What I'm Counting On

I've recently been going through a season of understanding where I place my Hope. It's important that you understand what I mean by hope so I'll define it for ya.

hope
1. (n.) a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

2. (n.) a feeling of trust.

The word expectation is also important to define here.

Expectation

1. (n.) The act or state of expecting or looking forward to an event as about to happen.
2. (n.) That which is expected or looked for.

3. (n.) The prospect of the future; grounds upon which something excellent is expected to happen; prospect of anything good to come, esp. of property or rank.

4. (n.) The value of any chance (as the prospect of prize or property) which depends upon some contingent event. Expectations are computed for or against the occurrence of the event.

5. (n.) The leaving of the disease principally to the efforts of nature to effect a cure.

The Biblical definition of the word Hope means to be "exceedingly expecting".


What I've realized is that I've put a LOT of hope in things I can't rely on. I think we all tend to do that though. Either its that person we like or that job we want or even that grade we want, we tend to put a lot of trust into something or someone that simply can't be depended on. It's not that that person isn't "good enough" or "reliable enough" or what have you or that you're not "smart enough" or "experienced enough" to get the job or grade that you want, its just that it's all built on sand. Things change. That is a fact. So if our hopes are constructed around something that can change then we can lose hope and that is the easiest way to wound our hearts.

Proverb 13:12 says:

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.

I found myself in this place where I was just so terribly heartsick by my circumstances and I couldn't help but cry out to God and ask: "What is going on?!" "Why do I feel like this?" "What am I doing wrong, Lord?!"

God brought me to this verse and it has really caused me to evaluate my hopes. 1 Peter 1:3 says:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,"

I've really had to make a conscious effort to keep my hope in Christ alone. What things am I hoping for instead of hoping in Jesus? Because those same things can be the death of my heart. Every time I hope in something that is shifting and changing I risk heart failure. I risk apathy. I risk hurt. This is huge! Because in Proverb 4:23 it says:

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.

BOOM! How can we expect to live a full life if our hearts, from which EVERYTHING WE DO FLOWS, are always sick?! So I was checking out John Mark McMillan's Album "Borderland" And its been the sound track to this season of my life and the song "Counting On" has become my anthem. Because quite frankly He is what I'm counting on. For my business. For my future spouse. For my breakfast every morning. For my health. For any fruit in my life. I'm just a branch sown into the Vine. I can't do anything without him, I rely solely on Him to bring life to my death.

Becoming a man...

Sometimes, I wish that becoming a man was as easy as our culture makes it look. Sometimes, I wish that becoming a man was a simple as some treat it. Sometimes I envy those who spend their life as boys, never having to actually step up to the proverbial plate before them. It's so much easier! It takes so much less time. Get a job, get a car, get a wife. Have kids. Presto, man. Like, making money and obtaining things automatically brings us to some kind of maturity. Like having a women is more effective than loving a women. Like working a job is more important than effecting a life. As if when we learn to focus on ourselves, we suddenly reach the pentacle of our earthy existence.

I'm so tired of hearing about it. I'm so tired of seeing it! Watching people just blow themselves up over it. I watch young men fall apart every day over it! Then, when they get there they fall apart again. Realizing that everything they had hoped they'd get when they reached that goal isn't even there. That being a "man" isn't even the same thing as being a man. They get that cheap taste in their mouths and they don't even know how to cope with the lie they've been told for the last couple decades of their life.

It's really not surprising though. This life is so hard. This route I've decided to take is so long. It's drained years. Its drained emotions. Its drained patients. Its brought me to the edge of myself time and time again. Its caused me to stretch and become more than what circumstances have left me as. I've spent many sleepless nights crying out to God. I've shed enough tears to revitalize the Sierra desert. I've made mistakes. I've gotten hurt. It just isn't easy. But, even all that would be easy if only the path was clear. But it's not, it's wild. It's overrun with the unknown. It's an adventure. It requires more endurance and perception than any boy is capable of possessing. It forces us into men.

Real men are kind. Real men are patient. Real men are not self seeking. Real men are not puffed up. Real men don't envy. Real men aren't provoked. Real men think no evil. Real men don't celebrate iniquity. Real men celebrate truth. Real men bear all things. Real men believe all things. Real men HOPES all things. Real men endure. Real men are Love. And love doesn't fail. Love goes to the places other people don't want to go. It does the work, most men deem too difficult. It deals with the situations people don't want to deal with. Love is hard.

So I'm learning to put away childish things. To set the video games, the fantasies, the delusions aside. To focus on the things that are not just important to my Father, but to me. Honestly.

