Got an e-mail yesterday from a friend.
She has a lot going on, like most everyone I know.
She said the Holy Spirit had spoken to her heart:
"Stop asking, start worshipping."
Sounds like something He'd say.
Think I'm gonna try it myself.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Out of the mouth of babes
The other night, as I was putting my almost 3 year old Jack in bed, he noticed a necklace I recently started wearing. "What is that?" he asked, so I took it out of my shirt to show him.
How do we keep our love for the Lord fresh & new? I have been a Christian for 32 years. Over that course of time I have experienced mountaintops and valleys, floods of glory and dry times, times when the sweet presence of the Lord brought tears and times I was so numb I felt nothing at all. Jesus promised "I will never leave you or forsake you," and He never has.
Jesus told the believers in Ephesus, I have seen all your hard work and your commitment to me and to the truth. But you have left your first love. Many years ago the Lord spoke to me from these words in Rev. 2 and showed me how to keep my love for Him fresh and alive. 3 simple steps - remember the height from which you have fallen, repent, and do the things you did at first.
The New Testatment teaches that God has seated us with Him in heavenly places. If we are not depending totally upon Him and His grace, we have fallen from a great height indeed! Step 2- repent. Religion has tried to hijack the word. Its power is in its simplicity - to turn around, to make a change. Step 3- Do the things you did at first.
What did you do at first, when you first truly started living by faith? I became radical for Jesus. I burned music, books, and anything else in my life that did not lift Jesus up. I changed the way I looked, the places I went, and the people I hung out with. The change was so noticeable I was interviewed by my hometown newspaper. In my enthusiasm to tell the world how much Jesus had changed my life I admitted in print to a few things that I afterwards realized the police might want to discuss with me (fortunately, they never followed up on it). Today, there are no books in my house that need to be trashed. Most of my music is praise (with some jazz & U2 in there) and most of my videos are kids videos. But it's really a matter of the heart, isn't it? I still need as much as ever to remember that it is by His grace alone. I still need to repent when I fall short of the mark, and I still need to do what the King James calls the firstdeeds.
A couple of weeks ago I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to get a cross necklace. I haven't worn any jewelry other than my wedding ring in quite a long time. But the Holy Spirit wanted to remind me about the cross. He wanted to remind me of the price Jesus paid for sin, and for me. He wanted to remind me of the promises I made to live for Him, that I am not my own but bought with a price. That my decisions are subject to His claim on my life. So I did one of my firstdeeds and started wearing a cross around my neck.
It is a manly thing, this cross made of nails. Compared to the other pieces in the jewelry case, it looked like an instrument of death. The very nice church lady that sold it to me smiled sweetly and asked "You aren't going to hurt anybody with this are you?" She looked shocked when I replied that I expected to use it in a crucifixion. (My wife punched me in the shoulder even though she knew what I meant.)
It was this cross of nails that my little Jack noticed. So I took it out and told him it is called a cross. He gazed at it a long time then asked, "What does a cross mean?" I have a bachelor's degree in theology, but I didn't need it to answer one of the the most profound and important questions Jack will ever ask. I looked him in the eye and said "It means God loves us." He gazed at it some more before declaring sleepily "It's beautiful."
Jack, my son, I couldn't agree more.
How do we keep our love for the Lord fresh & new? I have been a Christian for 32 years. Over that course of time I have experienced mountaintops and valleys, floods of glory and dry times, times when the sweet presence of the Lord brought tears and times I was so numb I felt nothing at all. Jesus promised "I will never leave you or forsake you," and He never has.
Jesus told the believers in Ephesus, I have seen all your hard work and your commitment to me and to the truth. But you have left your first love. Many years ago the Lord spoke to me from these words in Rev. 2 and showed me how to keep my love for Him fresh and alive. 3 simple steps - remember the height from which you have fallen, repent, and do the things you did at first.
The New Testatment teaches that God has seated us with Him in heavenly places. If we are not depending totally upon Him and His grace, we have fallen from a great height indeed! Step 2- repent. Religion has tried to hijack the word. Its power is in its simplicity - to turn around, to make a change. Step 3- Do the things you did at first.
