Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Three Years Ago

Close to three years ago I wrote these words:

New journal, same me. Less than a week until we depart for Kenya and as it gets closer, the more terrified I become. I hold onto Psalm 96 with clenched fist because You gave it to me as ammo. An arsenal of hope, bullets to fire at my doubt, a cannon with a boom that restarts my heart. 
'Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness; tremble before him, all the earth.' 
I wonder what tying these two together would look like. Is holy attire purchased with knocking knees? If Christ is our holy attire would wondrous awe, petrifying reverence be our state of mind? Our response to this weight could only be the obvious. Our only words possible would be, 'The Lord reigns!  Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved; he will judge the people with equity,' because those are Your words given to us. Your words are my words, You give them to me, they are as natural as breath.
That is a good way to begin a new journal. These words are Your words, I have them because You gave them, and for that I will rejoice. Let these pages become a new song to You. 
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we have also forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

Now three years later, I am dumbfounded these phrases came out of this same person. I am reading these words as if someone else wrote them. Where did my belief go? Where is the heart, zeal, and passion that carried me thousands of miles for thousands of hours? God I want that sloppy Spirit back. I'll do anything for it. 

God, carry me again.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

In a field...

Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I lose my thoughts and feel my unbelief.

Do we see the adventure? Do we see the risk? It is joyful and exuberant! Light beams and seems to bend over the horizon as the dusk cowers and flees. Do we see the prize? Do we smell the fragrance? The lumps in our hands seem idiotic. Our gaze holds tearful delight. Why do we maintain; what is the use of composure? Everything is worth nothing as the earth buckles back. The change, the weight of it, flicks out of our pockets as we skip to the market.

Everything must go, for I found it. And it is so good.