without ink

It’s a winter day. This statement is less than an evaluation of the chill that has set in to north Texas and more like a reference to what is perceived by the little girl peering out into the world. Today, I am fighting the cold, bleak, weary, uninviting, discouraging, winter. And I want to stay right next to my heater instead of going outside because it’s way scarier when security and comfort are unaccounted for. And are unable to be guaranteed.

Some things I miss about the Midwest are the distinct seasons. But a week or so at home during the months of December to February remind me that I’m in no hurry to relocate from the sunny south. The seasons provide, in many ways, a great illustration of life. They are restless, always progressing from one to another much like we ourselves rarely stand in one place for too long…perhaps hoping to settle into an ideal set of circumstances but never quite finding our expectations entirely realized. There is certainly beauty in winter, but it is much harder to observe for the person who, in a spirit of vulnerability, endures the frigid elements, the pain of frostbite, and the cold that penetrates all the way to one’s heart. But, the beauty of growth can only have its full effect when one puts himself in a position to identify with the winter landscape- stripped bear, weighed down, and reliant on a different substance of life for sustenance throughout the arduous season, however long it may be. Then, the life that truly carries along the windblown, tattered, and tired scenery shows itself in a mighty way when signs of spring emerge.

I am a work in progress. Certain days I feel in full bloom and, others, feel like I have nothing to offer the world. However, although winter days are harsh, I can rejoice in them knowing that they are reminders of my brevity, my susceptibility, my humanity. And although these reminders often hit right at my pride and cause me moments of despair as I frantically attempt to restore my bruised self-sufficiency, I turn again to the only true source of Life.

sustain me, jesus. you are my only hope for survival.

The other day I found myself in panera, and as I glanced around mid thought, waiting for inspiration to spring from some place in my mind, I caught sight of a portrait on the wall of a person kneading a loaf of bread. It was a rather catalytic moment as ideas I had been throwing around for awhile finally coalesced.

To anyone who can live at least 3 weeks off the food in their kitchen cabinets- welcome to the land of prosperity.  the days of bread as a precious commodity are gone, replaced with a pledge to avoid carbs altogether.  We are a people characterized by diet, a diet sustained by substantial intake of sugar-free, fat-free, calorie-free cardboard.  Despite nice packaging, ingenious marketing, and an appearance indiscernible from an indulgence of choice, the items are still imposters. Manufactured with substitutes, these chemicals are specifically designed to spare you caloric intake as they are unable to be metabolized.

There are hundreds of diets to choose from, all boasting their uniqueness and success. it’s all about what works for you. Heck, if you can’t find something you like, make up your own regimen…and then sell it! and isn’t the whole premise of a diet really a search for satisfaction, obtained with a pseudo-sense of control? cardboard only satisfies for so long.  the diet is forsaken;  the optimism replaced with a more realistic hopelessness and a bag of doritos.

our diet nation is suffering from a supposed obesity epidemic.

I am more concerned with all the signs of emaciation. We are starving.

As cs lewis said, “we are far too easily pleased.” We gorge ourselves on the blandest things, trying to find satisfaction by staving off inherent needs. you feel unloved, vulnerable, insecure, hopeless. simply put, you are hungry. Eat.

Isaiah 55:1-3a “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live.”

John 6:35 “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.’”

One of my new favorite hobbies is to lay on the trampoline and stare at the sky. As I lose myself in the hues of splendor, I forget my spatial coordinates and feel weightless. There is something invigorating about falling headlong into something larger until I all but disappear entirely. My pensive nature comes alive and I allow myself the freedom of letting my mind run wild. Captured visions of the wonder of flight, the invisible force rapidly moving the clouds across the sky, and an ever-changing view of the atmosphere above inspire contemplation as external stimuli is channeled and inevitably becomes a conversation. I’m gone.

A unique characteristic of human beings is that the things we experience cause us to consider meaning and purpose. Intrinsically, everyone longs to be a part of something beyond themselves, why else would causes and movements and ideologies be so attractive. To harness the human will and direct it towards a unified purpose is to possess great power. The spark of vitality which is fanned into a flame upon seeing a beautiful sunset, sharing a victory with a sports team, getting goose bumps after hearing a moving piece of music is surely a response of divine engineering.

No matter where I go on this earth, no place compares with the warm rush of familiarity and security that washes over me when I open the door of my parents’ house. I’m home. Similarly, nomadic affections can suffice in the comfort they provide but cannot quite eliminate the ache for what is natural. Joining a movement towards which all of creation is directed is to pursue the inherent drive for homeostasis. This is worship- to unite with angels, rocks, mountains, stars, oceans in praising the maker of all.