What did you do at first, when you first truly started living by faith? I became radical for Jesus. I burned music, books, and anything else in my life that did not lift Jesus up. I changed the way I looked, the places I went, and the people I hung out with. The change was so noticeable I was interviewed by my hometown newspaper. In my enthusiasm to tell the world how much Jesus had changed my life I admitted in print to a few things that I afterwards realized the police might want to discuss with me (fortunately, they never followed up on it). Today, there are no books in my house that need to be trashed. Most of my music is praise (with some jazz & U2 in there) and most of my videos are kids videos. But it's really a matter of the heart, isn't it? I still need as much as ever to remember that it is by His grace alone. I still need to repent when I fall short of the mark, and I still need to do what the King James calls the firstdeeds.
A couple of weeks ago I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to get a cross necklace. I haven't worn any jewelry other than my wedding ring in quite a long time. But the Holy Spirit wanted to remind me about the cross. He wanted to remind me of the price Jesus paid for sin, and for me. He wanted to remind me of the promises I made to live for Him, that I am not my own but bought with a price. That my decisions are subject to His claim on my life. So I did one of my firstdeeds and started wearing a cross around my neck.
It is a manly thing, this cross made of nails. Compared to the other pieces in the jewelry case, it looked like an instrument of death. The very nice church lady that sold it to me smiled sweetly and asked "You aren't going to hurt anybody with this are you?" She looked shocked when I replied that I expected to use it in a crucifixion. (My wife punched me in the shoulder even though she knew what I meant.)
It was this cross of nails that my little Jack noticed. So I took it out and told him it is called a cross. He gazed at it a long time then asked, "What does a cross mean?" I have a bachelor's degree in theology, but I didn't need it to answer one of the the most profound and important questions Jack will ever ask. I looked him in the eye and said "It means God loves us." He gazed at it some more before declaring sleepily "It's beautiful."
Jack, my son, I couldn't agree more.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Hope O2
Have you thought about breathing today? I haven't, until the last few minutes. An adult inhales and exhales, on average, about 23,000 times per day. It could be much, much more, depending upon your level of physical activity and other factors. Think about that. You did something 23,000 times today and probably never once gave a conscious thought to it. 16 times per minute, each and every minute, waking and sleeping, working, playing, running, eating, over and over and over again.
Most of the time we do not think about oxygen. It simply is. It is available. We breathe because we are alive, that's how we roll. Most days, the only time we think about breathing is when we're trying not to. I'm holding my breath while writing this sentence, and in the course of a few short seconds am reminded that, althought I don't usually give it a second thought, oxygen is one of the most important things in my life. (Ahhh, deep breath here...) I need it. I want it. I require it. Sound silly? Hold your breath for a minute or two, then agree with me.
Hope is like oxygen. It breathes life into us. Hope is extremely powerful. Most of the time we don't even acknowledge it or think about it. Hope is what keeps us going. Hope is to the soul and spirit what oxygen is to the body. We need it. We want it. We require it.
Tonight I spent a long time on the phone with a close friend who lives far away. He and his family are walking through some very challenging circumstances. I had a few things to say that may be helpful to him, and some tax advice that will prove practical and useful. But by far the most valuable thing that I believe I shared with my friend was hope. Hope that things will get better, hope that it won't always be like this. He already knows that, and has in fact helped many, many others (including me) in times of need. But when things are dark and you feel all alone, it's like holding your breath under water. You seriously need some O2. My friend seriously needed a deep breath of hope, and I believe he got it. Lord, I pray for Todd, may Holy Spirit-inspired hope bring him strength and new life. And I pray for everyone who may read this. Thank you that the Bible says you have given us a living hope. Hope that is, in and of itself, alive. Hope will grow, it will produce fruit (i.e., results) in our lives.
Heavenly Father, I breathe deeply your living hope. Renew in us the expectation that we will see all your promises fulfilled.
Most of the time we do not think about oxygen. It simply is. It is available. We breathe because we are alive, that's how we roll. Most days, the only time we think about breathing is when we're trying not to. I'm holding my breath while writing this sentence, and in the course of a few short seconds am reminded that, althought I don't usually give it a second thought, oxygen is one of the most important things in my life. (Ahhh, deep breath here...) I need it. I want it. I require it. Sound silly? Hold your breath for a minute or two, then agree with me.
Hope is like oxygen. It breathes life into us. Hope is extremely powerful. Most of the time we don't even acknowledge it or think about it. Hope is what keeps us going. Hope is to the soul and spirit what oxygen is to the body. We need it. We want it. We require it.
