Her Eyes

Rolling her blue eyes against another blue,
the sea, or against the sky,
I cast my lonely thoughts into her ocean
where release, sweet release, begins to
subdue the bonfire of my soul.
The web of my cares fills with her grace,
Mysteries revealed, stretching
through time, thought and being.
If only she could touch my heart,
If only she would breathe into my soul,
her mouth next to mine,
Warming the corridors frozen by the rain,
darkened by too many sundowns alone.
Like the end of a long absence,
like a sudden bell, her glance
claws its way into my consciousness,
shattering a reverie;
A dawning of the spirit,
awakening a too-long slumbering soul.

Still more old writings

Can we mature as Christians without suffering? As part of a forestry class in college we toured a plywood manufacturing mill. Part of the tour included a visit to the testing facility where sheets of the finished product were subjected to a variety of tests, being twisted, bent, folded, stretched and punctured to determine their structural integrity. The results of this testing determine the grade stamp on the finished product.

It is much the same with our spiritual maturation. God does not want us to be fragile, like a glass or porcelain vase. He would rather we have the spiritual integrity to endure the challenges that a fallen world brings our way. A greenhouse plant cannot endure the storms of a weather-beaten old oak. A sand dune is blown about by the wind, while the granite cliff endures the fiercest of elements.

To accomplish this he must take us into the testing room of suffering, perhaps for years at a time. And it may take many years of trials to produce the results He wants to see. To fall off and abandon my commitments, as many do, does not bring me into communion with Him. It merely means I will need to endure more testing later.

It is easy to talk and theorize about faith, but God often puts us into His crucible of affliction to test the purity of our gold, and the endurance of those around us. It separates the gold from the dross. But how happy I am now that the gales of His testing have eased, and made my Jesus more precious to me.

I Stand Transformed - Old writing

I wrote this about my son, and about the way he has blossomed (such a feminine word to describe a true man) since meeting my new daughter-in-law. I will write one for her soon, well, as soon as the words are given to me.

I have learned to lean entirely on God for my words now. I destroyed my old blog site (and this poem, too) in a fit of anger, and God took my words away. We have since made up, but that is rather obvious since I am writing again. And I have promised to write what He gives me, and to stop editing Him. That was our battle before. I didn't want my name attached to some of the things I was to say. But no longer. Say I'm crazy if you will. But He knows better than I what lies ahead. Maybe another song? Please??

Entirely, as spring consumes the snow,
the thought of you consumes me: I am found
in rivulets, dissolved to what I know
of former winters' passions. Underground,
perhaps one slender icicle remains
of what I was before, in some dark cave -
a stalactite, long calcified, now drains
to sodden pools where milky liquid laves
the colder rock and washes something clean
that never saw the light, that never knew
the crust could break above, that light could stream
so luminous,
so bright,
so beautiful...
I lie revealed, and so I stand transformed,
and all because you smiled on me, and warmed.

A Special World - old writing

A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.

Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.

And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.

Freeze This Moment - an old poem

We were sitting on a hillside
Staring at the skies
The sun was dipping lower
I looked into your eyes
You saw what I was feeling
I know you felt it too
We wanted time to just stand still
Then forever there'd be me and you
Why can't we freeze this moment?
Return to it in time?
Stay together through the years
Proclaim I'm yours and you are mine?
So let us freeze this moment
Store it safely away
Even if we leave this place
We'll return to it someday

More old stuff to remind me of my insignificance

"Why didn't God help me sooner?" This question I have heard, and asked, many times. But as it is not His will to act on our schedule, I must look again at the value of trials in my life. What changes does He desire in me; what lessons am I to learn through these troubles He has allowed in my life.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble." (Ps 46:1) He has promised, "I will be with him in trouble, I will be with him and honor him" (Ps 91:15). His guarantee has always been to be with us throughout the struggle. Afterward, He will take us out of it, but not before we have ceased our restless resistance and useless worry; not until we have become calm and quiet. Then he will say, "It is enough."