As I close my eyes, mediate on your majesty, and click together the ruby red slippers of my heart, you, jesus, never fail to bring me back to where I belong, dwelling in your goodness forever.

I embrace gracious uncertainty.  I wait with breathless anticipation to see what you have for me today.  Gathering the necessities and dressing myself appropriately, I embark on the greatest adventure of my life.  The only expectation I have is gaining hold of what you have promised, namely, yourself.  I find great freedom in this for as I expect only you, I am never disappointed.  You graciously bring opportunities into my path, not haphazardly but each for a purpose and reason, some never to be discovered, but I trust that you do not act flippantly.  You delight me with surprises you know will make my heart flutter, and smiling, I press into you further, my faithful companion, to see where you will lead me next.  You are my only guide as I traverse what would seem to some to be a treacherous wilderness, uncertainty and danger lurking in the shadows at every bend.  However, you have earned my trust thus far as you have not yet let me down.  I pack lightly knowing that at any moment you might ask me to change course, and although my flesh sometimes resists change and desires a map of where we are going next, I recall the offerings of plans, agendas, and my own will that you required I sacrificed to you before we departed.  I turn and see that all that is left from the altar marking the beginning of the journey is the smoke that remains from these offerings.

Wide eyed and amazed, I am continually experiencing firsthand the things I have only heard about you.  Restlessness sighs before vanishing, unsteady steps are strengthened and transform into unwavering strides, and timidity diminishes as boldness increases.  I close my eyes thinking it is a dream, but when I open them and find myself locked in your gaze, I know that this is reality and all else is imitation.  I no longer have concern for others’ opinions of this wild, untamed, rugged existence I have chosen but yearn instead to hear your praise.  I fall in line with you, Master, trekking into the unknown on the heels of the one I know and adore.

Tonight I saw a homeless lady struggling into a gas station where I watched, peeping behind my pump, somehow believing that hiding myself would be excuse enough for doing something.  I got in my car with my vest pocket padded with a wad of cash, turned on the heat and some music, made myself comfortable and drove off. It didn’t take long before I was haunted by the image of that poor woman struggling to walk, and I felt terrible. I sat in my car in the parking lot of my apartment and regretted my missed opportunity, wishing I could go back and extend a hand of compassion. Instead, not knowing exactly what I could do for the woman held me back from doing anything.

What it would be like to be homeless? Dependent on everyone for everything. No place to go home to at night. No escape from reality with a vacation. No recollection of the last movie enjoyed. Yet, what must be worst is the emotional desolation.  A wasted personality because no one hears your jokes.  Repressed memories because no one cares.  No one to listen to fears, hopes, and regrets.  No hugs. No words of encouragement. Nothing but survival…and even that seems numb and hopeless.

My heart breaks, but not so much for the lady as it does for myself and others who refuse to ascribe worth to the person who is clothed in filthy rags and instead see only the condition: homeless, good for nothing, a nuisance to society.   Even as I sit here writing, I think to myself, does that lady even know that she is loved?

I don’t understand a lot of things. And I probably will never find the perfect rhyme to most of them.  One thing in particular that is hard to wrap my mind around is why I am as privileged as I am. Not intending to sound boastful, I consider all that my life entails and conclude: it is so unfair. Why me, God? Why do I have opportunities at my finger tips? Why do I have more than enough?

Silence.  But the silence inspires me.

Lord, I don’t know what you have for my life. But you have given me vision, and I resolve to pursuit what I do know. I know this much- that after I am gone, I will be remembered for a generation…two at the most. People will no longer be able to get to know me…all that will be left are pictures and stories, and even then, those will eventually disappear.  My pride stings a little bit when I think that as the world was functioning before I got here, it will continue on after I leave.  Surely, purpose must be found in something else.  Something that can be discovered and known from generation to generation. Something that will never expire, accumulate dust, or depreciate in value.  Something else. Someone else.

I yearn to love others and introduce them to the one who has so richly blessed me.  May my legacy, Jesus, be found in yours, for that is a legacy that lasts forever.



I love fishing.  Venturing north, the thought of catching the big one and the accompanying thrill is enough to drive countless people to insanity….fishing on an icy lake in the snow in my case.  But after the fingers thaw out, I am itching to get back on the water. What draws me out of the warmth and shelter of the cabin in hopes of redeeming a day on the lake must be the mystery and the potential that each day of fishing holds. My attempt to conquer and coax what has its own agenda to momentarily meet mine always proves more difficult than I initially surmise. Regardless, I do my part in putting everything in place to catch one…and then I get a first class lesson in patience and humility.  

