Already Answered.

I was in my studio the other day, going about my bride-beautifying business, when all of the sudden I was stopped in my tracks by an answered prayer.
And it was right there under my nose.

Has that ever happened to you?

You pray and pray and pray for something to show up, for something to be provided, when, seemingly out of nowhere you see the answer to your prayer?

AND IT HAS BEEN RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU THE WHOLE TIME?
And then you are overcome with both gratefulness and grief that he has chosen to bless you in spite of me being completely unaware.

I mean, seriously. This is reminiscent of those times that I go searching searching searching through my closet for some scarf or boot, only to realize 7 minutes into the frustrated hunt that it is in my hand.

Don’t tell me you don’t know what I am talking about.

Because I know all of you walk into the kitchen on some mission only to get there and go, “Now, what was it that I came in here for?”
And then we stand there with this blank stare and just end up eating hummus because we don’t have the foggiest clue what in the world took us to the kitchen.

Well this was kind of like that.

Kind of.
I mean, am I so utterly preoccupied with praying for something new to come into my life that I don’t even recognize the answered prayers that are already there? That have always been there? That he has already provided?

Whoa.

I think I really must be a basket case.

Praise his name for new mercies every morning because, well, if they weren’t there I probably wouldn’t be out of bed yet. Seriously.

Lately I have been meditating on a scripture that is so simple, yet, no surprise here, I can’t wrap my brain around it. No way.

“But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.  And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:6-8)

But how true, Wolfies. He knows what we need way before we ask him.

And sometimes…sometimes…he has provided it before we ask him, too.
My prayer is that we would be a people who have eyes to see. To see his goodness. To see his mercy. To see his hand in everything; in the fullness and in the lack. And in what is already there.

To Have Us Meet.

Earlier in the summer I took my nieces and nephew to one of those town festivals. You know the ones. With the rides and the cotton candy and the public displays of parenthood and the thousands of people in too small a space that pushes me to the brink of being a hot mess. Yeah, that one.

The ones where the big sister loves it, the little sister is terrified, and the baby boy thinks the carousel deserves a thumbs up.

Waiting their precious turn. You can see the fear creeping in on the blond one.

Said Fear in the blond one.

Which of these is faking a good time?! Bahah!

What a ham.

 

It’s great fun for the wee ones. Until someone has a melt-down. Which, is usually me.

And then my 6 year old niece has to take me by the hand and lead me to the car and tell me we all need to go home now.

Ha.

Not really.

 But that would be hysterical.

Anyway, so these things are prime real estate if you are in the market for people-watching the masses and being more overstimulated than any human ever should be.

However, something I found incredibly interesting was, despite the fact that you are surrounded by literally THOUSANDS of people in a matter of two blocks, don’t expect to meet anybody. As crazy as it sounds, the odds of you meeting someone at a function like this, apart from being introduced by someone you already know, and actually becoming friends with them are slim to none.

And as I was pondering this while passing out way too much cotton candy to the babies it occurred to me that, really, the odds of meeting anyone anywhere—apart from being introduced—again, are not in your favor. I mean, there are 7 billion people on this planet, and to just “happen” to meet someone who your soul recognizes as a kindred spirit? To have your eyes connect with someone and both of you feel this pull to go talk to them?

No. Way.

As in, if I was a gambling woman, I would never bet on you meeting a stranger in a strange place and becoming the best of friends.

Apart from a miracle, this almost never seems to happen.

*BINGO*LIGHTBULB*

 “Apart from a miracle.”

See, here is the deal: I didn’t meet anyone that day. How is it possible to have thousands of people pass in and out of my line of vision but not make eye contact for more than a split second with any one person?  How was no connection of any kind made? It baffles my mind.

But here is the second deal: I have met complete strangers in completely strange places. And have become the best of friends.
And let me tell you: it was nothing short of a miracle. Because usually I wasn’t even supposed to be there. The reasons why I was in whatever place at whatever time and we happened to meet—I could not replicate again if my life depended on it.