God uses trouble to teach us precious lessons. Difficulties are intended to educate us, and when their good work is done, a wonderful reward becomes ours through them. There is a sweet joy and real value in difficulties (though it most definitely doesn't appear that way at the time), for He regards them not as troubles but as opportunities.

When God tests us, or allows us to be tested, it is a good time to test Him by putting His promises to the test - claiming from Him exactly what our trials have made necessary. As such, there are two ways to get out of any trial, regardless of its length. One is to simply get rid of the trial, get on with the life I would choose to lead, and then be thankful it is over. The other is to recognize the trial as a challenge from God to claim a larger blessing than we have yet experienced, to accept it as an opportunity to receive a greater measure of His Divine Grace.

In this way, even the Adversary becomes a help to us, and all the things that seem to be against us turn out to assist us along our way (see Rom 8:27-29). When tempted in the desert, Jesus recognized that even the things that were already His (food, the entire earth, the kingdom of heaven), would not serve Him as well as seeing the trials through to the end. Surely this is what is meant by the words "In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us." (Rom 8:37)

Another Re-post I need to hear

The heart that serves,
and loves, and clings,
Hears everywhere the rush
of angels wings.

There seems a divine mystery in suffering. In everything I have read, its supernatural power is not completely understood by human reason. But I do believe that no one has ever developed a deep level of spirituality, or holiness, without experiencing a great deal of suffering. When a person who suffers reaches a point where he can be calm and carefree, inwardly smiling at the suffering, and no longer asking God for deliverance from it; then the suffering has done its divine work, its blessed ministry. Perseverance has "finished[ed] its work" (James 1:4), and the pain of crucifixion has begun to weave itself into a crown. I am not there yet, but I get glimpses of how it is.

It is in this experience of complete suffering that the Holy Spirit works His miracles deep within our soul. In this condition our entire being must lie perfectly still under the hand of God. "Be still, and know that I am God," (Ps 46:10). Every power and ability of the mind, human will, and heart are at last submissive and the quietness of eternity will settle into our soul. Finally, the mouth becomes quiet, having only a few chosen words to speak; we cease to mimic Christs' words from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Ps 22:1)

I cease to imagine castles in the sky, pursuing foolish ideas. My reasoning becomes calm and relaxed, with all choices removed save one, Gods' purpose for me. My emotions weaned away from other people, places and things, feeling almost deadened so that nothing can hurt, offend, hinder or get in His way, I can let circumstances be what they may and continue to seek only His will with calm assurance. He is causing, or allowing, everything in the universe (regardless of my perceptions of "good" or "bad"), past, present and future, to work "for the good of those who love Him." (Rom 8:23)

Absolute submission to Christ is a blessing we must earn. We can only earn it, however, when we lose our own strength, ambition, wisdom, plans and desires - when every ounce of our being becomes a vessel capable of holding the life He intended for us to enjoy from the beginning. He doesn't seem to bless anything less. The main thing is to suffer without becoming discouraged.

Not New Thoughts

Poetry happens when an emotion finds its thought,
and that thought finds words.

All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come to where your sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darkened or starry bright.

More Healing - Taking Flummoxetine for relief of my continuing bewilderment

I have read that springs of fresh water pool up in the saltiness of the ocean. I have seen the most beautiful of wildflowers living in some of the harshest mountain environments. I am told that the most magnificent psalms came from the most profound agonies of the soul.

As deep calls to deep (Ps 42:7) the Lord continues to call to my heart. And at times He calls forth the tears I have denied myself for so much of my life. Taught that, "Men don't cry," I have finally learned that vulnerability and intimacy were just not taught where I grew up. It wasn't that I missed the lesson after all.