Being out on the lake is a great place to wait. It is so breathtaking- the shore encroaches the forest, the loons belt out a beautiful melody, and now and then a bear will amble out of the wilderness to try its own luck at catching a snack. Every once in awhile the wind settles and the sun pokes its head out from behind the clouds, and I am able to catch glimpse of the fish beneath the water. As I observe them burrow in the mud and spook at the motion of the boat as they dart away, I feel like I am peering into a foreign world, one in which life and constant motion, even though unseen, abound. I wildly throw my line into the water, repeatedly and with fervor hoping to catch sight of a trophy fish chasing my minnow. But, more often than not, the minutes pass, the water becomes hazy again, and the aquatic life disappears from view. Hours later when I haven’t even had a bite, I find myself discouraged as I am weary of casting countless lines into the water without a single response. The vision I once received of the vitality lying just below the surface has escaped me, and I swear instead that there are no fish in the entire lake. Then, unexpectedly, there comes a hit on the end of my line, so clear and strong, there is no doubt what is on the other end. When my desire to catch dinner meets with the identical desire of my rival, the tug I feel on my line is enough to send me into orbit with excitement. Reeling the fish into the boat with a huge smile on my face, I am delighted knowing that one of the many requests I have cast into a pool of endless depth has been answered. For the moment my work is encouraged, and all of my unanswered attempts are summed up in the catch, making all the efforts worthwhile.

I guess it’s a good thing I like this pastime because I seem to be constantly fishing for answers in the depth of the character of the one my soul loves. Taking whatever wishes, feelings, and other random musings I can conjure up in the haphazard tackle box of my deepest desires, I throw them all overboard in what seems at times like a foolish act. And even as I sit in silence waiting for that fateful response, I sometimes begin to wonder the same thing. But as a fish jumps in the waters nearby, I recall that there is abundance of life beyond what I can see. He is constantly stirring the waters, receiving my requests, and waiting for the perfect time to respond with a catch that never fails to take my breath away.

One of the worst feelings is being misunderstood. As humans, we use synonyms, euphemisms, analogies, stories, humor, and attempt after attempt to explain the unique circumstances that dictate our various perspectives. So much of our speech is aimed at justifying our actions and thoughts, hoping that someone else may temporarily step into a fraction of the fabric of our being, all for the purpose of clearing up misconceptions in order that we are able to receive empathy and understanding from others. Yet, the complexity at the interface of emotions and articulations, the complicated relationship between each individual’s spirit, heart, and mind is one that demands a very skilled interpreter. Discernment and wisdom in both reading and understanding others can be learned, for sure. But there remains an untamed element inside each of us, comprised of longings and ambitions, fears and qualms that we ourselves do not even realize makes its abode within us until it is drawn out surely and carefully.

I think we are under the impression that we are the ones who know ourselves best. However, I am not sure I am so quick to embrace this philosophy of self discovery. On days like I’ve had this past week, I have spent a great deal of mental energy trying to figure out why I have felt the way I have. Although there has been no cause for rain in my own emotional forecast, the skies hold a dull grey hue, and gloominess has, for whatever reason, been a thick stratus hovering above my head. My fickle heart has busied itself confusing my mind as it has taken a sabbatical from the logical nature that typically governs it. Instead, my heart seems to be an active participant in a game of charades in which each emotion is selected at random from a bag of adjectives. I have frustrated myself at best and exhausted myself at worst. Clearly, I need some back up to help me figure out my diagnosis!

I love the way the psalmist puts it when he says “deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me.” At the end of the day, I tire of trying to figure myself out, so I take a seat on the edge of a beautiful canyon. As I sit, I allow the entirety of my emotions to be swept away in the power, majesty, and glory of a huge waterfall, plummeting to unsearchable depths; the mist that flows up creating rainbows that dance in the sunlight. And the massive roar…oh, the beauty of the sound. The echo of the depth draws out of me the depths of my own being that I neither know nor understand. My ears begin to hear a line clearly arise out of the noise of the cascade; I can’t decipher exactly what is said, but as the breakers and waves of goodness and peace inundate me, I finally know that I am heard and understood. Although I feel like an alien in my own body, in light of Him, my frustrations fade. And things make sense.

Spring? Like a bird about to hatch from the shell its grown accustomed to, I give a little peep to see what might be the answer. Poking my head out a tiny bit, I am eager to emerge from this season but not quite sure if I am ready should the current conditions change. The warm breeze and clear skies are enticing, but I am not so quick to let my guard down. Oh, who I am kidding…my hopes are up and life is in the air.