Tonight I spent a long time on the phone with a close friend who lives far away. He and his family are walking through some very challenging circumstances. I had a few things to say that may be helpful to him, and some tax advice that will prove practical and useful. But by far the most valuable thing that I believe I shared with my friend was hope. Hope that things will get better, hope that it won't always be like this. He already knows that, and has in fact helped many, many others (including me) in times of need. But when things are dark and you feel all alone, it's like holding your breath under water. You seriously need some O2. My friend seriously needed a deep breath of hope, and I believe he got it. Lord, I pray for Todd, may Holy Spirit-inspired hope bring him strength and new life. And I pray for everyone who may read this. Thank you that the Bible says you have given us a living hope. Hope that is, in and of itself, alive. Hope will grow, it will produce fruit (i.e., results) in our lives.
Heavenly Father, I breathe deeply your living hope. Renew in us the expectation that we will see all your promises fulfilled.
Monday, March 17, 2008
a recreation on another plane
"Art is both love and friendship and understanding: the desire to give. It is not charity, which is the giving of things. It is more than kindness, which is the giving of self. It is both the taking and giving of beauty, the turning out to the light of the inner folds of the awareness of the spirit. It is a recreation on another plane of the realities of the world; the tragic and wonderful realities of earth and men, and of all the interrelations of these."
Ansel Adams
I have always loved the photography of Ansel Adams (some nice examples here). Last fall I had the opportunity to share some of those wild places with my father, and my brother and sister. Even at the time I knew it was one of the moments that birth the memories that will one day tell the story of my life. I have not been to many wild places, but I have loved all the ones I have visisted and felt a kinship with them that I could not explain or express.
There are wild places in the heart, places that are pure and reflective of the beauty of creation. There are places inside you that have yet to be tamed, wild and free and ever-young, where the wind blows cold and smells like the snow, where the warmth of your smile is like the kiss of the sun, where dreams are born and the future flows forth like water from a natural spring.
You and I are the work of a Creator, an insult to be termed a mere man or woman. Sometimes our hearts can be too civilized. Concrete does a good job of keeping the bottom of our shoes clean, but shoes were made to be worn, not be be cared for. There are paths of concrete in my heart, civilized places that are neat and straight, clean and predictable. Concrete can be fashioned but sets hard. In rare and precious moments I also see the places in my heart that are wild and pure, the work of a Creator who's medium is not concrete but rather living stones. A glimpse of creation tells me something about the artist. As C.S. Lewis said: "He's not a tame lion."
Somehow Ansel Adams was gifted to capture on film the wildness and awe, not only of the places he visited, but of his own heart's response to the beauty displayed. In a letter to his friend Cedric Wright he talked about art and love and beauty. This phrase particularly captured my attention: " a recreation on another plane of the realities of the world."
My Father is a Creator. We are created in His image. No wonder then that all our best points to Him, our desires and longings, if truly understood, all for Him, our highest and best efforts simply an imitation of His handiwork, a recreation on another plane. We are simply trying to be like Him, and I don't see that as a bad thing at all. My son wants to be like me, and I love him for it. I want to be like my Father. The wild places of the earth point me to Him, the wild places of my own heart show me the fingerprints of God.
Ansel Adams
I have always loved the photography of Ansel Adams (some nice examples here). Last fall I had the opportunity to share some of those wild places with my father, and my brother and sister. Even at the time I knew it was one of the moments that birth the memories that will one day tell the story of my life. I have not been to many wild places, but I have loved all the ones I have visisted and felt a kinship with them that I could not explain or express.
There are wild places in the heart, places that are pure and reflective of the beauty of creation. There are places inside you that have yet to be tamed, wild and free and ever-young, where the wind blows cold and smells like the snow, where the warmth of your smile is like the kiss of the sun, where dreams are born and the future flows forth like water from a natural spring.
You and I are the work of a Creator, an insult to be termed a mere man or woman. Sometimes our hearts can be too civilized. Concrete does a good job of keeping the bottom of our shoes clean, but shoes were made to be worn, not be be cared for. There are paths of concrete in my heart, civilized places that are neat and straight, clean and predictable. Concrete can be fashioned but sets hard. In rare and precious moments I also see the places in my heart that are wild and pure, the work of a Creator who's medium is not concrete but rather living stones. A glimpse of creation tells me something about the artist. As C.S. Lewis said: "He's not a tame lion."