Now what? What do I do with this understanding? This is an interesting paradox. I have been working toward forgiveness of my family of origin, and planning to present myself to them as part of my ninth step in recovery. The question I ask myself is now, "How do I forgive them for something they could not do?" It is not their fault they are the way they are.. Whether by nurture or nature they lacked the skills necessary to raise emotionally healthy children.

It is now about radical forgiveness, for I must include myself on the list. My parents may have had some bad parenting skills, but they tried their best. A particularly aggressive therapist at one time tried to challenge some of the respect I clung to for my parents, telling me repeatedly that it was ok to say they were lousy parents, that their best efforts sucked.

I never believed that. The "discipline" my father meted out with belt and board came from a man who had his own problems, battled his own demons. My mother's inability to embrace with affection, to hold and nurture her children - until my brother Tony's arrival - was a learned response for her. I believe she loved us as deeply as she was able.

In coming to a place of love and forgiveness I am still reluctant to allow room for vulnerability. But I do so love my parents and forgive them both.

Surviving

Even being relatively handy with words I lack an adequate vocabulary to describe the pain following my chemo-infusion. Pain at a cellular level is as close as I can get to a portrayal of what I endured. Nausea and diarrhea accompany, along with low-grade fever. Getting well, surviving and recovering from cancer is a process of controlled sickness.

At 5'11" and 190 pounds I was comfortable, strong, capable of meeting any physical challenge presented by the work I can find. At 162 pounds I am weak. My oncologist continues his encouragement with each visit. He is not overly concerned about my weight, yet. Trying to put weight back on when I can't swallow without pain is impossible.

He gave me a good laugh yesterday. His suggestion that a beer would be Ok, a good porter might stay down, brought forth a laugh. I told him that I could keep maybe seven or eight down, it was the next ten I was concerned about. He didn't grasp what I referring to.

It became even more comical when I told him I would rely on the opinion of Dr. Silkworth. ""Who is Dr. Silkworth? Does he work here?" My laughter was painful, but somehow healing to my spirit.

My character defects remain glaring still. In an effort to minimize the appearance of my weight loss I was caught "cheating.." I wore a nice leather jacket to my last visit, and put two 24oz. Arizona Ice Tea in my pockets. The nurse who weighed me looked back and forth, from my chart to the scale, before asking me for my jacket. She laughed at my deception but I realized I had lost more weight. I need a new belt.

Easter Again!!!

As Easter approaches there is so much going through my head, not all of it befitting the holiest season of my faith. Depression dogs my step. Homeless, hungry, alone, fighting cancer for the second time in less than a year - my body is tired. And my spirit grows weary.

My faith, and the material I choose to read, remind me that trouble in every form it takes is a messenger from God, bringing something He wants for me. The richest of blessings I have received are fruits of the sorrow and pain I have experienced. I have nothing to show for many of these blessings, but they are here, held deeply inside and looking for avenues to pass through me to others.

I pray that I never forget that redemption, the world's greatest blessing, is the fruit of the world's greatest sorrow. The deep pruning I have received, am receiving, comes at the Hand of The Gardener, my Father in heaven.

On Emotional Pain

I can't eat today. I mean, I could probably eat something if I had any appetite. But the thought of food is just, unappealing. I go to Palo Alto later this morning for the chemo portion of my cancer therapy. I call it my cancer abatement program, as if it were similar to mosquito abatement, or iceplant abatement in the nearby sand dunes.

Still, I am enjoying this morning. Following some "Good Luck’s at my morning meeting I went for a walk, a long walk, with two recent friends, one as recent as this morning. From downtown Carmel to the Pebble Beach Lodge, and back, along roads, trails and cart paths, near the beach and parallel to some of the signature holes of that famous golf course.

Those girls are serious walkers. While setting a brisk pace they did stop periodically to admire the view. The nearly robin's egg blue canopy overhead was unbroken, from horizon, to horizon, to horizon, to horizon. While passing a number of people along the way, only the caddies are afoot, lumbering under the weight of two sets of clubs and their own girth. For myself, I cannot understand why someone would not prefer to walk on a morning such as this, in a setting such as this. It is March 19th, so close to the bay that you would need to choke up on a sand wedge to stop short, sixty-eight or seventy degrees, only the most gentle of breezes blowing intermittently. This is paradise.

