun-deprived winter blues and am only focused on surviving 'til April.  Suffice it to say, I am not really a goals-oriented person.

Still, though, the somewhat arbitrary distinction of a new year does provide at least the illusion of a fresh start.  And that may not be a bad thing.  Maybe that helps us understand grace a little better.  Maybe it lets us take stock of where we are and look ahead to the promise and potential of the future instead of being mired in the pain and disappointment of the past.

Ok, ok, that last sentence was a bit much.  But I do think the idea of a clean slate is important.  And maybe that's not something that should be relegated to only one day a year.  What if every day was the start of something new?  Yes, that's nauseatingly trite, but does that make it wrong?

It's easy to accumulate loads of baggage as we maneuver through our days, becoming weighed down by a thousand regrets.  And it's not that we should ignore our pasts, there are wonderful lessons to be learned there.  But maybe there's more than one way to see our past.

One option of course is to let ourselves be defined by all the things we wish we had done differently.  That's generally what I choose.  But those lyrics at the top of the page really resonated with me when I first heard them.  There's something amazing about the idea of Father taking everything that seems broken and showing us how he's fashioned something beautiful from our messes.

Even though I don't make resolutions, it's nice to be reminded that a new year is beginning.  And this year, I'm going to try to see each day as a fresh start, a chance to try again, an opportunity to learn how my mistakes and failures are woven into a beautiful tapestry by Father's hands. 

It's not easy, and frankly I don't really feel like doing it.  I read what I've just written and I can't honestly tell you I believe it all.  But I know changes are needed and I'm going to try to exercise my ability to choose how I think. 

This is a new day.

This is water.

Not Built By Human Hands

Acts 7:48-50 - “However, the Most High does not live in houses made by human hands. As the prophet says:

‘Heaven is my throne,

    and the earth is my footstool.

What kind of house will you build for me?

   says the Lord.

Or where will my resting place be?

   Has not my hand made all these things?'"

Acts 17:24 - “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands."

It's funny that for 2,000 years we've devoted so much effort and resources to building things for God. We build all sorts of physical structures for Him, everything from modest little buildings to ornate cathedrals.  We create all sorts of institutions and summon up various movements. And then we act like God should feel obliged to inhabit the tidy little boxes we've built for Him.

The real tragedy of it all may be that by trying to confine God to our man-made structures, we miss Him in all the places He's at work.  We miss Him in the mundane experiences of day-to-day life, in our cubicles and offices, in the supermarket and playground, on buses and planes, in the midst of children crying and dogs barking, during sleepless nights and dreaded mornings.  We miss Him in the very thing He calls His body and temple - beautiful, frustrating, transcendent, fearful, glorious, shame-scarred humanity.

We build teachings and doctrine and demand that He abide by them.  We put together the perfect formula so we can manipulate Him to serve our whims.  We construct a building and call it "God's House" and talk about how He dwells in the sanctuary.  And by creating this idea of building something for God, we forget where He's been this whole time. 

The amazing, humbling truth is that He is already perfectly at home in our hearts, gently inviting us to see Him at work all around us.  He's eternally whispering to us that we are loved beyond imagination, secure in His affection, invited to share in His life instead of having to summon up one on our own.  The illusion of separation died on the cross, the curtain was torn in two, and our eyes were opened to what He meant by "Immanuel, God with us".  This is truly Good News, that we can enter into a Sabbath rest from trying to build something that could never contain Him and instead enter into what He has already built.

 

 

 

The Challenge of Staying Engaged

I really like the idea of staying engaged in life.  It seems wonderful in a kind of abstract theoretical construct.  I want to live my life, to be an active participant.  I want to be constantly aware of what Father is saying and doing, to be deeply involved in the lives of loved ones.  I hate the idea of being a passive spectator simply watching life pass me by.

But on a Tuesday evening after a frustrating day of work filled with mindless tedium, annoying people, and stupid questions that waste much of my time?  Or talking through a difficult life/relationship issue?  Or facing one of life's inevitable disappointments after daring to get my hopes up once more? 