I am so far from being a man. Each day takes me no measurable distance closer to becoming one. Its a process. If it wasn't, we wouldn't need seventy plus years to do it. So, I sit here. Screaming in the night. Fighting in the day. Desperately trying to look forward. Trying to learn from my mistakes. Trying to learn to be kind. Trying to learn to be love. And even though I usually feel unqualified, ill-equipped and stacked against... I take Hope that the same spirit that raised Christ from the dead is working in me. Teaching me to be in this world and not off it. To work. To use my passions for glory. To love. Bringing me hope when in the dead of night it all just seems so hopeless.

This video by Trae Elijah says it pretty accurately.

Today I Had The Most Beautiful Farewell...

Today I had the privilege of seeing my Grandmother buried.

My Grandmother was a key character in my life. She instilled in me an honesty and an integrity which I can owe no other. I would not be the man I am today without her love and care. I think back now on a time when my sister and I were fighting, I was a very insecure young 14 year old boy. My sisters used to call me a fag and a fairy and pretty much any un-masculine thing they could think of. They would attack my identity at its core and they never held back blows. My father taught me to treat women with respect. I was never allowed to raise my hand, never allowed to use my aggression against a girl. However words were something he often abused. So finally after an onslaught of verbal abuse I finally screamed back at her some of the most hurtful things one could ever say about a girl. I remember her turning and literally running off crying. I had finally beaten her at her own game. Then my Grandmother, who rarely left her room came out. She had hear the whole conversation. I can still see her vividly in her psychedelic robe...
"Are you happy with yourself?" She asked. I didn't reply... I wasn't.
"She said worse things to me!" I finally replied.
"It doesn't matter." She relied before I could finish my sentence. She proceeded to read me the riot act. I was furious. It was unfair. Why was I in trouble when she had said the terrible things she had said... it was more than a year before I finally understood what she was trying to teach me. Two wrongs don't make a right. I always believed that... but I had never put that into context. Life altering. Suddenly I began to realize that no matter how someone made me feel... I was still responsible for my actions.

I could write books about the times in my life where this mean old woman would unfairly punish me when I wasn't the one in the wrong. Oh how I hated that. How I was offended by it. My brother would tell a boldface lied and I would tell a little fib and I'd be attacked in an instance. "Sneaky!" she called me. The audacity! When I got older however... I could do nothing but thank her. She carved character into me without me ever knowing it. What an amazing woman.

When Christ entered my life, my thoughts quickly turned to her and my father. Both whom's health was fading and who didn't know Jesus. I spent the first year of my saved life praying and lamenting over them. I remember once driving home with her... after spending the weekend with my father. She told me about a study she was going to at my Aunt Lorraine's church. She talked to me about God and asked me questions about my beliefs... she was so happy.. almost to tears when she heard my answer. GOD WAS GOOD! She had never known a good God. Only a condemning religious God... she was so excited... I didn't see her for another two years...

This Thanksgiving, her health finally began to fail. The family went to visit her. I wanted desperately to finish the conversation we had those two years ago but she wasn't in her right mind... and I got the impression my family was ready to blow up on me at the mention of Christ. I prayed all night the first night for strength to defy my family and blow them off and just ask her if she wanted to hear it. But when the opportunity arrived... it didn't seem right. She just smiled at me. I never asked... so I figured I would come up and visit another time without the family around so that we could talk, just the two of us.

After Thanksgiving we all headed home. The following Tuesday, she died.

I was mortified. The idea... of never seeing her again was crushing. It didn't hurt... I had already lamented her death long before she died because she didn't have Christ... but the reality of no Hope... was solemn.

Then when I arrived at her funeral... after the family had gathered... two women went up and shared an experience they had with her. They talked about the study she went to. About how she was "spunky" defiant. Oh boy did they know her. How intelligent she was. How strong she was. Suddenly it came to me where these women were going. Two years go, my grandmother dedicated her life to Jesus Christ. She accepted the King of Kings into her heart. Fully convinced, with a faith that would stagger my own, she faced cancer like the Lion I know she is. Peace was the result. Peace. That smile. All that time, she never told me. How could she. Our family was resentful of the entire idea of Christ. When could she have? Such few opportunities.

Now I know, that one day I will see that strong women again. A testament to my heritage  Someone who I am so proud to know I share the same blood with. I came to that funeral broken hearted and left full of excitement. Thank you Father, you are without a doubt, strong enough to save.

There is still Hope for Purity.

I wholly believe that there is still an obtainable purity in our minds bodies and souls. That it is not mad to believe that we can ascend beyond our flesh. That true love is made possible when purity is established above desire.

Cruel Little Boy

How cruel, how harsh a man can be. What wicked and tormented part of us wishes such harm on our fellow man? What hate have we hidden in our hearts that causes such strife and wrath? What Lord, is so hidden inside me? What, makes me forget time and time again of your great love?

I cry Lord, I plea! Take it away, forgive my soul. I have sinned Lord! I have fallen! What selfishness has overcome me?! How absurd! To even ask forgiveness... Like a cruel child I have attacked your children, and yet return to you for comfort. What boldness to approach you! What arrogance to beg from you!