Our conversation ranges from children to birthday parties (one of my companions' is tomorrow - I am too wise to inquire which birthday it might be), the recently passed St. Patrick's Day, church and Easter celebrations, the meaning of Lenten sacrifice, and my cancer. While it is never far from my thoughts I am amazed by how uncomfortable my companions are talking about a topic they bring up. "What type is it?" "Aren't you frightened by this?" "How much weight have you lost?" "What is the long-term prognosis?" "Does it hurt?"

The last question stops me short. I don't know how to explain the true nature of the pain I am in. Physically there is some great discomfort, yes. I don't know that it rises to the level of great pain, at least not since the last procedure. I have always had a high pain threshold. But I don’t suffer well. I can't really share the emotional pain that continues to eat a hole in my middle, the pain of going through this alone.

I have not heard a word from any of my family in some time now. Growing up in a clan that lives in the great state of denial, my admission that I suffered from an alcohol and drug problem, and my decision to seek treatment and a life of abstinence created a gulf that seems too wide to bridge. Even Christmas cards go without a response.

What I do receive is forwarded email requiring that I in turn forward it to ten people in twenty seconds or lose my immortal soul, or anti-Obama rhetoric, or jokes - some quite funny. In our last telephone conversation my parents asked for the address of my blog page, claiming that the previous links I had emailed them didn't work. I asked if they would please let me know their feeling on my prose and poetry.

In the nearly two months following I have dropped a couple of emails to say hi, let them know I am still alive. But I have yet to receive a single response.Are they at all interested in what I might think or have to say? Would they be curious about the man I am turning out to be? Or is the request for my blog address just the way some folks make small talk? "How's your second cousin's dog?" "Can't believe it's not raining." "Blogged anything lately?"

The pain of going through life alone is nearly indescribable for me, and I have been told that I have a way with words. There exists inside an emptiness that I can’t describe as pain, yet it hurts. A therapist told me that, yes, it is pain, recognized or not.

I am tired of this pain. I am tired of wishing things were different. I am tired of being kept at arms’ length. I wonder if they have even noticed I no longer respond?

A Perfect Evening

A day of uninterrupted sunshine was now a bright heaven, slow to darken itself although the sun had been a long time sunken. Every ridge, bush, tree and rock that stood against it darkened to blackness. Yet on the field before me it threw down a persistent glow. The choir of coyote and owl, laughing in the distance and who - who, hooting nearby confirmed my earlier thought; I've never had it so good.

A seventy-nine cent package of turkey lunch meat coarsely broken into a twenty-four cent package of chicken flavored ramen was the prelude to this moment. I had splurged at Safeway tonight. A dollar-fifty slice of carrot cake meant I would go without meat for the next two days. But the slightly sweet, light floral scent of jasmine tea and the thick sweetness of my dessert reminded me that I am worth the occasional extravagance.

To know me would partially mean you'd understand how much I would prefer coffee in this moment. The slightly bitter, rich aroma of a french roast is much more to my liking. But my stomach prefers tea and I must live in close proximity to that cantankerous bastard. Last night's rejection of the late night coffee left me coughing out the aspirated acid remains of an otherwise enjoyable evening.

Tonight's blessing is that nightfall has never seemed so slow in coming. I look longingly at the still livid sky, the slightest hint of pink deepening to carnelian before me, chased down by the bravest of the stars leading the onslaught of indigo across the sky. I have never had it so good.

Even More Tuna at the Beach

I don't always eat tuna at the beach. Some days I make rice. Other days I make ramen. On gray mornings it is often oatmeal. But tuna days are a treat. Good things seem to happen.

