Puzzle Pieces

Journal #6

                I remember my family putting together a puzzle once. I was young and easily distracted, so it was difficult for me to sit still long enough to make any headway on that frustrating task. The pieces were scattered out all over the living room floor, the mass of tangled pieces didn’t look anything like the box, and I would have given up if my parents hadn’t been there to help me. Slowly, though, over the course of several weeks, the puzzle came together piece-by-piece to form the picture of a scarlet, rustic barn that was printed on the box. As we put the last straggling piece in place, I rejoiced and celebrated. The picture was complete; we had won.

                Sometimes my inability to see the box-top of my life overwhelms me. It seems that my talents, my interests, my experiences, my calling, my personality, my desires, et cetera have no hope of coming together to form a coherent plan. I get frustrated by a missing piece and try to fix it by my own power, cramming together unfitting areas and neglecting areas that are actually part of the design. Since I cannot yet see the big picture of my life, I try to create my own picture, and all I end up with is a mix-matched pile of uselessness.

                The Great Creator, however, knows full and well what my box-top looks like. He designed it, and He is orchestrating it moment-by-moment. He knows my scattered talents and desires, my gifts and my weaknesses, and He will one day bring them together into a whole. Right now, I see only in part but, one day I will “see not in part but in whole,” and I will “know fully as I am known.” That day is my goal and my desire, but until then I have a job to do. I plan and I try, but my assurance comes from the knowledge of the power and love of God. As His child, He is with me, and He expects me to work through my confusion and to focus on Him. If I strive to align my desires to His will, to seek after His heart, then I have no need to worry. No, I can’t see the future. But He does, and that is all I need to know.   

Simple Love

Journal #5

            Life needn't be complex to be enjoyed. The ordinary has just as much to offer as the extraordinary.

            I have a close connection to home, but I don’t get to go there as often as I would like. This weekend, though, I didn’t have to. Home came to me.

            Mom, Dad, Nana, and Grandpa made the 7-hour trek to Tigerville, SC to watch their son/grandson march the first halftime show of his college career. I was flattered and excited, but more so I was grateful just to have 47 hours to be with them. I was busy with school and marching band for much of that time, but Saturday morning we, together with my cousin Hannah, needed to find something to do. Normally, my mind and spirit associate “fun” with adventure. Hiking, kayaking, running, flying, exploring and the like are among my favorites. I don’t consider a day complete if my muscles aren’t sore and my mind thoroughly worked out. This weekend, though, was different. All we did was shop at three stores: Wal-Mart, Pecknel’s Music, and REI. Wandering through the endless aisles of goods, I found myself satisfied simply to be with them. That’s all. At that moment, I was having just as much fun as I would have had I been conquering the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Love is worth more than any adrenaline-induced moment of elation.   

            Walking back from the Café on Sunday evening, I noticed the sun gently highlighting the mountain-sloped horizon. There were no bright, fluffy clouds. The sun hadn’t even thrown out its fiery-red rays of glory. All that was left of the day was a cool, reminiscent glow. What a perfect way to end the weekend, I thought. It was beautiful. It was beautifully simple.  

             

Of Visions and Daydreams

Journal #4

                 A chapel speaker recently said something like this: “There is a difference between having a vision for God and daydreaming for God.”

                I tend to mix the two up. A vision is from God, but a daydream is from man. A vision glorifies God, but a daydream glorifies man. A vision involves an intimate, growing relationship with God, but a daydream is merely obsessing over an accomplishment. God doesn’t want men to daydream about being a Christian ‘success’. He wants us to reach out to the world with a vision of His love, grace, power, and salvation. But how? How do we envision rather than daydream? How do we reach out to the world with God’s message of forgiveness? I wish there was a cookie-cutter explanation, but there’s not.  I don’t know the answer. But I do know that God reveals His will step-by-step, in a steady trickle of grace.

                God has been teaching me that the first step towards discovering my vision is to become closer to its Source. I don’t have to know exactly where the future leads, but I do have to be make an intentional effort to draw closer to Christ every single day. If I don’t focus on what God would have me do today, why should He ever show me what to do tomorrow? Most of life is working hard, clinging in faith to the promise that God will complete the work He began in us. We do not live in moments of inspiration; we experience moments of inspiration. We live in moments of exhaustion. Trusting God, though, we will endure to the end, when our work is complete and we can rest in His presence. Then we will praise His Name, rest in His grace, and have an unhindered relationship with Him forevermore. Until that day comes, it is our duty to do all we can to draw closer to Him, battle the spiritual forces of evil, complete the tasks He has given us, and above all rely on Him to get us through. I anticipate the day when I can look back and see what God has done through me, but until then I will do what I can to discover His will day by day.     

                 

                  

Going Home

            One thing I’ve learned in college: there really is no place like home.         

