she said bye and
he said ‘can i talk to you for five minutes?’
him and her are but a hundred nits;
but if ye will it,
then let it be infinite.
this is meant to be a placeholder;
one that approximates the son and the church.
can he, with tender loving care, lead and hold her,
looking upward, let each earnestly urge?
then on this old earth end the other’s search,
let them found a home to perch.
“Full-time ministry.”
What do I even think about when the phrase flickers in my mind?
For a long time, it was the image of a pastor – preaching his heart out without fear or favour, only for the glory of God.
It was the image of a monk – casting away his own desires and dreams to consecrate his life for God.
It the image of a missionary – going through unimaginable difficulties to proclaim the good news even in the direst of circumstances, going so far as to pay the ultimate price if necessary.
But it was not the image of myself – though I call myself a Christian – to do the things I just mentioned above. As if only a certain group of Christian were special, and had the gifts and calling to do said things.
“That is not my calling,” I deceive myself.
“I will just do my part and leave the grand plans to those who are anointed.”
Sophistry.
As if Christians are not all called to live as sons of God (Matt 6:9), servants of the Lord (Luke 17:10), and slaves to righteousness (Rom 6:18). And although I describe them in three ways, they mean the same thing.
As if Christians are not all called to “go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I (Jesus) have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matt 28:19-20).
As if Christians are not called to put to death the old self, and put on the new self – to, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (Col 3:5-17).
As if the kingdom of God is not at hand – as if the end times were not near – as if we, not Jesus, are Lord of our lives –
As if I knew not, let alone understood, the eschatological reality of the world we live in.
As if.
According to Packer, we dither to serve Christ in cheerful self-abandonment because of unbelief.
The Lord said, “the harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest.” (Matt 9:37-38)
Yet, despite our belief, we are so often afraid that the answer to that prayer is “you.”
“You are the labourers that I will send to harvest the field.”
“No, Lord. Not me! I am not suitable,” we squirm.
The Lord himself displayed obedience to the Father, going as far to sacrifice himself on the cross, even though he was without sin, completely undeserving of death, and to a certain degree, reluctant:
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matt 26:39)
And Isaiah, when the Lord asked for someone to do his will, volunteered himself:
“And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Then I said, “Here I am! Send me.” ” (Isaiah 6:8).
Yet, we dither.
If we claim we believe, does every aspect of our lives reflect that claim?
Are we bold with our faith, or are we furtive?
The calling to be a Christian boils down to this – be the human being God designed us to be. In other words, to be like Jesus – the one called Son of God, the Suffering Servant, the Righteous One.
Having been positionally sanctified, will we be perfected in our lifetime? No. But it is unacceptable as a Christian to not strive towards that goal.
If in our sober moments, we cannot determine and commit to what is holy, what hope have we to make the right choice when faced with temptations?
Sin is real, and remains a force over our earthly flesh.
But so is the saving work of Christ, and his sending of the Spirit to aid us in our lifelong deathmatch with sin.
In the words of John Owen:
“Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you.”
God has called.
We must answer.
—
Q
i’m not even serious half the time;
and i seldom seriously fool around.
“just because i feel like it,”
grows more and more a hateful sound.
—
personality quizzes tend to ask if the quiz-taker favours justice or mercy, as if they belong on opposite sides.
why?
i think of mercy as a higher value,
but that does not mean i hold no regard for justice
(in fact, my aspiration for justice essentially decided my vocation).
justice and mercy are not mutually exclusive.
it is only when justice is meted out that mercy has any application at all.