Today I ran into Salomon. That's his real, given name. He's a big man with a quick smile, an easy laugh and kind eyes. And like me he has suffered some injustice in his life.

He is wise, too, as his name suggests. He reminded me today of an error in my prayer life. Too often I pray for justice to be done, for a reversal of fortunes. My prayer sounds like that of Jabez, "Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory!" (1 Chron 4:10) He reminds me that Jabez was considered honorable in God's eyes. Am I? I doubt it. I am saved solely by grace.

Salomon's suggestion is so simple; I should pray for mercy, not justice. Monday I learned that my cancer had progressed to stage 3, not good. But not bad either. It is what it is. I am completely at the mercy of others as to the treatment of this "light and momentary [trouble]." (2 Cor 4:17) But I am still in God's hands.

Salomon was there the day I learned I had cancer, and I don't think running into him today was any coincidence. He had the audacity to remind me that I had just been presented an opportunity to demonstrate my complete faith in God. His sentiment is that all of life's challenges are opportunities to rise above them.

I recently read a story about a farmer whose donkey had fallen into an abandoned well. As the donkey was old and he had no more use for it, he decided to fill in the well and bury the donkey. As he shoveled dirt into the well, however, the donkey would simply shake off the dirt and stand on top of it. Soon enough the donkey was atop a well filled with earth and walked out on its own. I don't know the outcome of my current health predicament but I know that I can shake off the troubles of today and again stand atop them. And I will.

A Spiritual Junkyard

A television series of recent years was titled Junk Yard Wars. As I recall, two competing teams would build a device of some kind that had to do something, using only the the things found in a junkyard. I never really paid much attention, obviously. It's short life indicates few others did either.

But the concept now occurs to me that this is how Christ has built His church here on earth. Christ is building His kingdom using all the scrap people He can get His Hands on, so to speak. And he is doing it using my hands; continually fighting to win the prize at the end of the show.
For many years I used the 'hypocrisy of the pious' as my excuse to avoid any relationship with God. But sometime after He chose to save me from myself I began to realize that the entire church here on earth is filled with broken, damaged, discarded and recycled former reprobates like myself. Ok, not all of you fit the reprobate description. But my point remains the same.

While people desire only the best, the unmarred things in life with which to build their legacy, the unblemished fruit for personal consumption, Christ is quietly gathering a raucous crowd of misfits around Himself. The God of those who have failed, the God of the unsuccessful is filling heaven with the lives of those broken here on earth. In my case, He continues to lift earth's saddest failure up to heaven's glory.

Spiritual Liberalism

The lyrics of an Austin Lounge Lizards song remind me that just because God loves us all "doesn't mean He won't incinerate some." What does happen at judgement day? What happens to those who do not hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant"? Much more learned minds than my own have pondered this question through the ages.

Matthew records one of Jesus' teachings thus; "Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'" (Matt 7:22-23) Jesus had just finished a parable that explained that entrance to heaven required doing His Father's will here on earth.

So where do they go? Where is away? And how does an all loving God reconcile condemnation with His nature of love?

I struggle with the image of hell presented through the ages. Fire and brimstone, tortured forever by a host of horned demons with prodding pitchforks, slowly being turned on a spit over perpetually glowing coals - is this a hell that was dreamed or spoken into existence by the Most Creative Being? Or is this the construct of human intelligence bent on scaring the hell out of mankind, pun intended.

I take some license here and dare to say that the thought of being turned away by God at the entrance to heaven may just be hell itself. To be in the presence of the Almighty One, my brother Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, to have my character defects and negative impact on God's creation revealed to me in such a way as to clarify that the things I pursued on earth were truly their own reward, and all I will get, forever, - that sounds like hell. Having my life opened before me will I feel guilty for things I have said and done, for things left unsaid and undone? Doubtless I will. There are things from my life I would prefer never saw the light of day, let alone judgement day.

