Me; you.

I often joke with a good friend when he attempts to characterize my actions as typical, answering him, that was the Andrew of yesterday, I'm not the same as I was then, today is new; I am new.

Frustration breathes when I see the accepted patterns, structures, goals, addictions, and attitudes as identities. Although I joke as to the complete instantaneous change to my thought structure and personality in a day, I refuse to acknowledge those feelings and behaviors that cause me to be anything less than the fullest potential I was born to, as who I am.

Accepting the things that prevent you from being everything He dreamed of you when He formed is to ignore the authenticity of who you truly are. The more I learn of who I am, the more I become aware that I do not know myself at all. There is a faced outward representation, clouded and deformed by hurts, insecurities, pain, anger, fear. This is not who I am, but with whom the battle exists to reveal truth.

"It is just who I am" echo with lies. And with their acknowledgment, defeat has already won. I wonder how I would change if I knew; if I knew all of who I fully am, all of what I am capable of, all of who others could be. Depression is not me; you. Anger is not me; you. Hopelessness is not me; you. Abandoned is not me; you. Alone is not me; you. It's not who I am, it's who I paraded as.

I am His.

Today is over;

I am new.

Even If

As a young boy, nearly every night I would turn the lights on in my backyard, grab my sun-ridden basketball and shoot hoops until I was forced to come inside. No one was around, but never was I alone. It was my time to dream. I dreamed of being a star, becoming a professional, playing under the lights, camera's. I was convinced I could achieve what was unattainable, I would be the impossible.

I grew older and basketball became less important. My dreams had unconsciously shifted, I began to see what made me come alive, what made feel like I fit in my own skin. I dreamed of stages, bands, thousands on thousands, students, adults, children. I saw miracles, worship, healings, I saw myself leading masses into His presence across the world. Coming into reality, I allowed my dreams to becoming fleeting thoughts as I had never seen anything modeled to what I knew was in me, crying to get out.

I was introduced to a man who would soon become a dear friend. A man who was living my dream. A man who knew the throne room, and escorted thousands to its door. And my dreams became more alive than ever, this man showed me how to dream even bigger.

It has been a number of years since imagination realized its trueness, and yet nothing has changed. Conversations rise to weighted arguments with Him as to why I see some of my closest friends living out my dreams. Overwhelmed with thankfulness of how He has changed their lives, but I still wonder,

Why not me?

And He responds, what about you? What if you never see another miracle? What if you never see another life transformed? What if you never feel my presence again? What if you never see your dreams realized? Are you following if... Are you following even if...

Even if I never see the masses come to Him, even if I never travel the world and speak to nations, even if He forever is a discipline, even if it's hard, even if I never see my dreams...

Even if...

I will follow.

Lensed Relationships.

I sat in my office chair, staring at the wall, pretending to respond to the emails I did not have, searching for something that would offer busyness, erasing the boredom. I began a project that would pull many small pieces together to create an image to goodness, I created puzzle pieces and put the pieces together.

Sorting through thousands of pictures, choosing faces and memories that would come together to create one picture, one face. It became a mural of three by five photographs with thousands of people, but one face. Standing feet away, one could see and remember, find themselves; stepping away, the photographs begin to run together, the people no longer as distinct, but one face remains, one face becomes clearer. This single print possessed a thousand smaller images of young people, all positioned and in harmony, reveals an image of Christ.

Each picture offered a different piece of the image of Him, a unique reflection that none other can hold. And I began to see the significance each picture, each person revealing His face, His character, His love, His eyes. How would my relationships shift if they were sustained by the exclusive element of Him that each person was created to carry; if I protected them because I see something of Christ that I cannot see in anyone else? What if I could order my relationships and find their value in seeing a matchless piece of who He is. What if I could see the irreplaceable unique measure of who He is in each person?

What if in everyone, I could only see Him?

Tabernacle

6:30 PM, for the past two weeks, I have assumed the similar spot behind the crowd of young teenagers, all tired, dirty, substituting showers with body spray. A small prayer, a series of familiar clichéd songs, and an entertaining sermon designed to invoke a response fills the next two hours. The lights dim and the final prayer is uttered, the front is flooded with young men and women determined to be better, to live for what is greater, ultimately, hoping not to fail. I smile when I see the authenticity of each person's action, I see each one grit their teeth and the determination in their eyes: "this time I can do it!" And the failing process has already begun...

I will be clean, I will not fall, I will be stronger this time, I refuse to let death separate me from life, I will go to the next level. These are the thoughts that possessed me as a young person in this same place, these are the thoughts that still plague me, them, today. A determination to be amongst the spiritually elite and feel as though I belong. This is the place where I allow Him to work in me through repentance and as I walk away from the altar of my shame, I leave Him there with it, focused on living in perfection so that I can remain in the delight of His presence. And thus repentance becomes the peak of my journey, never moving beyond into a mover of the kingdom, a shaper of history.