This being said, the longer I am a Christian the more I stop believing in ANYTHING being random; coincidental. I see my life and I see how it works; I see the experiences I have had and how they came to be, I see those relationships I was talking about—the ones that appeared “out of thin air”—and I can’t be anything but amazed. I can’t say anything other than “Jesus did that.” Because truth be told, not only could I not duplicate the situation, I couldn’t have manipulated, persuaded, coerced, finagled, or broken myself into any of those situations in the first place!

And I can manipulate, persuade, coerce, finagle, or break myself in to almost any situation.

But not these. They came from so far out in left field, they blindsided me so entirely that I can do nothing but sit back and say, in the words of Taylor Swift herself, “I never saw you coming.”

Why?

Because meeting people is a miracle. It has to be! It has the signature of Jesus written ALL OVER IT. Because it doesn’t just happen. Not on its own. Being surrounded by thousands of people OR being just you and two other people in a doctor’s waiting room is not conducive to striking up a friendship; this stuff doesn’t just happen.

So—when it does happen…whoa.

That’s the hand of God right there.

For whatever reason, he has gone and gathered you all up from your path of life, and he has collected some stranger from their path of life, both of you walking the path of every “random” thing that happened that day to put you both in exactly the same place at exactly the same time, and for whatever reason, for however long, he literally places you right in front of each other. Or you literally run into each other (this has happened to me).

And your eyes meet.
And there is just something that….clicks.
And you both smile and say “hi.”

 

For whatever reason.

 

A miracle.

Now, some of you are probably thinking I am going to tell you that I “met someone” and our eyes met and we smiled and we swooned and that was the beginning of forever.

But no. That is not why I write this.
Sorry to disappoint.
Nope. I am not speaking of “the one”. But I have met a lot of “someones” and I have a lot of very dear friends, and every time I sit back and think about them, I am driven to amazement and say, “Thank you, Jesus. You did that. If it had been up to me I wouldn’t have even been there; but you orchestrated that and it was brilliant and all I can say is Thank You. Thank you for entering me into a miracle.”

Which, maybe that’s the point.

Maybe—and I think I am onto something—maybe that’s what relationships are about. Or even just meeting someone and the ensuing conversation, that’s what it’s all about: praising him for a miracle.

Having the eyes to see his hand weaving aspects of your life; to accept that he is involved in the details details details of my daily life while carefully crafting the events that will shape my eternity.
Seeing him everywhere does that; it shapes my eternity. Being thankful echoes far beyond this life.

 And I think that’s maybe why he does it. That’s why he works miracles for us. That’s why he interrupts our life sometimes by having a simple hello lead to a million little things.

There is this passage in Acts that is one of my very favorites and it speaks so brilliantly to the topic.

"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. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything. Rather, he himself gives everyone life and breath and everything else. From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of where they live. God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us.” (Acts 17:24-27)

Isn’t that the most nuts thing you have ever heard?

God, the big God who needs nothing human hands can give him, the one who makes all and is Lord of all, NOT ONLY gives everyone their life and breath and everything else, he then goes and marks out the times in history we will be where we are, and decides where we are going to live. Not because he created us as robots, not because we are pieces in his chess game. No.

But so that we would seek him and –perhaps—reach out for him and find him.

Whoa.

Details details details. So that we would seek him. See him. And perhaps be led to reach out to him, even though, and this seems a little redundant to say at this point, he is not far from any one of us.

If your mind didn’t just explode about this, I don’t know what else could pack a punch.

The God of the universe knows exactly where you are. He set up where you should live. He gives you life and breath and everything else. He makes your eyes connect with another and have things just click. He brings the miracle.

So.That.We.Would.Seek.Him.

Love the people in your life, Wolfies. Love the God who brought them there. It didn’t just happen.

It was a miracle.

Speak Jesus.