There is a difference between guilt and shame. We feel guilty about things we have done. Guilt brings on remorse and can lead to a change in our behavior that is repentance. Shame, however, is about what we are. Shame is so deep and painful it can cripple us for a lifetime, and maybe eternity.

Personally, I do not believe in ghosts. But I think there is something to the image presented in Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol. The condemned must forever walk the earth carrying the weight of their sins and shame as chains to weigh them down. Is this the picture of a heavy heart? Is this the feeling of shame, to be carried without relief forever as my eternal reward?

What actually happens to those turned away at that moment I can not say. I can say that my hope is that an all-just, all-merciful, all-loving God would not torture the condemned. But I see a poetic justice in allowing them to torture themselves, knowing that treasures beyond our human understanding had awaited them from the beginning of time. What actually happens to those whose fate is condemnation is none of my business. And once in heaven, where there will be no more tears, those whom we cared for among the condemned will be forgotten forever. That, too, sounds like hell.

Reopening and Healing Old Wounds - No, This is not for you.

I have been quoted as saying that I have a high tolerance for pain but I don't suffer well. Those who have endured intense, prolonged emotional pain, the visceral wrenching that occurs when emotions take on a life of their own and torture our physical being will understand more of what I say here, especially if they handled the pain as poorly as I have.

When I was a young man, and fairly wild, my father told me, "You can be young only once, but you can be immature all your life."I don't think I gave him a smart-alec reply, but in my mind I said, "Far out!" and then proceeded to pick up the gauntlet in my quest to remain immature. I state the obvious when I say that was not his intent.

It takes maturity to handle real pain, either physical or emotional. The temptation to lash out, especially at the source of the pain, takes maturity to overcome. I think this is why domestic violence is on the rise, a level of immaturity that grows with each generation. Even more startling is the rise in injuries inflicted by women on men. Apparently, I was not the only person who grew up unable to handle pain, and thank God I never had to resort to inflicting physical injury on another person because of my pain.

It takes another level of maturity to prevent me from turning my pain inward, a level where I have only recently arrived. I still ache for my ex-wife, Linda. She brought out qualities in me previously unseen. She helped me to develop parts of me I never dreamed existed; kindness, charity, generosity, selflessness. She demonstrated a simple belief in me tied to nothing other than the reality that I loved her in return, just as she was. Losing her, losing what we had brought me to a level of pain I never knew existed.

I was burned severely in an auto mishap many years back. As bad as the burn was, I was nearly numb that day with shock and a powerful mixture of pain killers. In the morning after, the nurses came in to change my bandages and clean the burn site, from forehead to navel, ear to ear, armpit to armpit. The affected skin had stuck to the gauze during the night and I was told it would be painful to remove the dressing. Another shot of morphine sent me into orbit. The pain of removing the bandage caused me to lapse into unconsciousness. But this is not as bad as it got.

I had been married just nine days, and my wife never came to visit me during my hospital stay. My mother came but once for an hour or so. On my release from the burn unit, my new bride would not touch the "chicken skin" that remained from the burns. After many visits to a plastic surgeon I became acceptable again, but I did not present the same visual to those who knew me before. I was the same and not the same.

Perhaps this is the root scar torn from an old wound I suffered in my recent divorce. My therapist tells me I need to heal this old damage to grow. My oncologist tells me I need to focus on the current fight with cancer. My heart is still torn. Just who is right?

I think the answer lies not who is right, but in what is right. Linda made decisions that now lead her on a new path. Perhaps she has found what she was really looking for when our paths crossed. I now understand that what I had to offer was more than she could bear. My love and the pain of my addictions, coupled with an immature faith in God was more than she could bear. What is right is that I need to be able to grant complete forgiveness and let her go.

In coming to this realization, a long process that continues still, I have had to endure the reopening of that wound and so many others from my past. I have had to learn to see my part in all these hurts. In some I was truly the victim; in many, victim and perpetrator.