Why Lord, do I have these scars? Why do I bleed so bad? Who Lord knows how deep these scars go? Who Lord has seen the blood and the pain? Who can understand the tears? What man can see the suffering? The years oh God spent locked away. Whipped and tortured. Burned and cut. Steel Bars of my own foolishness held me. Isolation befriended me. Sorry overwhelmed me. The years Lord, how long they were. The scars Lord, how deep they dug.

There he stood, his words they cut. His hands they smothered. In him was accusations. Around him was death. He drew before me my very actions. He threw upon me my own inequities! He stood there and accused me. His words were true, his charges just. Every crime I committed, every Sin I drank. He brought before me past and present. "To YOU!" he cried, "they belong!" He stamped on me my title, earned in full. He broke my bones. He cut my throat. He shut me in. He locked me away. There he burned me. There he stole from me all that I held dear.

I was alone Lord, bleeding to death I cried out. Surrounded, I surrendered. Desperately the words came out, painfully they were uttered. Save Me Lord. Save me from my selfishness! Save me from my cruelty! Save me from my hate! From my lust! From my envy! Pull from me these nails. I lay there helpless, my crimes before me.

And in the darkness I felt Your great hand. You reached inside me. You touched my heart. It was then you spoke, it was there that you proclaimed to me. "I, have felt these scars. I have seen this blood. I know how deep they go, I've felt their burn. In these hands I took your nails. In these hands I bore your Sin! I have stolen your title. I have set you free!" Your hands they held me. You pulled me free, they took the flames. Your hands they dug, they burrowed in. You felt my very beating heart, and there I lay covered in your great blood. Your heart in mine. Your fire is mine. You traded me my helpless body. You traded me my failing heart.

"Here I have planted, no deeper can one go. No further can one dig. Here I plant my flowing river. Here I rest my healing hands. In your heart I whisper my Word." You stitched me up, you covered me. You set upon me your shining crown. You stamped upon me your golden seal. How precious your blood. In me grew a heart of strength. In me grew a soul of love. "I have cast away your stoney heart. I have purged away your blood stained soul.

Yet Lord, here I stand my hands in blood. My heart so hard. And yet again I see those nails. Yet again I see Your blood. And there you stand, your hands in my heart. You lips across my forehead. You take the flames, you take the nails. You heal my heart. You feel the scars, how deep they go. "I know." You assure me "I will always love you."

Hallelujah!

Each Work Of Art Is a Portrait Of God

Today, some of the greatest young people of God I have ever met and certainly some of my best friends and closest brothers are off to preach to the nations! God has called them to the Philippines, lead by our amazing youth pastor into a broken land crying out for a touch from God. Their mission is honorable and absolutely amazing. I am so proud of them, inspired to new heights. However even with this great opportunity to share the love of our Father, I find myself torn and a little broken by their departure.I must ask myself, why Lord is it that my heart is broken at the separation of my brothers and sisters. What is it father that bonds each of us, so close together...

I read once, that every work of art is a self portrait. If this is true then truly I have seen the face of God. In each one of His children I have seen a piece of Him, a little part of Him revealed through His beautiful works of art. In each of the amazing men and women of God, now on their way to the Philippines rests a little piece of my God. I can not help but miss each of them because in each of them, I miss my God. His correction and words of Wisdom, His father like and mentoring spirit, His compassion and love for His children, His joy and heart for all man kind. His genuine care for the individual. All shown, all set on display for the world to see, in his unique and hand crafted works of art.

Through this revelation of our God I have discovered that the only way to truly see our God is to see each other, to know them and recognize Christ in them, to truly seek after the little piece of God He hid inside them, so perfect and flawless. I know that no matter how I try, I could never know my God without knowing His children. In that I find peace and hope, because there are many of His children and I know only a fraction of a fraction. Praise you God for your love and mercy. I love you God and in turn I love each of your pieces of creation.

These Hands

These hands are for the broken hearted, for the empty handed, for the lost and confused. These hands bring peace, these hands bring healing, these hands bring life, these hands are strength to weary bones. These hands carry fire, these hands consume guilt. These hands break strongholds. These hands are strong and mighty. these hands do not fail. These hands always love. These hands beckon joy. These hands carry hope. These Hands are not my own. These hands belong to you.

When all seems lost and hope is gone, when life is absent and death is present. These hands will carry, these hands will hold. When hearts are broken and men have failed, when the walls are too high and the steel is too strong, these hands will break these hands will bend. When you're all alone and light is fading, when you're broken down without words, these hands will heal these hands will bind.

These hands have been consumed. These hands have been crucified. These hands no longer bare my will. These hands no longer bleed my blood. These hands are His, these hands are life. These hands are Christ's, they will conquer, they will prosper.