Maybe it’s because it was raining. Maybe it’s because I was canning tomatoes and feeling nostalgic. Maybe it’s because I was listening to The Civil Wars. Or maybe it’s because I didn’t know what to say.
But there I stood, at my kitchen sink looking out over my soon-to-be-turning-gold-and-red yard, and crying.
Not one given to tears, I have told you as such, I never really know what to do with myself when they come. So I let them come. And I think in some way that’s a prayer in itself, letting the Lord see my tears. An outward expression that this—THIS—is really important to me.

And even though it was important enough for me to cry about, like I said, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to ask Jesus, I didn’t know where to start.

A dear friend of mine had let me know that her baby sister is not in a good way. Her baby sister is 12. And she is a 12 year old girl who already has some dragons to fight. She is in the midst of her first battle.

They are dragons I know about fighting. Dragons I know about running away from.

Hearing about her story brought back to my mind all of my stories. It was like I was 12 again, not even knowing what the heck was going on, just knowing that I was angry and sad and defiant and didn’t want to be touched but wanted more than anything to be held yet feeling more wild than ever before, but wanted more than anything to know that it was all going to turn out ok. That I was going to be ok. I wanted it to go away, this thing I had brought upon myself.
Sort of.
In reality it had been presented to me and I had taken the bait.
But how was I to know where the bait would lead? I was 12.

The baby sister is 12, too.

So I cried. Because I didn’t know what to say, because when I was 12 I didn’t know what to say, either. And I imagine she doesn’t either.

Tomato in hand, tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, memories flashing through my mind, it seemed all I could think to say was, “Jesus.”

That was it. There was no eloquence. It was just the deep of me calling to the deep of Him. There wasn’t even a simple “Help her.” Because help isn’t really what she needs.

No.

When you are running away from dragons, it’s not like you need help tying your shoes or help carrying your backpack. You need out. You need something bigger than you. 

You need Jesus.

Because he is more than “help.”

Praise the Lord he is more than “help.”

Really, what else could I have prayed then?

Would anything else have been sufficient?

Could I have asked for rescue? Miracle? Savior?

But when does “rescue” not mean Jesus? When does “miracle” not mean Jesus? When has “Savior” ever meant anything other than Jesus?

Never.

And isn’t that the truth? Does anything else ever need to be said? Is there anything greater than “Jesus”?

When things are good? “Jesus.” When things are bad? “Jesus.” When you don’t know what’s going on? “Jesus.” When it seems all hope is gone? “Jesus.” When all have left and walked away? “Jesus.” When the sun shines so gloriously on you and all you see is blessing? Still “Jesus.”

Because when you say that, it’s not just a name. It means all the thousands of things he has done for us. It represents his character, it stands for his power, it’s the name of love. And when you are battle weary, to take a thought from Tozer, we don’t need his attributes, we need HIM.

I think part of the tears that day did come from a line in the new Civil Wars song, because it seemed as if I had heard it before.

Then I remembered: I heard it when I was 14. He said it to me. “He” being that Jesus guy I always seem to talk about; the one who is the greatest of all my stories.

“Let me in the walls you’ve built around; we can light a match and burn them down. And let me hold your hand and dance ‘round and ‘round the flame in front of us. Dust to dust.”

See, all those years ago, that was my invitation; he stood there asking if he could burn down all my walls. Years prior to that I had taken a bait. A bait not from him, a bait that led me through forests and in contact with all kinds of monsters tailor-made just for me.

Maybe then I didn’t know what to say to him, either. Certainly I didn’t have anything figured out at that point.

I think, just maybe, that was his response, his invitation, when I whispered that first time, “Jesus.” Because I didn’t know what else to say, I just know I needed HIM.

My rescue came. My miracle came. My Savior had come.

And we burned down those walls.

And he still comes.

Thank you, Jesus, for still coming. For still burning down walls. For still inviting.

Pray for Baby Sister, dear Wolfies. And whatever dragon you are running from right now, pray “Jesus.”

Burn Lines.

Self-disclosure is the name of the game, I suppose, since I claim to be one of those “bloggers.” But self-disclosure is not on the list of my favorite things to do. Nevertheless, here we go:

I have been a prejudiced person.

