So don’t worry, I’m still here.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part,  but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.  When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.  Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

The last couple of weeks, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I’ve come to terms with the fact that

Seriously, I can’t get away.

My son Rowan is almost two. He has discovered that he loves being outside, and he loves going for walks. All I have to do is say “do you want to go for a walk?” Once I say that sentence, he will stop at nothing to get out the door.

Generally, when we go for a walk, it ends up being a simple around-the-block, which adds up to about four total blocks. This is how that walk normally looks:

We leave the house. Rowan is excited and runs strong for the first block-and-a-half or so. He stops here and there—to pick up a rock, look at a dog, or try to open someone’s car door—but all it usually takes is me saying “let’s go, buddy” and gently pushing him along for him to start running again.

Around the halfway point, he gets worn out. He literally will just stop out of nowhere and sit down on the sidewalk. He just looks at up me, content as ever. In his head, he’s tired, he’s done walking, so our walk is done. This obviously isn’t true, but he also obviously doesn’t understand that. So I pick him up, and say, “alright, let’s go.” We start walking again, Rowan in my arms. He’s fine for 20 feet or so. Then he starts pushing me, wiggling, and saying “down, please!”

I set him down, he starts running again, and another 20 feet later, he sits down again.

So I pick him up again. He pushes me away again. I set him down again. This pattern goes on for the last two blocks of our walk.

And then we get about two houses away from ours. He sees our house, demands to be put down, and sprints to the steps. He climbs up the steps, and excitedly waits for me to open the door to that wonderful, safe, loving place that he couldn’t wait to leave a half hour earlier.

Think about it.

I believe I am redeemed by Gods grace and blood. I have no qualms saying that, it’s taken me a long time to realize and accept that. But I also wonder if I would have come to that point of realizing or even caring about it if I hadn’t been overwhelmed with the sinful mindsets I was instilled with. The hate I felt for muslims, gays and democrats (recovering fundamentalist) and the guilt I carried around for the millions of wounds I afflicted on Christ were things that drove my eyes to the cross and Christ’s sacrifice. Was it in the end, good to be riddled with those atrocities? Would I have looked for hope and grace if I was raised away from the warped mindset of earning your salvation (or repenting every 5 minutes)?

I don’t write this with any condemnation, merely regret and repentance. In the last few years I’ve denied, wrestled with & accepted (wash,rinse,repeat) the grace my god has bestowed unconditionally over and over. Through hundreds of conversations and dialogues I’ve come to amazing restoration for those parties mentioned but still have heaps of things on my spiritual ‘to-do’ list. I also have tremendous hope for the path before me as I transition from Romero-ish zombie to a less dead creature of mercy. I’m reminded of the stories of God constantly making good from the horrible things we do (even in God’s name). This is testament to the God of restoration.

Again, we’re still here. Still pondering. Still thinking. Still content. Still frustrated. Still joyful. Still pissed off. Still understanding. Still doubting.

I know that I’ve been thinking a lot about division. Division in the church, notably. Division between “traditional/mainline” church and the “emerging” church. Thinking about how these labels tend to do more harm than they do good. Thinking about how new ideas and old ideas are causing one body with many parts to become many parts with no body. About how new ideas and old ideas are acting like oil and water rather than peanut butter and jelly.

In turn this is causing me to have this inner dialogue. I take that back—an inner battle. Feeling trapped between two ideologies. Feeling that if I believe THIS, then THEY will think I believe THAT. And that if I don’t believe THAT, than THEY will think I don’t believe THIS. I’m sick of feeling divided inside myself, and I’m sick of being immersed in a divided culture.

More later. Maybe.

- Yeah, man.

I should find a hotel.

-What?

What?

- A hotel?

Yeah.

- Just ask, man.

What are you talking about?

-Oh, God. Three pitchers of beer and you still can’t ask.

What?

-You called me because you needed a place to stay.

Oh, hey. No, no, no.

- Yes, you did. So just ask.

-Cut the foreplay and just ask, man.

Would… Would that be a problem?

-Is it a problem for you to ask?

Can I stay at your place?

- Yeah.

Thanks.
————————————–

I have currently been confronted with an issue of faith. A brother of mine recently told me he had decided to start praying for something I felt was impossible. Doing the good christian thing I said “well that’s gosh darn great, praise the lord”. Naturally my reaction in my head was “Are you crazy? Why don’t I just ask for a light saber and a giant squid monster and call it a day.”

Two things stood out to me in that statement. One, that he had decided to start, not that he had been praying about it. I don’t typically think about the things I pray for, while not considering ‘is this God’s will, and if it is why did it take me so long to ask in the first place?’ Have I considered I could be asking for a bird losing it’s wings when I ask for my own?

Secondly the fact that he was going to be petitioning something that should be considered nothing short of miraculous; good ol’ divine intervention. The faith I had as a child that would tell you in a heartbeat that God saved daniel from the lions, or turned water into wine has long been dead now, not because God is any less faithful, but I (think I) know too much. I blame the history channel on that; all their “could-the-exodus-actually-be-real” and “finally-the-mystery-of-that-one-miracle-in-the-bible-no-one-likes-to-talk-about-cause-it-confronts-scientific-thinking-revealedblahblahblah” shows. Fascinating as they may be, it sets my mind into a materialist corkscrew. I’m so distracted with the ‘hows’ that I overlook the ‘cans’ and ‘wills’. Maybe the reason I rationalize what to ask for and what to just suck up is because I think too much. I assume God’s just like me, rolling my eyes saying “ok, but I won’t be here to bail you out…..oh who am I kidding, of course I will” and getting the short end of the stick the whole time, like God’s strength or power (or even desire) arent enough to handle my little problems.

Behold the smartest termite in the world!

I’ll break this down:
If I as a christian believe in an omnipotent creator, one who (in theory) controls the tide, feeds the sparrow and sent a god-man to earth to pay my tab, why is it hard for me to ask for the impossible? Is my request less possible than creating the Leviathan or designing an immune system? Why would I hesitate to ask God to intervene in my family when He is the author of all that is good? My answer right now is faith. It was faith that drove Moses to lead the jews and jewettes into the wilderness. Would he have put off asking God for direction because he doubted his petition would be acquiesced? Doubt it.

I’m not sure this entirely makes sense, because it sounds like I want to not question anything. It’s more like I want to question everything, but there are some things that proof won’t make any more real for me. I will still question God’s promises to me and deny him the prayers He deserves and wants to answer until I have believe the things I ask for, in things unseen. Faith in miracles is faith in miracles. There’s only so much meddling God’s going to do without saying “ok look, I made a world, wrote a book, sent a son, made your parents chromosomes match up perfectly to make who you are, what more do you need? Just ask.”

Anyhow, that’s where I’m at, trying to muster up the strength and faith my brother has to pray for a miracle. Feeling like I’m due for one.

BUT ON THE OTHER HAND……..

~wrestleswithGod

CURRENTLY READING: Orthodoxy by GK Chesterton, LISTENING: Industry Giants by Superdrag, WATCHING: the Watchmen Motion Comics

New posts coming soon.

~wrestleswithGod