One by One

They asked for the the card I had been given as I walked through the door. Set it next to me and let it wait. This card, soon to be covered in ink markings, was waiting to be future's reminder. Something that I would write today, not my own words or ideas, but how I would be reminded of who He is, what He is saying, how He is moving, how I am responding.

I sat thinking, contemplating, letting my mind wander into stress filled situations I would try to control, failing time and time again. I began to focus in on ideas and desires I have, things I want to see move, change, develop. Who do I want to be? What legacy would I leave to those I would know and influence? What changes do I want to see and to what lengths will I work to possess those changes? What do I need, what's the right way, right/wrong, who/what/where?

Why?

I formed a mental list of what seemed to be countless unachievable products of how he would move. And when I had exhausted my efforts, my needs of what it would require to see changes and movement like I desire, I began to cross each element out, one by one. Things that had seemed forever important, began to fall one by one.

Signs, wonders, authority, recognition, relevance, position, promotion, fasting, theology, study, tongues, manifestation, knowledge, sermons, music, prophetic, miracles, holiness, anointing, prayer meetings, supernatural, fire, healing, outreach, power, art, evangelism, teaching, books,

But one remained. His person. I cannot afford to have anything apart of my life, regardless of its value, that does not possess His person. Every aspect of my dissolving list had begun with me. What I can do, what I need, where I... And I was reminded, its in His person. These disciplines, these products in isolation, offer little but fatigue. They are not good themselves, good is a person; good is embodied; He is good.

And my blank card now stained: it's in His person.

Imaginary

I sat in the pew next to my mom, brother and sister behind, neck aching and head pounding, everything physically wanting to stand and leave. A feeling welling inside of me urging to stay. Singing familiar songs, possessed by thoughts of how I've sang them with passion, screaming the words, calling Him to move. I stood with the usual slight rocking, fighting the physical to engage with the spiritual. Sifting to hear the still small voice with exhaustion, pain, and apathy screaming for my attention. It has been months since receiving what I had grown accustomed to daily.

As the service moved to a time of confession, I began to hold more focus, searching and allowing myself to be searched. I followed the prompts given and confidently answered; nothing present in my life, unconfessed, that needed to be addressed between us. I sat unaware of any wrongdoing I had done or resolved to do in the future that was left previously unacknowledged. But what had I done, how had I pursued, where am I becoming not a reflection of Him, but Him, Himself?

I began to see the metaphor of my life in a cup. A cup only to be filled with Him. I saw the pride of declining to be refilled, to instead sacrifice overflow because of my own lack of effort. Living off of and rationing what was released to me months ago. I was not running on fumes, I was not running at all. My confession became not what I had done, rather, what I had not done.

I had not let Him fuel me. I had not let me be my strength. I had not lived in the present of what He is doing, trying myself to multiply the effects of what He once did for me. I had not let Him be my everything. He was. I had not.

And my confession, my release of control, my fatal attempts to produce my own joy, my own peace, my own satisfaction, I offered to Him. Admittance to reality, death to denial, I submitted.

And in a moment, I experienced Him.

Realign

Minutes, hours, days, suddenly weeks, now months. Steadily increasing, unnoticed, what was once established lifestyles, now shelved in the name of good intentions. Passion overflows out of intimacy, the converse however, does not offer the same distinction.

Months of frustration, weeks of repeating lessons thought to be never learned, days fighting for potential's success, hours drained without provoking greatness, minutes watching utter foolishness. Then once, a glimpse, a hint to what was believed to be taken with seemingly total apathy. Then twice, the seeds planted months ago, labored over, nurtured, nearly given up on, began to possess their own breakthrough. Astonishment was my only reaction, a group of young men, with only thoughts to themselves, began to see the integrity to live beyond themselves. Seeing the beginning of what I worked so hard for, satisfaction remains as distant as when those seeds lay dormant.

Thankfulness coupled with hope for increase is my only confession. Nevertheless, dreamed fulfillment became an empty promise formulated by and given to myself. Stress was assumed to the idea that breakthrough would offer peace. Reality however is speaking of an internal struggle with that of who is peace and love coveting the attention I am offering this strain. Aiming to repair the broken, where I am only invited to escort the lost.

The internal tension, the stress, the anxiety, the life of displeasure is crowned when I have forgotten who I am. I know who I am most, I am accepted always, I am only satisfied when I am home. My home is His presence, without forgetting this, I am never lost, never a stranger, never without love, always accepting, always advancing, always influencing. Every step I want to walk into a puddle of Him, splashing overflow on everyone in reach, broadcasting His essence;

His love;

His peace.

Not Forgotten

I sat talking to two old friends, one who had become a brother in recent years, the other an unrealized prodigal. Since both conversations were via internet, my close friend and I where both talking to our other mutual friend simultaneously, telling each other of our ensuing conversations with the third.

Conversation ranged from reminiscing to future dreams, with current life in between. The visit commonly returned old memories and hindsight views of people, situations, and feelings. Mostly, it was a 'remember when' followed by laughs and more fun memories. Our conversation also turned to fears, hurts, and ultimatums as a result of those same memories.

In essence, the root of those hurts and fears were created by rules and religion in the absence of relationship. A community failed to recognize the integrity in this one's intimacy and began to push towards good things, however, they were ideals that would not be realized because the communion was not established as thought.