I have held beliefs about people I did not know, cultures I did not live in, mindsets I did not understand. I thought my knowledge of these things was extensive, so therefore my judgments about them must be true, I convinced myself. I was among the number of those who would make comments about “those people.”

Whoever “those people” were. It didn’t matter what they called themselves; I had an opinion I thought was valid, educated. After all, I have been everywhere and done everything and had every experience, right?

Ummmm….maybe not.

So this summer I go overseas. Thinking I know what to expect. Thinking it will be like things I have seen before, thinking it will be kind of like parts of the United States because, people from over there live here, too. So surely I understand what I am getting myself into.

And I was absolutely aware of what my ideas were about them.

Can I just tell you I had bad ideas about them?

Where I got these ideas, who knows? Maybe the news (which, why any of us would believe any news is just BEYOND me. If we think there is some news out there that isn’t propaganda of some kind, promoting someone’s agenda, I feel like we all must be living in a grand state of denial, but I digress.). Or maybe I heard these thoughts and views from friends, speakers, other people’s stories, etc etc. Or maybe it all came from a fear of the unknown, of fear of those things we only whisper—or protest—about. The source is irrelevant, my preconceived notions are the issue at hand.

So I get there, and in a matter of almost no time at all I am startled to realize that all I ever thought about certain people was probably wrong. All the issues in my mind that were so cut and dry, black and white, easily fixable if all they would do is listen to me----yeah. Maybe not.

Is it possible I have been wrong all these years? And then what’s worse, I have to ask myself if I have spread those beliefs and notions to others as if they are gospel?

When I was out West this summer I was visiting with a new friend who works for a ministry that tries to bring religious leaders of different denominations together. The topic of revival came up.

“Why is it that we only have local, secluded revivals any more these days?" I said. "I mean, we see really good things happening in one church, but just down the street at a different church it seems like nothing is going on. How are we not meeting in the middle? I mean, it’s the same God, the same Jesus, the same Holy Spirit doing crazy work!”

His answer caught me off guard. “It’s simple, really. Do you know how when you are fighting a forest fire they put most of their energies not to throwing water on it, but to creating burn lines? Well, it’s like that. The reason revival doesn’t meet in the middle is because there are already burn lines created. See, the devil knows that he can’t put out the fire of the Spirit, but he can create a burn line. He can build up prejudices in someone’s mind; he can say ‘Oh, well those people are Baptists. Catholics. Methodists. Reformed. Pentecostals. We don’t go there.’ So----we don’t go there. And the fire stays behind the burn line until it runs out of fuel there and then it dies. That’s why we have no unified revival.”

Whoa.

My mind was blown!

But how seriously true.

 And as I was pondering this thinking, “Yes yes how true,” that’s when it hit me like a freight train:

I had done a good job of quenching the fire: I had created my own burn lines.
Sure, maybe I had never said to my church’s outreach community, “Oh, let’s not join forces with that church, they don’t feel the same way about the Holy Spirit that we do,” but I know for a fact I had thought, “Yeah, I don’t socialize in THAT neighborhood; I don’t agree with THOSE people.”

Shame on me. I had my ideas, my {un}educated notions, my predisposed beliefs, and I let them stop me from going there. I let it stop me from seeing those people. And not just seeing their need—Oh I was AWARE of the depth of their need, that’s why I stayed away—but from seeing THEM. As humans. As people. People with thoughts and feelings and ways of doing things and people not really too terribly different from me, even if our means to reach our ends are different.

I didn’t care who they claimed to be; I thought I knew the actual truth about them.

I didn’t actually know, by the way. In case you were wondering.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, I must.
I didn’t know about far-away cultures, which leads me to assume that I probably don’t know about “those” neighborhoods in my town, either.

A few weeks ago I was reading in one of the Gospels and I came to the well-known story of where Jesus casts out that legion of demons and they run into pigs and then rush off the side of a cliff. But this time I was alerted to the early description in the story.