Three weeks of studying, writing, practicing, and agonizing over homework had already left this only child wearied, stressed, and a bit homesick. So when Labor Day weekend came, I headed home like a sailor off the gangway. Restlessly, I drove home full of anticipation and taunted by subconscious memories of my tree-climbing, LEGO-playing childhood. I could almost feel the familiar aura of my home waiting to soothe my spirit.  The smell of my mama’s fresh-baked, delicious muffins seemed to disguise itself with the car’s air-conditioning, and my Dad’s playful, excited call of “He’s home! He’s home!” was already resounding in my ears. My grandparents would be sitting anxiously on the couch, ready to discuss the route I chose, what the traffic was like, and what I could do next time to make the journey easier. Papa would be fired up about something political or theological, and Grandpa would be eager to discuss the Friday night Pierce County football game. I could see Granny and Nana’s eager faces, waiting to hear all about my friends and adventures, and Mom would be hugging my neck and hanging on to every word I said. Dad, of course, would also be planning just how much fun we could pack into the next two days. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would come to visit too, and we would congregate on the front porch for an evening of rustic fellowship, like our pioneering ancestors of old. Oh, home, sweet, home…

As I rounded the final corner of my voyage home, the full moon was rising gracefully in its tiger-orange attire. The purple and red remnants of the sunset were hovering mystically to the West, and at the bend of our lonely country lane, my front yard’s conspicuous pine-trees were pointing to the heavens. Suddenly, I noticed something slightly odd: there was a person meandering down the right-hand side of the road. Five seconds later, I recognized that slightly crooked walk: it was my Dad! Home just couldn’t wait any longer; it had to send out an emissary of love to escort its son right up to its welcoming doorstep. Dad in tow, I drove the remaining 200 yards, clambered out of the vehicle, and climbed into the arms of my eagerly waiting family. My soul was relieved, and I felt peace like the tide wash over college’s burdensome stress. Here I was. I was loved. I was wanted. I was home.   

             

Friendly Mistakes

 Journal #2

Perfectionism is a detriment rather than a virtue. I suppose that is why I’m always a touch afraid of meeting groups of people- I can’t control what all of them think. Last Friday, I found out firsthand that a mistake can sometimes be the best thing that can happen.

     A group of students had decided to take a hike. After another week of soporific lectures, agonizing homework, and shocking pop quizzes, the 45 minute car ride to Caesar's Head State Park felt like a crawl through the Himalayas. As people clambered out of the car and the tattered bed of a pickup truck, I began to sense myself developing a sly sense of apprehension. I didn’t know most of these people. There were only six of us going on the “less strenuous” trail, and the only one I had met before was the only other guy in the group. The rest were girls. For someone who struggles with impressions, being with a group of girls complicated the plan to have a calm, relaxing evening.

      Along the trail, we chatted, we played, we rested, and we encouraged each other, but-although I was enjoying their company- I still had this silent, nagging fear of their impressions of me. Based on prior experiences, I knew that until I overcame that social hesitation I would not be able to relax and truly let myself have a good time. I soon found out, though, that one small moment of mistake can lead to one huge moment of release.

     We stopped at a small waterfall, and it was just big enough to play in but small enough to be safe. It was a toddler waterfall. The other guy (Daniel) and I decided to whet our appetite for adventure by literally hopping right in. We set our feet free from their tennis-shoe shackles and splashed like little kids in the stream. Of course, we had to burn off our adrenaline, so we proceeded to put our imaginations into high gear. We took up sticks as our armament and commenced in an epic duel, and the damsels on the bank cheered wildly for their favorite knight. Alas, I was defeated, and as Daniel raised his stick-sword in victory, he made a foolish decision that brought friendships into existence. He proudly cast his stick into the stream, and water as frigid as the Bering Sea splashed up, up, and straight onto the nearest girl in the group. We stared. She stared. Then she glared. I had no idea what to do. We were out together in the wilds of the Blue Ridge, and we had a ticked off female to deal with for the next couple of hours. How, oh how, was this going to turn out alright? It seemed my fear would be confirmed: that my reputation, along with the girl’s shoes, would have to be hung out to dry. After an intense 10 seconds, however, her demeanor instantly changed. She quickly snatched off her shoes, leaped into the stream, and playfully tried to chunk us into the water along with Daniel’s stick. We all climbed and splashed, and from that one moment of stupidity all pretenses were gone. The ice had been broken. Friendship had been born.   

    Mistakes do not necessarily lead to disaster. Whether a frigid splash leads to friendship or a botched essay leads to better writing, an honest mistake can and often will enlighten me in brand new ways. I do not have to be a perfect person to make a friend. I do not have to be a perfect writer to become a successful student. I do not have to be a perfect Christian to make a difference in someone’s life. I want to become a better friend, writer, and Christian, but I cannot be paralyzed in fear of petty mistakes. If I am afraid to make mistakes, I will be afraid to try. If I’m afraid to try, I will never accomplish anything. Friday reminded me that perfectionism does not lead to perfection. However, learning from mistakes-or even making a few- will certainly lead to success.   

