where my thought's escaping, where my music's playing...

[Next?]

I tell myself after every move that it will be my last. I hate it. I wouldn't call myself a pack-rat (I throw away plenty), but every move brings with it a sentiment of the past. I find old pictures, awards, hobbies, and love letters. While the accumulation of these items has slowed down dramatically, they still tag along like an outdated friend from high school: you don't really want to hang out with them anymore, but it's not worth the drama to "break up," because you only endure it once every couple years.

What makes this move different is that I'm returning to my hometown. All of my old stuff is not just a reminder of an otherwise forgotten past, but also a link to adulthood. By coming home, I have discovered that none of my detours could replace this particular element of my identity.

I wonder if the longing for home is not another masculine check and balance; is it a passage of maturity? In the traditional view of the marriage covenant, a man finds a wife, and she is to leave her father's household to live with her husband. He stays put. I find this strange in some ways. Yes, man is expected to lead his wife, but traditionally speaking, the woman is more concerned with the stability and nurture of daily life than her husband.

Thus, we have both woman (resisting a change that could upset the delicate balance of family life) and man (taking risks that could often be described as ill-conceived) expected by God to respond contrary to their natural instincts -- in this ONE area.

And yet, grown men take pride in these homes! A boy is only interested in having a place to lay his head, should his many activities require the occasional rest. For a man, the activities are only assumed to support his home life.

I was thinking about this today as I bought groceries. I've added thirty minutes to my daily work commute by moving back to Bremen, and yet it's never been more clear that work is work and home is home. I enjoy my job, but never to the extent that I wouldn't rather be at my own place.

I chatted with a couple longtime grocery workers who were pleased to see me again. My cashier was genuinely upbeat and asked how my day was, without sounding cliche. My bagger offered to take my groceries out to my car, and I had forgotten that I had done the same as a student, hundreds of times before she was even born.

It's good to feel like a man. It's good to be home.

life is but a prophetic allegory...

Dearest Beloved,

I miss you, and I think about you every day. Yes, most of it is remembering when times were good between us -- daily sharing our hopes and dreams. When I think about those days, I almost want to crawl back to where we were; I know that I cannot. It goes to show, it doesn't matter how much we desire in common, method can bring us to an insurmountable impasse.

I thought we'd grow old together. The initial rush of excitement had me wondering outside of my own capacities; I thought we'd accomplish anything together. I shamefully confess, I believe that there were moments when I loved you more than God. Perhaps I should have heeded this warning, but as with any self-made idol, I was more afraid to lose you.

And in my youth, I would have continued to make this compromise. I would have turned a blind eye, defending my relationship with you to the death, letting all outsiders know that it is not what it seems. But somewhere amidst this tangle, I lost my fear to acknowledge the truth. While my sight caused great pain, it was the only way to know where restoration needed to occur.

I spoke in love and with concern; my intent was never arrogant. I have never considered myself more righteous, merely a willing subject to a humbling truth. And the truth is, we have settled for less than we have been offered. We have allowed the fear of common man to guard us against the deepest longing of our heart. We no longer operate out of the desperation of purpose, but out of the narrowness of our own strength. For the first time, I am willing to admit that I am too weak to accomplish anything.

Your despise grew rapidly, but I think I understand. In my weakness, I want to know everything under the sun as weak, and I want everything under the sun to know itself as weak, for He has been my only strength. And this is not a title that is owned or worn proudly. If you did not resist weakness, we could be weak together. Instead, I am a constant reminder of your lack of strength -- of your dependence...I haphazardly remind you of your pain.

Our distance does not douse my love for you; it undoubtedly never will. Long ago, I walked away cold and bitter, and now I only wait. I wait and pray, because you are the only facility that God has given me to demonstrate His love; you and I together were to be a beacon of His glory and a testimony of His grace.

This is now in His hands, and I will not nag. I am through with hollow words or guilt trips. I must go about seeking His will. It hurts me to consider this. I thirst for your approval more than water, but I have no right or precedent to expect it, nor can it guide my actions.

You know where to find me, should you be moved. Otherwise, these are my final two words for you:

Love always,

ANTHONY
(Formerly a reformer of His Church)

living in placement

The air is quiet -- short of the snoring of my co-worker, which isn't bothering me tonight for some odd reason. I'm satisfied that I have caught up on my administrative work, and am left to pray without interruption.

We had a team meeting today, and the majority of our residents are at a crossroads. While I have seen this behavior before (though never by such a consensus), I am amazed how much they are going out of their way NOT to leave our facility. We were told that this is somewhat a testament to our work with the residents -- that they feel so comfortable, but placement is intended to be a place of transition. Problems arise for the girls whenever they love the placement better than the idea of a real home. The more they resist leaving, the harder the stay.

This had me thinking: what if I do the same thing in my spiritual life? I think we become cozy in our "placements." God may direct us through phases of trial and recovery -- we toil, we heal, and we feel functional again. And as long as our conditions do not remind us of why we are being treated, we feel good about our functionality.

Like with my residents, everything can be progressing during a season of recovery, but we can still be scared to death of what lies ahead. We fear confronting our past vices, whether it be the man who is frightened of persuing a new career, the woman who resists a new romance, or the couple that refuses to commit to another church. We find ways to cope with our placement, and convince ourselves that this is as good as it gets.