“When Jesus got out of the boat, a man with an evil spirit came from the tombs to meet him. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him any more, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and fell on his knees in front of him. He shouted at the top of his voice, ‘What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Swear to God that you won’t torture me!’ For Jesus had said to him, ‘Come out of this man, you evil spirit!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’” (Mark 5:2-9)

Isn’t that so interesting? Also so harrowingly sad?

I mean, people tried to chain him. They would go to him to bind him.
Yes, I realize they were doing it for their own safety. Yes, I realize he was someone to be afraid of.
How brilliant then, when Jesus shows up and he IS NOT AFRAID OF HIM.
He doesn’t make Jesus run away. Jesus doesn’t want to bind him. Jesus doesn’t want to push him off to the side. He doesn’t say, “Go back to the tombs where you came from.”

One of the main things I love about Jesus is that he doesn’t get intimidated. People groups and religions that are different than mine don’t scare him. Jesus doesn’t look at people and say, “Oh, well you belong to that group, and I don’t really go there. I don’t go to YOUR people.” He doesn’t refuse to socialize with someone. He doesn’t turn up his nose at someone the way I am sure the snob in me does.

Jesus doesn’t create burn lines.

Jesus asks what their names are. Just like he did with that man.

He doesn’t bind, he doesn’t make go them away, he doesn’t run away, he doesn’t tie up people in chains. He heals.
He takes away the reason they make people afraid.

Jesus doesn’t have favorites. Isn’t that brilliant? For who is to say that, if he did, I would be one that he would have chosen? His choosings are mysterious things, I understand that. But that he has chosen any of us is nothing short of miraculous. That he has “asked what your name is” is simply the greatest news on this earth.

That he didn’t pay attention to the burn line surrounding you, well, it’s something beautiful enough to cry about.

And then there is the sobering thought that we, the ones Jesus has called by name, we always think we are the one in the chains, the one who needs to be freed. But have you ever thought that you might actually be the one putting someone in a chain? Asking someone to just go leave, “Go back where you came from,” thinking that things were better when they weren’t here…?
Why do we always think we are the good soil? Surely we don’t get that idea from the Bible.

I don’t even know what else to say.

If nothing I have said makes any sense to you, please know this: Jesus doesn’t have group preferences. He doesn’t think some people are “enemies.”

I will close with this passage in Revelation that moves me to tears lately.

“After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice: ‘ Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.’” (Revelation 7:9-10)

I am a weepy mess.

Because, here’s the deal: Jesus doesn’t care what group you have put yourself in, whose you claim to be. He doesn’t care who you have chained. He doesn’t care what burn lines you think are true, right, real, or actually just afraid of. He doesn’t pay attention to our thoughts about certain people groups.
There is no favoritism in his mind of who will stand before his throne, saying about him, “Salvation is yours, good God.” He will call from every group. From behind every burn line we create.

And if HE creates no burn lines, if he sees people as people rather than as members of a group, then how in the world can WE, people who are nothing but loved and safe in his hand, have any thoughts different than his?

A Moment in My Morning.

Ta-da and Happy Saturday, you beautiful people!
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Because I do. The other day I was praying for all of you (I do that-did you know?) and I just found myself saying, “Jesus, thank you for sending people to this little page. Just knowing they are there ministers to me.”
So thank you. Because you do minister to me.
And I know I don’t even know some of you. But my heart is open to you, do you understand?

Anyway. I just thought we needed to have a bit of a DTR (define the relationship) this morning. I’m great with you if you are great with me. Ok? Ok.

There is something I want to tell you, but I can’t yet. Like, I have this concept rolling around in my mind, I know the words I want to put here on this page, but still something holds me.

And do you want to know what the pause is?
What I want to tell you I don’t quite have a handle on yet. Not the writing part—I could write about anything whenever. But the concept. The truth woven into it. It’s a truth I know, but one that isn’t residing in my heart this week, does that make sense?
And I want to be honest with you. I don’t want to give you a little essay about something I can’t wholeheartedly say, “Yes, this is my truth today. Today I know it.”
Someday, hopefully soon, I will KNOW it again; I will feel it in my bones. Then we will talk.