Seeing A Little Different...

     This is a journal entry for my Composition and Rhetoric class. The prompt is "What I'm learning," and it can be either based on classroom experiences or personal wanderings of the mind. I will probably post all of my entries over the next few months. You will know them by their label Journal #__.  

Journal #1

     I have heard a lot about worldview lately. Over the summer, I read the book Freshman 15 by Travis Agnew. By clearly and thoroughly explaining what a worldview truly is, Agnew challenges Christians to truly live out what they say they believe by viewing the world through a biblical perspective. Viewing the world as God does will lead to changes in our lives, Agnew explains, and those changes are a step towards becoming the people God would have us to be. For me, the challenge to become more grounded in a Christian worldview was exactly the push I needed at this time in my life. As I am preparing to answer God’s call to the mission field, I must first strive to see people, situations, or ideas as God does, or I will utterly waste the educational opportunity that God has provided me. Intellectual growth is great. As a missionary, it will be helpful to understand complex theological concepts. Being able to linguistically analyze a language will be useful, and I may even find myself in a situation where an understanding of chemistry could allow me to avoid great harm. If I do not view the lost with the love of God, though, it will all be in vain. Christians are, as our name implies, followers of Christ, seeking to point everyone in our paths to salvation through Jesus Christ. How can I do that if I do not see them as God does? It can’t be done. Thus, to think, feel, and act like Christ is to be primary goal of my time here at North Greenville University, and I have been learning that sometimes that means changing my initial perspectives about certain situations.  

                Take, for example, the news about Iran I recently heard. Apparently, they had an “earthquake” (or perhaps a failed nuclear test) in a remote region of the nation. Immediately, I humanly associated Iranians with the human rights atrocities that I so often hear of. I thought of the impending nuclear crisis that seems to be looming on the horizon, and I thought of the extreme hatred and persecution of Christian men, women, and children that I have read about in recent days. It was hard to feel sympathy at that moment. However, God has a habit of piercing the callous of my soul right when I think I can’t be moved, and from that wound poured the warm compassion of the Holy Spirit. God is a gracious God, always changing His children and revealing the true way of the cross. I glanced over the pictures, and my heart broke for those grieving, devastated, and misled people. I saw the photos of the lifeless loved. I saw the man hold his child for the last time. I saw the woman screaming at the heavens, devastated at the loss of a precious person in her life. I saw the brutal, sickening effects of a fallen world, and I hated it. The villagers were not who I hated. I hated the forces of darkness that were holding them captive, and I longed for them to be set free. Jesus overcame the forces of evil, and He conquered sin and death. Seeing those people lost and without hope, I pleaded with God to use me-to use all of His children- to reach the world with the good news of Jesus Christ. That natural disaster reminded me that the sin of the world, the sin of Christians, and my own personal sin has devastating consequences, consequences that I sometimes forget. Sin can only be beaten by God. Suddenly, I had an even deeper desire for God to give me more a compassionate heart, and to see the lost not as people I have to reach but as people that I want to reach. Jesus isn’t just for the lost that do not hate or the lost that do not harm. Jesus is for all the lost. He saved me, He saved every Christian, and He will save whoever has faith in Him. Praise God that Jesus saves!       

Tonight's Random Ramblings...

Today, I just want to write. I'm not even sure what about. I just do. So here we go...

      Well, tonight's service was soothingly simple. One guitar, one leader, and a church house full of sincere worshipers. It doesn't get more honest than that. The worship tonight was beautiful. Sometimes I think that today's church can become sidetracked by everything that we feel we must "do." Not that there is anything wrong with doing or keeping up with the times, just that we don't have constantly "do" in order to be what God wants us to be. The praise band is great, I love it and I love being a part of it. But we do not have to do it all the time. Like Chris said today, sometimes we need to just "keep it simple." My Ecuadorian friends worship in a cement-block house. Our Chinese brothers and sisters are persecuted, so they simply worship behind closed doors. And windows. And curtains. Peter, Paul, and others throughout the history of the church- they simply worshiped in prison. Even the chains slowly peeling the skin off of their wrists didn't stop them from lifting up God's name in thanksgiving and in praise. And we like complain because the church is too cold, too hot, or the songs aren't our style or the music isn't fast enough. I wonder if God ever gets sick of any American "worshiping." Mind you, I'm not just out bashing every church in America. I believe that for the most part our spiritual leaders are truly seeking to please God and glorify His name, and that the congregations are generally sincere. I'm just out to point out that sometimes conveniences can be more of a hindrance than a catalyst for worship. But praise God that we have a grace that covers all, and that He can work in spite of our sometimes less than perfect attitudes. He truly is in control.

It seems that my body is informing my mind that I should get some rest now. With my evening rambling done and the hour getting late, I end with a simple prayer. God, thank You for being You!