Somehow Ansel Adams was gifted to capture on film the wildness and awe, not only of the places he visited, but of his own heart's response to the beauty displayed. In a letter to his friend Cedric Wright he talked about art and love and beauty. This phrase particularly captured my attention: " a recreation on another plane of the realities of the world."
My Father is a Creator. We are created in His image. No wonder then that all our best points to Him, our desires and longings, if truly understood, all for Him, our highest and best efforts simply an imitation of His handiwork, a recreation on another plane. We are simply trying to be like Him, and I don't see that as a bad thing at all. My son wants to be like me, and I love him for it. I want to be like my Father. The wild places of the earth point me to Him, the wild places of my own heart show me the fingerprints of God.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Too busy to blog...
You know the old saying. "If you 're too busy to blog, then you're too busy." That has been me for the last weeks. This tax season has been more relaxed than all but one for the last thousand years. Oops, make that since the last millenium. I started working as a CPA in 1999, and tax season always requires a lot. A lot of time, a lot of energy, a lot of thought, a lot of grace from my wife. This one has been less demanding than most, but that is not to say relaxed. Kind of like saying running a 10k is easier than running a marathon.
I hope you have a great tax season. If you do your own taxes, that should be an evening or two. If you have someone else do them for you, you still have to get your information together and review the return (after all, you know more about your financial situation than anyone else). So it will still be a few hours long.
I have quite a few more thoughts on this subject, but right now I also have a number of friends, family, and clients who have entrusted me with their personal financial information and are hoping I can help them have the best tax season they've ever had. So back to the 1040s and 1120Ss and 1065s and supporting schedules. I've got more to say, but right now I'm too busy to blog.
I hope you have a great tax season. If you do your own taxes, that should be an evening or two. If you have someone else do them for you, you still have to get your information together and review the return (after all, you know more about your financial situation than anyone else). So it will still be a few hours long.
I have quite a few more thoughts on this subject, but right now I also have a number of friends, family, and clients who have entrusted me with their personal financial information and are hoping I can help them have the best tax season they've ever had. So back to the 1040s and 1120Ss and 1065s and supporting schedules. I've got more to say, but right now I'm too busy to blog.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Morning Musing
Just like old times, as far as my blog is concerned. When you're alone, your house can be a different place. You notice things that you don't notice when there is lots of activity. Silence, for one. 5AM. The house is quiet and peaceful, the coffee strong and black. Sometimes I take cream and sugar, a compromise to my masculine identity I allowed after being married for a month or so and realizing my wife's coffee tasted better with dessert than mine did. Occasionally I use only cream, like my German friend Dieter. (I don't know if that's a German thing or not, maybe it's just how Dieter likes it.) The only time I use only sugar is when I'm camping- the cream is too much trouble, sugar such a luxury in the woods.
Well, Jack's awake, so this little session was over before it started. Let me just catch this one thought- as I woke up my heart was praying. I sense the Lord's presence, I am thankful. Words of gratitude, words of wonder. A prayer for forgiveness, I have insulted you in so many ways. A still small voice in my heart, "Has your son ever insulted you?" No, I've never really thought about it like that, but he hasn't . Has he ever ignored you? Yes. Has he ever taken you for granted? In the adult sense of the word, that happens daily. But he's only 2. How can he take me for granted? I mean, it is a granted that I will provide for everything he needs. I'm his father. At this point he doesn't even have the ability to insult me.
The light bulb goes on (I just woke up so my brain is still getting in gear). My Father loves me! He's not mad. Once again I am surprised by grace. (For more on this wonder, listen to the latest and greatest from Pastor D at http://www.branchchurch.org/)
I know some things about the heart of a Father. My Father once again has shared with me the wonder of His love. Now it's time to share this wonder with my son.
Well, Jack's awake, so this little session was over before it started. Let me just catch this one thought- as I woke up my heart was praying. I sense the Lord's presence, I am thankful. Words of gratitude, words of wonder. A prayer for forgiveness, I have insulted you in so many ways. A still small voice in my heart, "Has your son ever insulted you?" No, I've never really thought about it like that, but he hasn't . Has he ever ignored you? Yes. Has he ever taken you for granted? In the adult sense of the word, that happens daily. But he's only 2. How can he take me for granted? I mean, it is a granted that I will provide for everything he needs. I'm his father. At this point he doesn't even have the ability to insult me.