For now, though, let me tell you what’s going on; where my soul resides right now.

I am still home and Fall is rapidly approaching. I am also still (because it is a constant) mulling, “And where should I travel to next?!” No decisions yet. Ideas, yes. But no tickets purchased as of now.

I am creating up a storm. I have given myself this outrageous goal and am going for it like it’s my day job. Oh wait: it is my day job.

 

As you know, I am a journal-er and since returning to my abode I have finished another one. Never one to leave well enough alone, I am recovering the new journal which my mother so lovingly gifted me with. It’s fabulous paper—and there is something to that, Wolfies! Trust me—I know.

My deep-seeded love of piano has flared up again, so I pluck away.

Listen, there are people who are talented in music and there are people who are gifted.
I am talented: I have to practice. A brother of mine is gifted, which means that after I have spent HOURS polishing this baby, he will hear me play it once and sit down and pretty much just play it from ear and memory.
Oh the nerve!

I think I have recovered from when all my babies were here. : )

The tomatoes have arrived. I once included a line in a gift-book to a friend that went “There are only two things money can’t buy: Love and homegrown tomatoes.”

Yep, nailed that one.

Since I am practically living in my studio these days I have stumbled upon some fabulous Lends-Itself-To-Brilliance music.

Check out this stuff. It’s totally becoming my jam:

Montana Skies

Olafur Arnalds—his stuff makes me want to weep.

 Zoe Keating--She is totally avant garde, but great.

I am still praying impossible things. Still expecting mymiracles. They will come. Because He is good. I have been reminded recently that they who wait—win. So I am taking as my mantra, “In quietness and trust is my strength.” (Isaiah 30:15)

And finally, let me just share with you some Jesus this morning. For really—is there anything else you need? Is there anything else that is going to quiet your heart? Anything that will remind you more that all is seen, all is noted, none are alone, weariness has a rescue, and grace is sufficient?

Let’s not even think those thoughts, shall we? Because you and I both know to the very core of us, those thoughts aren’t true.
We know where peace resides.

Twice in the same day Jesus told me to read a certain passage. And wouldn’t you know it, it was the same passage in different places. Now how’s that for a word from God?

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifs to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:9-11 & Luke 11:13)

 

*Sigh.
That is so good, babies. He is a generous father. He invented the idea of gifts. Which means he is the best at it.
What in your life right now is a gift from him that maybe you aren’t recognizing? Ponder. Be thankful. Say Hallelujah.
Happy Saturday.

Killing Rome.

 

Sometimes I have to stop and ask myself, “Do you know how old you’re acting right now?” I mean, let’s be honest. Sometimes I can be such a baby.

A couple months ago one of my very best friends was visiting with her hubby and their brand new, sups adorbs (“super adorable” abbreviation, FYI {For Your Information : )  }) first child. Being the great parents they already are, they provide for their child. They love on and rock-a-bye and bathe and clothe and feed the cutey little man. One morning, when it was daddy’s turn to feed baby, he was being great: he warmed up the bottle. He was getting it just right; just the way Little Mister likes it.

Yet Little Mister was having none of it.
He had decided about 37 seconds before it was ready that he was hungry and he was now done waiting. He came unglued. Irritated. Annoyed. Angry. Red in the face. Squirming and kicking and screaming.

Inconsolable.

The daddy- remember the one who was getting the food just right, just perfect for his son he loves so much?- looks over, smiles at his son and says, “Relax, child.” Then he turns to me and says “You never understand God until you have a kid of your own. You also never understand yourself until you have one either. Like, how, as an adult we still throw tantrums in front of God—a God who will always feed us and make it just right— because he is not feeding us fast enough on our recently-decided whim.”

Whoa.

Way to go, new daddy.
That’s insight right there, Wolfies.

