A Super Day

Today I will pull on my tights and cape.  I will catch a bus full of kids that has fallen off a bridge and fly it to safety.  I will jump to a bank that is being robbed and gather the criminals, their bullets bouncing off my chest, and deposit them in jail.  I will fly to New York and stop a terrorist from hurting anyone by grabbing his bomb and flying it out of earths atmosphere so that it explodes far enough away that the planet is safe. I will grab a tornado and guide it away from civilization. Then… I will have breakfast.

-or-

Today I will follow Christ with all that I am and know there is nothing I could do to earn his love.  I will enter this day with faith that matters and quietly know that God is God and I am not. I will thank him for his blessings and even talk to him about some of my concerns.  I will read the Bible and let its truth read me. I will look at what needs to be done and ask for his strength to do it, and then, in advance, promise not to let what remains undone ruin my night. Then… I will have breakfast.

One of those days would make a boring movie, but a great life.  One of those won't make the paper, but would be applauded by God.  One of those is more likely than the other.  Too often both of them are imaginary… one doesn't have to be.

Having a Super Day,

Dave

A Walk with Jesus

{A few years ago I wrote out this imaginary walk with Jesus.  Here's part of it.  It fits right now.}

One day I had to walk to the funeral home because a friend had died.  It wasn't until the walk home that I realized I wasn't walking alone.  I guess I knew the Master was there, we just hadn't talked much since I got the news. So, like throwing a rock through a window the first words broke out, "I just don't get it." 

Jesus just walked with me and let me talk.

"It makes no sense!  He had a family, a future.  It's not like he died of old age."  The tears that were too ashamed to reveal themselves in front of everyone snuck out and boldly raced down my face.

I looked over.  The Master wept also.  He told me once he cried every time I did, I just never saw it before. "Death wasn't in the original plan you know."

I knew he said something, but it didn't register.  Hopelessness grew in my verbiage, "All could I say to his family was, 'I'm sorry'."

"Are you?" 

"In ways that go deeper than words can say." 

"Then 'I'm sorry' was the perfect thing to say," he returned in a way that slightly calmed my spirit.  "They don't need an answer you don't have.  They need to know they're not alone."

That just didn't seem like enough to me.  I pushed my mind trying to think of better words I could have given them, "But what about something more holy like, 'God needed an angel.'"

The Master shook his head, "That's not holy, it's a lie.  Death doesn't happen to populate heaven with winged creatures in white robes."

"What about 'he's in a better place?'" I retorted.

We continued taking slow steps as he continued to explain, "The fact that you miss your friend is not lessened by religious statements of where he is."  

I remembered overhearing one of the church people at the funeral home, "What about, 'God does these things to teach us?'"

The Master quickly replied, "That's not comfort, it's cruel.  Do you believe that the Father would actually do that so that loved ones could learn some lesson?"

I shook my head.  

He followed with two questions that seemed difficult to answer, "Why is it you feel you have to say something profound?  Would my saying the right thing to you right now cause sorrow to disappear?"

I answered both questions, "I don't know.  It's pretty hard to imagine."  No words can erase this kind of pain.  Nothing was louder than my inner mourning.  Words can't be big enough to fill the gap of a friend.

"Is it possible your greatest need is not a cliché to paint over pain?  Is it possible that sorrow is part of the way you have been knit together so that you have even more in common with my Father?"

"Why would my pain give me something in common with your Father?  How could God know about the pain of a senseless death of a friend?"

The Master stopped and put his hand on my elbow.  I turned toward him as he slowly lifted up his hands.  The sleeves of his robe exposed the scars on his wrists from the nails that were driven through them.  My eyes darted from his eyes to his wrists as my spirit caught a fraction of the pain the Father must have gone through to witness the mistreatment of his son.  

Words would have been a distraction.

"The Father knows the pain of loss also," the Master whispered.

I had something in common with God... pain.  Nothing else needed to be said we continued walking.  I was glad he was near.  I still had questions and I still had clouds of pain in the core of who I was, but the Master said the Father isn't afraid of shadows.

I noticed my driveway and home out of the corner of my eye.  We kept walking.

Mourning,

Pastor Dave 

Visiting the Swamp

One day I found myself in a swamp.  I don't know how I got there, but that's where I was.  It seemed that just a few steps ago I was skipping stones on the water as I played on the beach with my friends.  But, with a click of a second hand I was transported to this smelly, dark hole. The smell of the life giving ocean was replaced with the stench of life sucking stagnation.

I couldn't believe how much energy it took to pull my foot out of the muck and move it inches forward, only to replace it into what gladly grabbed hold of it again as if this time it would never be released.

I could breathe ok, I just didn't want to.  Taking air in meant that what was left of my senses would want to punish me for allowing such tastes and smells in.

Then it hit me!  I'll ask God to put me back on the beach! I took a deep breath of the foul air and with all that I was I screamed out, "God, I'm right here!  Hey God, will you turn the swamp into a beach?" I listened for an answer, but the hisses of snakes and belches of toads was all I heard.

One more step. One more attempt to get God's attention. One more moment of being a swamp creature.

Finally, after hours of effort and inches of progress I stopped trying to move my feet. I couldn't even find the place in my spirit where energy used to live.

Instead of loud words a whimper came out, "I loved the beach you made for me, but I hate this swamp and I'm mad that you're making me walk through it.  On the beach I could feel your pleasure, but here it seems that only snakes and toads find a song."

I found a little more voice, "If I tell you that I love you will you burst through the darkness with your light and lift me from the swamp?  Will you answer my questions about why I had to come here?  If I say the right thing will you lift me out and carry me back to the beach?"

I learned that silence is loudest when you're in the swamp.

I had to push the next words out, in fact, they weren't even words, they were slurred moans, "I still believe in you even though I can't hear you."

"Dancer, I believe in you too." The words came from a few feet away.

"Is that you Jesus?  Did you come to lift me out?"

"Dancer, I'm not on the outside looking in, I'm walking through this swap with you."

"Will I get out?"

"Yes, we will dance again, but we will never be the same.  The swamp is not strong enough to keep you and noise of toads and snakes will not be the last song you will hear."

I heard the voice, but couldn't see him.  I didn't even know which way to look, "I'm thirsty."

"For what, the beach?"

I thought for a moment and tried to swallow to see what my taste buds were really longing for, "I long for the beach, but it's deeper than that.  I want... you."

Psalm 42.1-3, 11
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.   When can I go and meet with God? My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, "Where is your God?" (11) Why are you downcast, O my soul?  Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

Matthew 11.28 "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.


Visiting the swamp too,
Dancer