The light bulb goes on (I just woke up so my brain is still getting in gear). My Father loves me! He's not mad. Once again I am surprised by grace. (For more on this wonder, listen to the latest and greatest from Pastor D at http://www.branchchurch.org/)
I know some things about the heart of a Father. My Father once again has shared with me the wonder of His love. Now it's time to share this wonder with my son.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
It just sounds better when you're inspired
I am in love with my beloved. If I wasn't, she wouldn't be my beloved, would she? As evidenced by these first 2 sentences, early morning is probably not the best time for creative romantic expression. If you're an accountant, having a mike in your hand isn't either. No matter how much you are in love, it just sounds better when you're inspired.
Last night we attended the Valentines Dinner for the Branch Family Church. It was great food and great fun. We made some new friends and got to know old friends better as each couple at our table shared stories of how they had met, fallen in love, or favorite memories.
At the end of the evening Pastor John opened the mike for the men to publicly share their love and affection for their wife, aka, to embarass yourself in front of a room full of supportive people. There was a lot of laughter, and it was really encouraging to hear the depth of love and commitment that was expressed. One man had been married 4 months, another 52 years. One thing came through loud and clear: God knew what He was doing when He made Eve. These guys spoke from the depths of their hearts, valiantly looking to translate into English what the heart speaks in the language of love.
(Another thing I learned last night: there are no words in Russian for bar-b-que or ATV. Inside joke).
For my own part, I had been to these before. Before we left the house I looked into my wife's eyes and did my best to say again what I've tried to say at least a million times before: I need you, I want you, I respect you, I love you. I've never really been able to fully articulate it, I mean I can (and do) say the words but words don't do it justice. It's like trying to carry the ocean in a bucket- the container isn't adequate. Of course I was called upon to go forward, my machinations otherwise to no avail. I shared my love and embarrassed myself and had fun. What I wanted to say went something like this: "Honey, I love you. Remember those hundreds of poems and love letters from me that you have saved in your dresser? Please read a couple of those tonight. They are still all true and more, but it just sounds better when you're inspired."
Of course, she knows. She knows what I mean, and she knows that English isn't sufficient to say it. She knows because we have become one. We have something special and we know it, and we are very very thankful. The only way to really say something like that is in the cumulative effect of a thousand million ways, large and small, words and deeds, looks and touches and sacrifices and surprises and laughter and forgiveness given and forgiveness received, love expressed consistently and over a lifetime together.
You have to say it with your life. But if you try to write it down, or try to say it into the mike, it just sounds better when you're inspired.
Last night we attended the Valentines Dinner for the Branch Family Church. It was great food and great fun. We made some new friends and got to know old friends better as each couple at our table shared stories of how they had met, fallen in love, or favorite memories.
At the end of the evening Pastor John opened the mike for the men to publicly share their love and affection for their wife, aka, to embarass yourself in front of a room full of supportive people. There was a lot of laughter, and it was really encouraging to hear the depth of love and commitment that was expressed. One man had been married 4 months, another 52 years. One thing came through loud and clear: God knew what He was doing when He made Eve. These guys spoke from the depths of their hearts, valiantly looking to translate into English what the heart speaks in the language of love.
(Another thing I learned last night: there are no words in Russian for bar-b-que or ATV. Inside joke).
For my own part, I had been to these before. Before we left the house I looked into my wife's eyes and did my best to say again what I've tried to say at least a million times before: I need you, I want you, I respect you, I love you. I've never really been able to fully articulate it, I mean I can (and do) say the words but words don't do it justice. It's like trying to carry the ocean in a bucket- the container isn't adequate. Of course I was called upon to go forward, my machinations otherwise to no avail. I shared my love and embarrassed myself and had fun. What I wanted to say went something like this: "Honey, I love you. Remember those hundreds of poems and love letters from me that you have saved in your dresser? Please read a couple of those tonight. They are still all true and more, but it just sounds better when you're inspired."
Of course, she knows. She knows what I mean, and she knows that English isn't sufficient to say it. She knows because we have become one. We have something special and we know it, and we are very very thankful. The only way to really say something like that is in the cumulative effect of a thousand million ways, large and small, words and deeds, looks and touches and sacrifices and surprises and laughter and forgiveness given and forgiveness received, love expressed consistently and over a lifetime together.
You have to say it with your life. But if you try to write it down, or try to say it into the mike, it just sounds better when you're inspired.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