But do you know what I mean? Sometimes (more often than I would like to admit, even to myself—ESPESCIALLY to myself) I just feel really young and hungry.

So I throw a tantrum. Because I don’t want to wait anymore. Forget the fact that God is probably warming everything up so that it’s the best.

Sure, maybe I don’t throw my head back and start wailing (although, that does sound like something I might do), but so annoyed that I want to scream? Or yell at whoever is closest? Or call my best friend and bawl….like a baby?

You bet.

All of that sounds like me.

Because, let me tell you a little secret about myself: I want what I want when I want it.

 
And I typically want it now.

 Right now.

 This instant.

No, now that I think about it, I want it yesterday.

If I could already be getting bored with it right now, like a child’s toy at Christmas, that would be great. Thanks.

And then when I don’t get it I get all sassy.

Because I am a baby.

All I am thinking about when I throw my adult tantrums is me. No surprise there. Things should be working into my hand, I think.
Why in the world do I think this? Am I not too old for such antics?

Besides the obvious answer of “sin,” I think I discovered a new answer this summer. I want what I want when I want it, I throw my tantrums, I demand my own way, I am a baby, because I am Western.

Roman.

Wow so very Roman.

And Roman means impatient-self-centered-I-will-bulldoze-you-over-if-you-don’t-do-what-I-want.

You know, I have traveled a lot in my life, but never before this summer was I out of the West.

I really realized I was “not in Kansas anymore” when I was at a Christian holy site in Israel and walked into a cathedral the Catholics had been nice enough to build on top of the site.
It was in that instant when I walked in and said to myself, “Now this feels like home…”  It was big and bold and beautiful and decorated and visually loud and all things that exemplify the west. It was built to commemorate something, celebrate something, make a big deal out of something. Suddenly in that building I didn’t feel foreign. It was what I was used to.

Here, let me show you.

Western-style Cathedral in the East.

 

This is what sacred sites look like in the west.

At a very dear friends' wedding in the States.



St. Mark's Basilica. Venice. My favorite church in the world.



The Vatican. Rome.

Sacre Coeur. Paris.

Cathedral. Budapest.

Hillsborough, Northern Ireland.

Il Duomo. Florence.

This is what they look like in the East.

Wailing Wall.

 

1st Century Synagogue.

Dome of the Rock

Mecca

 

Do you now see how when I saw the Western cathedral in the East I felt like I was right back in the West because nothing up until that point had looked familiar?

But, unlike reveling in the comfort of home, I found myself thinking, “Something feels off to me. How did it all get so loud? How did it all get so in-your-face? When did it start demanding attention?”

I think it’s when we went to Rome.

No, I don’t mean Roman Catholicism. Goodness sakes, I do not bash denominations on here.

I am talking the Roman Empire. You know, the conquerors of the world. The ones who came after the Egyptians, Israelites, Babylonians, Assyrians, Persians.
Like the Herods and the Caesars and Nero and all those guys on serious power trips.
Like all those guys who demanded their own way.
Who wanted what they wanted when they wanted it and took it by force if not immediately delivered on a platter.

See, here’s the deal: if unchecked, your culture molds your faith. And we all know that your faith molds your lifestyle.

And in the West, we’re Roman. We were founded by Romans. Our culture bleeds Rome.
Naturally then, we think Roman, we live Roman, we like Roman entertainment, we dress Roman, we eat like the indulgent Romans.
In the West we go and we conquer and we take what we want.
We are young and hungry and demanding and whiney and have never had our cages rattled.
We’re babies in relative comparison to the rest of the world.

But the East. The East is old. It’s seen empires rise…and empires fall…and rise again….and inevitably fall.

It’s patient. It knows this too will pass. They know a thing or two about enduring; waiting for God to move.
In the East they wander in hot deserts for 40 years or get put in exile in foreign lands for hundreds of years. They still—to this day— have quasi-arranged marriages because, like Tziry told me, “It’s worked for my people for 3,000 years. We have a less than 10% divorce rate; so we still do it that way.”
There are things about that culture that have been done the same way for like 4,000 years; they haven’t eaten pork since the Old Testament. I mean, seriously.
They know what you need to do to withstand all the rise and fall.