Lies, frustration, confusion, and unhappiness were solidified by rules without relationship. A holy lifestyle was expected, a lifestyle that did not make sense without the satisfaction and joy that comes from becoming more like Him. The first part of the equation will fail itself without the latter portion. Consequently, satisfaction and joy were looked for and found in other avenues, however temporary; not seeing the freedom being given away through each decision, slowly forgetting the identity that was once shallowly deposited.

I began to see the roots of current feelings as I heard of the old experiences and the mindsets that were created. Hope was gone, peace had left, joy was not a lifestyle, but a short weekend experience. Telling my brother of what was being said, we realized we were having similar conversations with our respective third friend. And he said to me "Just remember, there is a really really free person deep inside of there, just waiting to be unleashed".

.preach to the poor.
.bind up the brokenhearted.
.proclaim freedom to the captives.
.release from darkness for the prisoners.

this is who i will be

right

Rights.

I've grown up in America. America has written down, taught me, made me memorize, debated, voted for, voted against, fought for, died for...

Rights. I been cultured to think that the more position I have, the more right I have to demand. Feelings of entitlement and justification expressed by the level of esteem in which I can identify. I am in a position of authority, I have the right to be spoken to with respect. I am 23 years old, I have the right to buy and do subjectively whatever I choose. I have a degree, I have the right to a good job. I have the right to speak intelligibly about subjects. I have the right.

I have one right. I have the right to be humble and serve. I have the right to forget that 'rights' even exist. I have the joy to experience Him when I seek Him, not because I deserve or earn, but because I have been promised this gift. I receive
His presence as honor to my the offering of my life. I has authored to this world not to be His reflection, but to be His display, to shine. Him within me, released around me, changing them.

Entitlement disappointed shares the markings of bitterness and hate, opposing joy and peace. When I can realize what I have been given was not deserved, merited, or warranted, and I give without thought to reception, it is then, I walk in humility, positioned to release power.

.desire.

Internal debate often pulls me from reality. Lost in thoughts who rarely can come into harmony. Reconsidering the blindly accepted philosophies and wisdom regulates the dominant measure of my activity. Peer-pressuring questions long enough, inevitably they will confess their answer.

Unclipping the seatbelt and turning off my car as I parked in the usual corner of the middle of Sunnyside Dr., I walked through the gate into the backyard. The paradox of desire and its evasiveness flooded my mind as if waiting behind the gate for me to arrive. The rest of the night was spent thinking, digging, peeling back the intricacies of why desire for Him burns in select and parades as an old friend, seen only on holidays and special occasions in others.

Loving with distance, loving when it’s safe, loving when it’s controlled; this is love with fear, truly fear without love. One can pour out their lives for another, spend years wasting themselves on someone else; why then is this love, this passion, this service so difficult to translate into loving on the One who loved them first. Henry Nouwen wrote to me this week saying “It is easier to be God than to love God, easier to control than to love, easier to own life than to love life”. Is it an argument for influence and power? I love solely where I can manipulate the outcome and response of another by my expression.

Nevertheless, the need for power and control is based in fear. An insecurity in who I am subjects me to subconscious concern for rejection. Where I cannot position a safety net, a contingency plan, I refuse to become vulnerable past the point I feel others have tread, where I do not feel I am loved to the same extent I am loving. I become ignorant to the fact that He loved me first and continues to do so to an unconscious degree. My ignorance unlocks the door to complacency.

In a moment, often many over a lifetime, a realization occurs and an ultimate confidence is possessed in who He is, His goodness, and the complete satisfaction He offers. When then does pursuit die after the fervor of the moment is lost? Where does desire hide when reality is found? The more I realize the gravity at which I am loved and pursued, the more I covet those moments as existence. I do not love, I do not desire, I do not pursue, I do not…because I am afraid of where I cannot control rejection, believing the lie that denial is a rightful option between Him and me.

If I could grasp even a small portion of the enormity of His love for me, the world, blindness to anything else would come over me. If I could understand how much he loves me, who I am right now, despite my flaws, despite my insecurities, despite the lies I have been convinced of, despite my accomplishments, despite my accolades, I would love Him as I dream to. The only interest I would have would be to get to the lap of my Father and listen to the whispers. Thoughts of finding and remaining in His presence would overcome me, grabbing my focus and not letting go, they are there when I go to sleep and are inescapable when I wake up. If I knew…

I do not love because I have not yet been convinced how I am loved.

And fear wins…

But it won’t…

enemies

It is often found behind the steering wheel of my words; it creeps within my internal, unexpressed emotions; it is the trigger of reactions when disrespected; it creates its own imprisoning walls to protect the unhealthy effect it has on service and humility; it grows, becoming more and more self-enthroned to its own knowledge; hates the weak, ignores needs, and is fed through the realization of its displacement among the ignorant.

What if I forgot you? To live my life not based on you and what you mean, to live without a concern or thought to the damage digging low would bring to you. This picture I am bringing walks carelessly to the mark of what you are, unconcerned for who you are. Humor or anger or kindness or passion is often what you are masked with; knowing humility is your only identity that possesses any true value, where I become unaware to your existence. This picture I am living.

You live as only to what is yours, creations in artificial obligations, fantasies of deserving. You lash out when they fail, you are the cause of significant disappointment, you cripple my boldness. You feed me lies and deafen me to the whispers.

Can I live without you? Living in moments of surrender while you lie lifeless, offering more satisfaction than you could ever extend. A divorce has begun and your unrelenting presence is being replaced with what you are supposed to be without revelation of your reality. I will live without you. I will live in eternal moments, I will see what is forever real, I will display Him.

you are my enemy
you are my reputation