—
when the greatest act of kindness you can offer is to tell someone to
“lose hope.”
do all who walk eventually run?
how shall i know if i run, or if i merely walk?
what is running?
how does it look like, what would i look like?
and if i ask, does it mean that i do not run?
for those with eyes on the wreath,
this would seem like the silliest question
(but still, take heed lest you fall).
but for us who are less athletic and more ordinary,
how do we know, what shall we do?
and if the exhortation is simply, ‘run, you fools, run!’
does it mean that there is no room for simple folk,
or do all who walk eventually run?
in such a way that the struggles of our youth grow obsolete,
in such a way that we will never need to ask?
the first time; a trigger – the flashpoint.
the second time; affirmation – the declaration of war.
arrogance slew innocence,
and every subsequent time a bloody battle.
the smell of iron fills the air; the rivers are dyed red.
a war i have no chance of losing,
yet everyday i am defeated.
how am i to go back to how things were?
how am i to move forward to how things should be?
Q
“i understand how you feel.”
so innocuous; so dangerous.
i googled, ‘hand from fire’.
in the garden were placed pillars of flames,
and each flame made the last one appear tame.
one by one i believed they would consume me;
and so conjured a lie in foolish pyromancy –
‘perhaps it is my fate to embrace this blazing sea.’
but you in mercy unbeknownst extinguished them all.
and as i thrashed about lamenting my pain,
you ensured that not even an ember remained.
you set above me a long, healing rain,
and saw this feeble wretch retained.
now older, wiser, and mature,
i thank you.
—
Q
the devil serves up a heady brew.
a couple of swigs and i’ve ‘thought it through.’
my eyes dim, i’m losing my cool;
the lines begin to blur – between false and true.
and in a while i wake up, hungover with rue.
i sobered up, with tears blue and a wounded heart.
i asked the lord if i may understand in time due:
my many miseries, both old and new,
the locusts’ years, and how they played their part.
and thus i prayed for the lord to chasten me;
when i am impudent to discipline me.
for though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,
and i, your child, am anything but meek.
so, father i pray for you to lay me low,
when i return to the old to rebuke me so.
hide me away whence the strong winds blow,
i plead to you, the shepherd of my soul.
life is fleeting, life is short,
but in you my soul found a place to hide.
whether in deed, in word, or in thought,
i pray thy grace in me abide.
—
Q
i googled, ‘writing on paper’
when the heart can’t quite keep up with the mind,
what do the limbs reach out to find?
—
is the writer’s person a direct reflection of what he/she writes?
i hope not.
if you have a history of writing, at some point in your life, you have probably looked at the things you wrote in the past and thought, ‘gosh, what was i thinking? how could i possibly have written that? what was wrong with me!? GAH!!’ we didn’t think much of it back then (we probably even thought we were SO COOL!), but sometimes we look back and find ourselves spirited away to Cringe-Land.
as people, we are, for the most part, constantly changing – struggling, growing, and maturing day on day.
” 98% of the time, we feel ‘alright’, “
the writer’s person is the culmination of every experience they have had; the takeaways from the people they have met, the weight of the things that they have done or left undone, the highs and the lows that they have gone through.
in contrast, what a writer writes is often a snapshot of a moment in time.
i seldom write about that 98% that is probably a more accurate portrayal of who i am (okay, maybe the percentages are not so extreme…). instead, it is in the 2% in which i am not ‘alright’ that most often find my heartstrings tugged, that i feel compelled to chronicle my sentiments.
in the end, i have to confess that i am, more often than not, a selfish writer – i write to vent, to channel my emotional energy elsewhere; to reprimand, encourage, or warn myself; to journal progression, to track my thoughts, to make memorials of certain incidents, and sometimes just because i think it would make a good story. if anyone likes what i write or feels benefited by it, that’s great, and i’d be happy to talk with them about it! but half the time (and probably more), i write knowing the target audience is me.
perhaps i should not speak for all writers, but at least, this is why i write what i write in the manner which i write.
—
i’m mostly alright. 🙂
Q
i googled: ‘knot heart’
to find a smile because it just seemed
perfectly befitting of you , whether red or pale;
the hesitation in your words are your warm, hearty thoughts;
a clumsy kind of beautiful , careful and real.
and i’m just a fool.
—
read your own advice.
Q
teddy|boy|fruit 