It is a flawed cycle of allowing Him to work then attempting to walk the road of independence; forgetting the truth that it is His kindness that drew me. What if I could disregard the reckless determination to be perfection so that perfection would accept me? What if I realized I do not need to do anything? What if I would just let Him change me? What if I knew He loved me for who I am, not who I should be?

What if I forgot to be sovereign?

What if I remembered Him?

look

I sit in a housing lobby, emptied to summer's freedom, barren walls, forgotten furniture, silent hallways. I imagine the people who have walked these halls, sat in these seats, the conversations had; I imagine the people who will come, who will sit, who will talk. I think of the age-old saying, 'if these walls could talk'.

If I look to my right, I see a wall, itself empty, but strong; simple, yet consistent; uninspiring, however it knows its purpose and serves it mundane function without hesitation. When I look to my left, I see an ocean, itself full and strong; complex but staggering with beauty; without security but full of excitement and the unknown; its possibilities speak to fear, but its movements offer a chance into greatness.

Two realities. If these walls could talk...

''look to the left, look to the ocean''.

More

The adversity found in creating is far greater than that in navigating a road previously paved by others. It has been days over 8 1/2 months since I left the place that groomed me out of adolescence, and returned me home to be an adult. I returned with nothing but a few belongings and my dreams to wow Arizona with who I had discovered I was, who He made me to be.

The year previous, I had been swept away through innumerable encounters with Him; daily exposure to secrets of His love, joy, satisfaction. The homecoming would not deter these times, they would increase and I would show others how to live single-minded to Him, experiencing His goodness. This was my plan, this was my excitement.

4 months into this book, the fervor had faded. The intimate times slowly diminishing. My desire for them much the same, giving equal time to ministry, work, family, friends, etc. as before. Something was missing, something was lost. I began to question my own life, my setting, my gifts, ministry, what had I done for Him to seemingly remove His love for me? I knew the undying affection for me was unscathed, but why could I know longer find Him when I looked...

8 1/2 months read, without certainty how many pages left to handle. The experiences I had were less than a year removed, the lessons learned, the secrets revealed, now being forced to live when the physical reality of His presence does not feel real. Can I truly live what He has spoken to me without feeling Him standing next to me? Can I be totally satisfied by Him? Can I choose joy? Can I choose peace? Will I find Him as my everything when I'm searching, but He isn't being found?

yet.

I continue to grow drained by the pursuit without immediate reward. For the past four plus months, my life has felt dull, unmotivated, and without dynamic growth. And this week, a thought confronted me, "is this how people live?" My frustration dominantly lies in the fact that I know there is more. I have experienced more, I have seen healing, within me and around me. I have seen people's lives change instantaneously and progressively, I have experienced His love mentally, physically, and spiritually. I have seen signs and wonders. I have not only heard His voice, but I have felt His voice. I have seen my prayers move impossibilities. I know about my God, and I know my God. I have met with Him, conversed, sacrificed, and watched Him shatter hopelessness. I've seen Him heal cancer, broken bones, disproportionate legs, chronic pain, torn ligaments, blind eyes, and deaf ears. I've seen Him heal the hearts of the broken, the lost, the forgotten, and the hurting. I've seen Him. I know Him. They must know...

there is more.

I will settle for nothing less.

complex simplicity

It's something I forever want to be included to. It's something I rarely understand the meaning of. Face-to-face glares, seeing the depth in its eyes, close enough to touch, in reaching to touch I see its distance. Rationalized through countless avenues, all of whom offered incompletion and dissatisfaction. Is it a place? Is it a people? Is it here? Is it coming? It is.

It is invisible, with its products seen in the visible world. It encompasses everything that is good, it was created by and is inhabited by goodness. I have heard men and women, the young and the old, educated and ignorant speak of it, though only one who spoke of it truly understood the subject of which he taught. It is the most complex of ideas, yet belongs to the most simple. It is for the poor, the weak, the forgotten, the unwanted. It is the kingdom.

Is it a place? Possibly. Is it a people? They are undeniably included. Is it here? Is it coming? Yes and yes. Claims to understand it would be thoughtless. Nonetheless, recently I have been possessed by a single thought about the substance of the kingdom; a thought that does not offer an answer to the former questions.

The kingdom is a happening.

The kingdom happens. When I speak truth, truth happens. When I speak hope, hope happens. When I speak healing, healing happens. When I speak peace, peace happens. When I release joy, joy happens. When I love, lives are changed. When I speak life into a dead world, I hear the revival of silent hearts.

The kingdom happens.