I'm sorry, but I often check out.  The medium doesn't matter - it can be TV, a book, video games, whatever.  It's just . . . easier.  So much easier than staying engaged.  So much easier than working to see something good in the midst of an incredibly tedious, frustrating work day.  So much easier than poking and prodding at some deep hurt to find real healing instead of a quick fix.

I mean, I'm going so far as to get "This is Water" tattooed on my chest (soon I hope) in order to remind myself of the importance of finding true life in the day-to-day grind.  But still, time after time, I find myself sitting back and letting my eyes glaze over as I disengage.  I virtually fast forward through the boring/monotonous/frustrating/slow/tiresome periods by daydreaming or fantasizing about a much more interesting life.

So this is the challenge: not necessarily to make something better, but to see the good in what is there.  To try, to make the effort, to persevere in searching for what is wonderful and lovely, hidden as it may be within the mundane and undesirable.

I'm moving forward with the basic premise that my eyes do deceive me, that I am blind and senseless to much of what the God of Love is doing around me.  A paradigm shift may very much be called for here.  I may need to stop calling certain things "bad" or being so narrow-minded in what I call "good".  I may need to be open to a correction of vision, a new pair of glasses to see life through.

And I do admit, I tend to be a bit of a pessimist and cynic.  It's easy to say life taught me to be that way, but that's the poor excuse of a weak man.  I'm not pretending that changing how I see things will be easy.  It's not a switch I can simply turn on. 

But I'm beginning to believe that it must be worth the effort.  The alternative seems unbearable, that this gray world full of gray days is all there is.  I do not believe that to be true. I have seen sparks of color, beams of sunshine.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." 

Grace for the Least Deserving

For the past decade or so, it seems that most of what I've been learning about has to do with Love and Grace.  These themes have been pretty constant - learning about God's grace and love for us, how we in turn extend this toward others, etc.  For the most part I feel like I'm beginning to get it.  I'm starting to understand Father's incredible affection for us and I'm getting better at identifying how to extend grace to others.

Lately, though, I've run into a problem.  It seems that there's a certain someone that I just can't quite extend grace toward.  I feel like they've had enough excuses, that they just need to get it together and do better.  This person is like a black hole, sucking up so much grace that they can't possibly deserve any more.

This person . . . is me.

Maybe it's because I feel that I know myself so well.  Maybe it's that my excuses ring hollow to me and that I'm privy to all my secret thoughts and motivations.  It's like knowing someone who is horrifically addicted to drugs and asks you for some money to cover their rent.  You know that money is going straight to their dealer, so maybe you pause a moment before pulling our your wallet.

Me, deserve more grace?  You must be out of your mind.

But that right there perfectly illustrates how often I still misunderstand grace.  The fact that I can't extend it to myself because I "don't deserve any more" shows that I'm not defining grace the way Father does.

The truth, though, is that I think it does take some audacity to be fully loved.  It's never been easy for me to say, "Yes, I am often selfish, I do screw up, I do have a negative impact on other people's lives . . . and I am fully, completely, unconditionally loved."

Through my faults, my failures, and my fears . . . regardless of action or attitude . . . in selfishness and sin . . . for every moment of every day of my entire existence . . . I am absolutely, mind-blowingly, incomprehensibly loved beyond my ability to imagine.  No matter what, I simply can't stop Father from loving me.  It is beyond my power to dampen his love in the slightest.  I can not forfeit it, I cannot run from it, there is nowhere to hide.

I am loved.

The question is this - dare I receive it?  Do I have the audacity to celebrate Father's unfailing love for me even in the moments when I feel that I can't love myself?  Can I learn to extend grace toward myself the way I want to extend it toward every other person who's fallen, screwed up, and
made a mistake?

Instead of trying to climb out of the pits I've dug, to clean off the mud and muck, to dress myself up real nice so that I finally feel deserving of being loved . . . do I let him love me out of these situations?  Do I let his love and grace achieve what all my stress and striving never could?

Do I dare be loved?

Yeah, I think I do.