However, the success of our season of recovery can often become the greatest threat to our comfort. For example, a man can check into rehab and get himself clean. His sobriety is encouraged and nurtured by people who care. But inevitably, the measures that the man takes in rehab are only to prepare him for a greater struggle. How will he respond on the outside when faced with the triggers associated with his addiction? He can re-enter the world with every other area of his life back in order, but he will never truly know the blessing of victory until he has stood face-to-face with his former self and made the better choice.

We love to feel like we have it all together. But if we convince ourselves that we can live a better life by avoiding the source of our fears, we are deceived. Often, our intimacy with God feels most obvious in our season of recovery. But He still intends for us to get up and walk, because this ultimately brings Him glory and allows us the blessing of the restoration. And why would God restore us, if He did not also intend for our pain to be redeemed for His good purpose?

This past season could be considered my third "relapse" in my nine year struggle with abandonment. I know that I am quickly being restored back to a place of functionality, such that nobody would know that there is a problem. I could become a proud source of wisdom to others, or be an expert in my field. But the part of me that God desires to redeem would continue to lie dormant and afraid. I have to be willing to leave my comfort behind if I am to pursue His desires again.

hopelessly wired for monogamy

I want to empathize; I can only sympathize. I understand the conditions that lead individuals to break the commitments to their covenant, but I can't comprehend commiting to one so diametrically opposed that these conditions arise. It seems that this could only occur where man or woman considers him/herself less than what he/she is. And these are the most tragic relationships of all.

As much as I try, it is difficult for me to imagine a scenario where I would retract my heart. The couple times it has been returned to me have been difficult enough. As seriously as I take the marriage bed, adultery would likely crush me enough to end my marriage; even then, I think I would find it impossible to give my heart to another.

I know that I'm being idealistic in regards to commitment, but do I have a good reason not to be? If marriage is God's institution, who am I to believe that He cannot strengthen two believers to work through the less savory moments? Granted, this question presumes two hearts seeking after Him, but this seems to be the only stipulation that would divide; this should tune our hearts such that every other disagreement is subject to reconciliation. In regards to His covenant, would we expect Him to speak to husband and wife differently, if both seek with sincerity?

Perhaps, where every other assumed standard for the "perfect" wife has been torn apart, I should welcome this sincerity. The simplest and most idealistic guideline I can conjure for marriage is this: a husband and wife that pray with one another is foolproof! Perfect? Never -- certainly not in this flesh. But they are perfectly unified. So with all due respect to the cynics and the statistics, there is an anointed scenario where "forever" is a given, and not an uncertainty.

talkin 'bout my resolution

I have never made a New Year's Resolution. However, I can see where people would be drawn to the practice. Our humanity is always seeking the "fresh start" or "clean slate." We know that we've got things about ourselves that we're not particularly fond of, and the new year grants a certain clemency from all that. For example, I have worked in the coffee industry for the past seven years, and January is always the slowest month, regardless of climate. I have a co-worker that proudly claims to have worked in the only cafe that has January as its busiest month -- they were adjacent to a gym.

Having worked in camp ministry, I got a front row seat to a similar phenomenon. Teens always arrived with the intent of absolving themselves of a year of sin, resolving to live without it in the future. They had roughly the same level of success as the New Year's resolution. Truth is, often we just want to feel better about ourselves...which isn't an altogether bad thing. It's just not a great enough motivation today to make the necessary changes for tomorrow.

I can recall one place in scripture where one was said to have "resolved" an outcome:

But Daniel resolved not to defile himself with the royal food and wine, and he asked the chief official for permission not to defile himself in this way. (Daniel 1:8, NIV)

This is a common translation of the word in italics, but the KJV takes it a step further and states that Daniel "purposed it in his heart" not to defile himself.

I'm a Greek student, and I don't know a lick of Hebrew, so I couldn't tell you which is a more accurate description. But based on my experience (and my failure to follow through on that which I resolve), I give a lot more credence to Daniel "purposing" his intent in his heart.

This is yet another example of how difficult it is to follow our Father with our mind. We can decide how we would like to live, set up the appropriate physical safeguards, and wait for the spiritual battle to come to our doorstep. More often than not, we're going to fail. But isn't this how we've been taught to fight? The church tells us that if we stray far enough from our vices (or those who would tempt us), and make a personal decision to be strong, that we can defeat the enemy. Okay, how's that been working for y'all?

When did Christianity become so defensive? Are we that ill-equipped and expectant of failure, that the best we know to do is try again with the next blank slate? Yes, Christ's grace is sufficient for our sin, but when have we had enough of waiting for the enemy's next attack?

Rather, when I think of Daniel, I see a man who was already prepared for the battle. This wasn't a man that had to hope he was strong enough once he sat at the royal table. He didn't ask the official to set up a second room where he wouldn't have to smell the meat. His heart was geared towards holiness. Daniel was prepared for whatever the enemy could throw at him, because he was more motivated to serve the Lord than to merely absolve himself of guilt.

Christ gave us His Spirit so that we wouldn't have to be on the defensive. We have been given everyday, unveiled access to the King of Kings, to whom all the spiritual realm is subject. It is our intimacy with Him, and His pursuit of our heart that prepares us for the battle. Daniel did not make the decision that day to keep himself clean. He had granted his Father ownership of his heart, and anything that might separate him from his God could not be considered.

I want to challenge y'all to leave the resolutions to the timid. Our determination alone is insufficient to fight the spiritual battle. But take refuge in Christ, and purpose it in your heart to belong to Him. Spend those quieter moments getting to know Him and fall in love with His presense. He will be your strength and foundation, and you will serve Him boldly with joy, rather than having to convince yourself to "do the right thing" when you face your iniquity.