You wait. You don’t demand. You don’t yell. You don’t throw a tantrum.

You wait. And you pray.

I am Western. Roman. Same thing. Did I mention that?

I don’t wait well. I demand well. I yell well. I throw tantrums well, like the baby I am. Like the baby the West is. Like my friend’s little guy who hasn’t quite figured out that daddy will always provide; always feed him.

And so I come back from my trip, now knowing all that I just told you, and I see myself falling into Roman-faith patterns again, already praying about subjects of various kinds, “Jesus! How come this is not happening when I want it?!!?” Wah wah wah! I cry.  And I journal and boldly demand my own way to the face of a patient God.

To a God who isn’t Roman.

To a God who takes all eternity to accomplish his purpose. To a God who has no need to demand because he rightfully owns all, ergo, meaning that if I am demanding my own way, let’s just say that is not something created in me from his image, capiche?
To a God who says, “I work in the absence of time; to me a day is like a thousand years and the opposite is true, too. Time holds no constrain on me. I am held not by its power.”
I see myself trying to force a non-Roman God to do things in my Roman way.

WHO. DO. I. THINK. I. AM?

I am a Roman-saturated punk-baby throwing a tantrum. That’s who I am.

You will have guessed that that’s not working so well for me. Why would it? It’s not how God works and usually things only work when you work with God.

Rome is a fierce hold. Read history. They owned the world without thought. When they were creating the empire I live in they were not caring about me, they were not out for my good, they were forcing what they wanted. They took and they demanded and they conquered and they won and they ruled and feasted and gloried and then they did it all over again.

Until the next conquerors said to them, “Yeah, we’re done with you.”

See, the ones who came after knew something that you and I have to know if we are EVER going to get ahold of this situation in our lives; if that tantrums will ever stop:

                Either you kill Rome, or Rome will kill you.

My life is no different.

This demanding my own way. This wanting what I want when I want it. My tantrums. All that is in me that bleeds Rome.
Either I have to stop, wait, be patient, trust God, and let Jesus kill Rome, or Rome will kill me.

Impossibly Very Real.

Good morning, Wolfies!!
All my Fam-Fam is gathered together for the holiday week, so we seem to be doing a lot of lollygagging and eating and having company and eating and talking and laughing and discussing and eating.

We have a good time.

This is our serious picture.

~~

You know, for whatever reason, ever since I got home I have had this urge to pray. About all different kinds of things.

But mainly, I want to pray impossible things.

Maybe just being there in the “Holy Land” where all that crazy nuts stuff happened, and realizing that it wasn’t actually crazy nuts stuff; it was all really real life with really real heat and really real people who probably didn’t like some foods and had really dirty feet and grody clothes (because I had dirty feet and grody clothes)—all that crazy nuts stuff happened in THAT environment.

I mean, there were no goosebumps of "being in some special place."
All those stories in the Bible aren’t esoteric or mysterious or voodoo-esque or tantalizing.
It was crazy nuts stuff that happened to real people in real cities.
And I think, “But….but…I am a real person in a real city. I want to see all kinds of crazy nuts stuff.”

In the Holy Land you see that God is “smaller”—meaning more real—than you ever thought. Yet at the same time he is so much bigger than anything I have ever imagined.

God does crazy nuts stuff in the very real lives of very real people. He truly does the impossible.

That which I can’t do.
That which I can’t manipulate.
That which I don’t have power to make happen.
A thought came to my mind the other day: “Yeah, that is impossible; that is, if the person who is trying to accomplish it doesn’t have the power to move mountains. But he does.”

He can move impossible mountains.

And I want to pray that through to my life.

I want to give him free rein to do it his way.
Because his way is cooler.
And miraculous.
And supernatural.
And impossible.
But very real.

Pray impossible things, babies. You are not asking for too much.