I carry out of those ashes a new man. I am still the same man in many ways, but also new. I learned how to love somewhere in this story I find myself in. I learned how to truly love another human being not in spite of their faults, but because like me they are flawed. And as flawed children of God they deserve love just because they are. I saw Linda's quirks and foibles nearly from the start. But with her my weary heart returned to life, from a place where it had lain tormented. And still it beats. And so it will love again.

Writing Things Out of Order

1 Thessalonians is perhaps one of the most joyful books in the New Testament. The end of each chapter holds a reminder of better times to come, the return of Christ. To some, this is not great news, and the subject of Eschatology is a bit frightening to many. While the final chapter of my life has already been written - remember, He knows the number of my days and the number of hairs on my head - I still must live out those days.

Speaking of hair, I will apparently be sporting a new look soon. Am told that the chances are REALLY GOOD (that was the way my oncologist phrased it) that chemo is going to cost me my locks. But it will grow back. Have you ever had a sunburned dome? I have had just the part in my hair burned before. I don't part my hair anymore.

Back to the subject at hand. The closing chapter of 1 Thess, ch 5, offers some practical advice in dealing with the remainder of this life. Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. From the viewpoint of a recovering alcoholic and addict this is the answer to a prayer, literally. The 11th step of all the "Anonymous" programs (all 500+ of them) tells me to "[pray] only for knowledge of His will for [me] and the power to carry that out." By the way, if it escaped you, that's two separate ideas there, knowledge and power.

A popular saying states that knowledge is power but I disagree. For that matter, I disagree with some of the "powerlessness dilemma" as posited by Alcoholics Anonymous. Oh, to be certain I am powerless over alcohol once I consume it. But as regards the ability to leave it alone?

When I pray for knowledge of His will for me I get a clear "whatever you do, just don't drink" reply. And I truly believe that while He provides the power to avoid the drink, I must exercise that power.

It seems the key lies in the source of the knowledge. If I rely on myself as the source, self-knowledge, well ....... We have seen how that turns out, haven't we. Referring back to earlier writings, I lack any solid base of true wisdom over any considerable period of time.

Prayer, meditation and regular reading of His word are all required; all of them. Two alone, contrary to AA's 11th step, will not work in my life. Prayer is simply talking to God. Meditation allows me to listen to God. But how to interpret the messages I receive, or even determine if the messages are actually from Him? Remember that we have a tendency to discern right from wrong based on what we agree with. New readers may be lost here by some references - but I think you'll understand.

I choose not to be the benchmark for right and wrong. Today, people think the greatest truths are simple and clear, black and white, simple lines - no fuzziness or mystery - until they look closely at their own lives and examine the areas where they compromise so readily. Then the gray areas begin to grow. This outlines my need for direction and it is only available in His word.

Being Judged

Unless I am wrong there will come a day when I meet God. Not the God of my understanding, but GOD, Himself. I will have to give an accounting for how I conducted myself on this side of eternity. As embarrassing as parts of my fifth step were, even with an understanding sponsor, as painful as my court appearances have been, I don't think they even scratch the emotional surface of what that moment will be like.

To be in God's presence means that I am going to have my life appraised, its value determined, to be seen and known as I really am. And that means that all of my life will be evaluated in light of God's hopes and dreams for me, and for the role He desired me to fill in His world. An all-seeing, all-knowing, ever-present God as judge and jury; just think about that for a moment. And as death is inescapable, so is judgment.

The choices I made, the words I said, the things I have thought, the attitudes and habits I preferred, all will be pulled together at the close of this story I find myself in. Who I have become and what I have done will be clear in God's eyes, but I believe at that moment it will be made clear to me. I will then see myself through the eyes of One who is perfectly gracious and just, perfectly merciful and holy.