What seems like an eternity has been spent in a season in which each day seemed to get colder. Occasionally glancing at a calendar, I was painfully reminded that winter was long from over. But, even though dear ole Jack froze just about everything, from some hot spring within my spirit, I was reminded that the choice of the season was to either brave the blistery conditions and tread the tundra, hoping to find beauty or to stay hidden inside my warm and sheltered abode until the months of discomfort and pain passed.

It’s perplexing- how many times when I feel left with nothing, I find myself later walking away with arms of abundance.  Going a year without desserts only intensified the taste of ice cream of my tongue. A time without fellowship has left me with a deep appreciation for companionship.  Water is never entirely appreciated until one experiences the parched body produced by the desert.  Being selfish people, we are quick to forget that the one who gives and takes away does not do so whimsically but rather carefully, lest we become spoiled and complacent.  And like a bratty child, when our tightly gripped toys are taken away, we scream and cry: Unfair! Unloving! Yet, to guard against the taste of blessings growing stale, the child is isolated so he can rediscover a thirst for his daddy’s embrace.  

The contractions are over as winter births life. The desert turns to oasis, the howling wind to birds singing.  Though I rejoice in the change of season, my focus changes not. The winter will come again.

the other day i had a ‘whoa’ moment. i sat eight stories up in a doctor’s office waiting for the physician to consult with me, when i decided to take advantage of the eagle eye view. the sky was clear, the sun was shining, and the world was in action. my mom used to say things like, “you’re too big for your britches”…and man, did she hit the nail on the head with that colloquialism. most of the time i think that i am nothing less than hot stuff. it’s when i ascend in an airplane, or in this case, an elevator, that my size and relative importance again become quickly realized. people become specks, cars diminish to children’s play toys, and what i thought before to be a sprawling neighborhood is reduced to geometric shapes and patterns. as i see the outline of my apartment, my ego deflates. i am so stinking small.

taken aback by the magnitude of the world, i am most amazed by this: the magnitude of the one who rules over it all juxtaposed with the intimacy and fellowship the same one desires from the very things he created. a man walks down the street, the very hairs on his head numbered. traffic, a continuous flow…each turn of the wheels accounted for. my bedroom window…every tear i have shed, not gone unnoticed. the imbibition of god’s vastness is literally too much for me and i have to pull myself away from the window to accomodate my reeling mind as i sit down. if moments like these are not cause for praise, i am not sure what would summon emotions of wonder and amazement…and gratitude. the goodness of the god who paints the sunrise and calms the storm is the same nature that descends to our level and longs to know us, to walk with us, and to love us.

tonite as i am unwinding from a long week, my tired eyes meet his for a brief moment, and i am seized by his grace. caught up in affection that will not let me wriggle from the strong arms that hold me, my efforts of trying to escape desist. in his warm embrace, i rest. by his breath, i live. for his glory, i write.

I recently received a Valentine-themed promotion from a restaurant titled “Share the Love.” On the inside it reads, “love is meaningless unless shared with someone else.”  I didn’t give out any Valentine cards or gifts this year, but as an expression of my love for you, I will share what was on my heart yesterday….something that can’t be contained in a greeting card or a box full of chocolates.

Here’s a Valentine’s challenge: love yourself less. Straight out of the womb, we begin pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, being bombarded with offers to take us and our dreams to “infinity…and beyond!” The only catch is that you must devote yourself completely to the virtue of self-esteem.  Consequently, we feed each other’s egos, surround ourselves with people who “love” us but really who just tell us what we want to hear, and nurture self-esteem’s brainchild: pride.  As the monster matures, it causes mutiny against, well, everything.  As a result, we get a culture full of self sufficiency, self righteousness, self actualization, self assurance, self indulgence, self entitlement…heck, even self-checkouts!

Having fallen into this trap myself, I am thankful to have been rescued out of a pit of destruction.  About a decade ago, I had a massive heart attack. Conviction pierced me as an arrow much stronger than any in cupid’s quiver, and my pride was deflated as I realized that I am unable to do one thing for myself- and that is to earn god’s favor. Giving myself over entirely to jesus christ to save me from god’s wrath towards my unrighteousness, I began to find my rightful place in the universe as I threw off self esteem and embraced the personification of humility.

Free from the delusion that formerly enshrouded me, I am able to receive an efficacious love that surpasses trite sentimentalities….a love that does not require us to continue striving in our own efforts, but one that lovingly beckons hearts and calls us to rest in the work that has already been accomplished on the cross.