I can imagine God saying to some,"Well done, good and faithful servant. You have helped advance My story toward My dreams. You fed the hungry, clothed the naked, shared your bread with the poor. Wherever you went you contributed to love, peace, generosity, truth, courage, sacrifice, kindness, faithfulness and justice. You enriched My story with your life, enhanced its beauty, drama and nobility. You have become someone good and beautiful and true. Your unique contributions and creativity will never be forgotten and even your smallest act of kindness will be eternally remembered, celebrated and rewarded.

"After naming and forgiving and forgetting your many faults and failures, I see so much substance to your character, so much to cherish, so much of value. You are now set free, given a new beginning in my new creation. You have an eternal place in My story!" I think this is what entrance to heaven will be like.

In my life, this story I find myself in, I have been in positions that required me to release people from their employment. It was always painful to do. Men and women with families to support, hopes and dreams of their own, often not understanding the why of their termination.

I can only imagine how a loving God would feel at judgment day, having to break His own heart. "Sadly, your contributions to My story were neutral or negative. You have added more pain and selfishness, dishonesty, coldness, greed and clutter to My creation. You turned your back on those who needed you, broke promises and My covenants. I tried in every way possible to get through to you but you didn't respond to my grace or rely on My strength. Even if I forgive and forget all the bad you have done, is there enough of your character left to continue existing in My new creation? And would you even like living with me in a story you you have not contributed to; have avoided, minimized, resisted, run from and subverted all your life?

"The comforts you chose as you pursued your dreams and your possessions have been your reward. But in terms of My dreams and desires you squandered your chance to be an unforgettable character in My story. Your story has been a tragedy of missed opportunity."

Recent events in my life have caused me to think about eternity in a different light. At the close of last summer I was diagnosed with an easily defeated cancer. I think that was the warm-up round. The situation I am in now does not have such a ready solution. Barrett's Esophagus with dysplasia, stage II cancer, an aggregate 16% five year survival; why am I not frightened by this?

I think the reason for my peace is summed up in one word, Jesus. Perhaps it is more accurately stated that my peace and strength lie in one person, the persona of God in Jesus. It will be Jesus who passes judgement on my life. Jesus, who was sent to point the way to how I should live. Jesus, whose birth, life, sacrifice, death on the cross and resurrection beckon me onward, call me into the future to a judgment day I am certain to face.

I am certain of something else. too. It will embarrass me to tears to confess my sins to Him, in front of His Father, in the presence of the Holy Spirit. The question, "What did you do with what I gave you?" will likely elicit a stammering, blubbering response, if I can speak at all. But in this moment, right here, right now, I have no fear of that day.

What if I've had it all wrong?

Studying history in school left me with the belief that the future is driven by the past. The present is inexorably prodded into the future. Cause launches effect, creating a chain of events that started with creation and leads to this moment now.

Where does that leave God? It would seem that in this scenario God's function would be to periodically intervene in the process and change outcomes that might otherwise unfold. Miracles might confirm this train of thought; God hovering over the present, as at creation, acting on the chain of events developing in His world as He sees fit.

But what if I am wrong? What if there were a different way of looking at things, this story we find ourselves in? A father takes his infant son a few feet from his mother and stands him up while his mother beckons him to her. The toddler takes a few steps, to the delight of all. The baby is not consciously trying to walk. He only wants to come and receive the gift of his mother's presence being offered across the room.

Maybe the present is not being pushed into the future after all. Maybe the past has always been pushed out of the present by a future that is constantly rushing in.

It feels somehow right to say that God is all of this and more. The creator unleashed history in the beginning. God helps the baby to stand in the beginning. But God is also out ahead, calling history homeward across the room. God doesn't force it. Sometimes history responds, or some parts do, but others resist or rebel. And still God keeps calling.

If this is in the least bit accurate, if we are not pushed by our past or engineered by our present, but being pulled, invited, called into a future that keeps coming to us as a gift - then God is waiting to give Himself as a gift just across the room.

"Who hopes for what he already has?" (Rom 8:24)