Today I was rummaging about in my thoughts to see what was solid & natural as well as what could be sent away to burn. So I stumbled on an old bit of treasure amidst the rubble, it was simple & worth keeping like an old picture lying amidst the smoldering ruins of a home. To me, it is important to study & memorize; be it a quote from a favorite author, a verse of wisdom or a poem. In a moment of need, our own or a loved ones, we can offer undeniable hope with our words. In a instance of love we can sweeten the moment with words tried & true. There are few opportunities in this life so great as when you offer a friend hope or place a smile on the face of the one you love. Let us not underestimate the influence of our words & let us prepare so we have something of value to offer when given the chance.
Here is a good place to begin.
I LOVE YOU.
"I love you for what you are, but I
love you
yet more for what you are going to
be.
I love you not so much for your
realities
as for your ideals.
I pray for your desires that they may
be great,
rather than for your satisfactions,
which may be so hazardously little.
You are going forward toward
something great.
I am on the way with you,
and therefore I love you."
-Carl Sandburg
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Glowing Hearts (At Christmas Time)
Almost every family I know has Christmas time memories, maybe some traditions or a favorite holiday story that comes out each year when the winter snows start falling, I know mine does. My memories of being a small boy during Colorado winters involved reading The Polar Express & falling in love with the pictures &wishing I had a single, magical silver-bell while looking out my darkened living room to a green & red illuminated front yard. For years & to this day my family & I will drag our Christmas storage bins out of the shed & dust off old wreaths, pictures & candles to place around the house for Christmas warmth & cheer. I recall the joy of decorating trees with my family which was accompanied by trying to free all the ornaments in the box when the hook-hangy things on them would intertwine & tangle. I remember watching It's a Wonderful Life or singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer while contributing all the fillers in the verses (ex: like a lightbullb, like monopoly or like George Washington). So many times I watched a cartoon about a snowman brought to life by a magician's silk hat or a claymation rendition of Santa & his favorite reindeer. These have all been an important part of a developing Christmas story & I enjoyed them all very much, but one tradition & story always held my heart in a special way. There has been just one story that began small & grew to change everything in my life.
This family tradition began when I was very young & could have never existed without my big brother, Sam. Each year for our Christmas Eve get-together at my grandma's house he would re-vamp & then compose a Christmas play for all of the cousins to act out in the living room for the adults prior to opening our presents. This was sometimes tiresome for the cousins as my brother's writing level far exceed our reading capabilites & sometimes tiresome for the adults because the length of the plays increased as he became a increasingly proficient writer (it also took me along time to sound out many of the words he would write in the play programs). My sister came around when I was ten which meant there were six cousins total; my brother, myself, my baby sis & our three cousins. Sam would seldom act, as his job of narrating, orienting & then re-orienting all of us during the play was enough job in itself. This would leave me, reluctantly, as the lead actor each year as I was second oldest to my brother. I have played the Grinch, Ebeneezer, Joseph & many others but my favorite of all these was Joseph. My brother retold the nativity as one of our very first plays for the family, it was simply told & planted a small seed in my heart among many others that over the years was watered & nourished by the love of God, my family & all of you. My memories of being young seem like ghosts at times, wisps of thought you can almost hold onto but slip through your fingers but I can remember this story.
The story of Christ's birth seemed more impossible than any other Christmas story I had ever heard. There were promises of a King born of a Virgin, God come in flesh to save us, yet Jesus was humbly born & placed in a manger. There was no room for Him in Bethlehem, where Joseph & Mary had to travel on their own to take part in the census Caesar Augustus had commanded all people to do. It didn't make total sense to me. How could a baby born in a small town by young parents, in the middle of the night in a stable become one of the most known & talked of names in all of history? How could God love us so much that He would enter the world in such a vulnerable way at such a violent time in history?
As a teenager I became bored with Christmas. I would serve as little as possible & look to see what I could gain more than anyone should. Without serving, sacrificing or generosity such a beautiful season as Christmas began losing value to me. I had little interest in the cute holiday stories anymore.
My first memories of our Christmas plays remained, however, & the seed that rooted in me years prior began spreading through the darkened & hardened areas of my heart. This impossible story of Jesus's birth became too beautiful to ignore just as impossible as it was for me to deny the beauty looking out at the sun dipping behind our Colorado mountains with radiant oranges & pinks running through the sky. This story became not just something I heard but something I felt, not just something I knew but something I believed & I was ready to believe something that seemed so impossible. I was ready stop selling myself short on what my belief was made for & I no longer wanted to listen to a world where a love so great as Christs was considered falicy.
So this year as I think back & see Christ's story entering my life as a young boy, I am thankful. I am thankful that He never gave up on us. I am thankful that in His life He offers us something seemingly impossible to believe & has transformed countless hearts & lives through His. I am thankful for His story because through Him it has allowed me to believe in others & myself again. His story has made my life not only a better one but one worth living.
'Truly He taught us to love one another,
Merry Christmas & I love you!
This family tradition began when I was very young & could have never existed without my big brother, Sam. Each year for our Christmas Eve get-together at my grandma's house he would re-vamp & then compose a Christmas play for all of the cousins to act out in the living room for the adults prior to opening our presents. This was sometimes tiresome for the cousins as my brother's writing level far exceed our reading capabilites & sometimes tiresome for the adults because the length of the plays increased as he became a increasingly proficient writer (it also took me along time to sound out many of the words he would write in the play programs). My sister came around when I was ten which meant there were six cousins total; my brother, myself, my baby sis & our three cousins. Sam would seldom act, as his job of narrating, orienting & then re-orienting all of us during the play was enough job in itself. This would leave me, reluctantly, as the lead actor each year as I was second oldest to my brother. I have played the Grinch, Ebeneezer, Joseph & many others but my favorite of all these was Joseph. My brother retold the nativity as one of our very first plays for the family, it was simply told & planted a small seed in my heart among many others that over the years was watered & nourished by the love of God, my family & all of you. My memories of being young seem like ghosts at times, wisps of thought you can almost hold onto but slip through your fingers but I can remember this story.
The story of Christ's birth seemed more impossible than any other Christmas story I had ever heard. There were promises of a King born of a Virgin, God come in flesh to save us, yet Jesus was humbly born & placed in a manger. There was no room for Him in Bethlehem, where Joseph & Mary had to travel on their own to take part in the census Caesar Augustus had commanded all people to do. It didn't make total sense to me. How could a baby born in a small town by young parents, in the middle of the night in a stable become one of the most known & talked of names in all of history? How could God love us so much that He would enter the world in such a vulnerable way at such a violent time in history?
As a teenager I became bored with Christmas. I would serve as little as possible & look to see what I could gain more than anyone should. Without serving, sacrificing or generosity such a beautiful season as Christmas began losing value to me. I had little interest in the cute holiday stories anymore.
My first memories of our Christmas plays remained, however, & the seed that rooted in me years prior began spreading through the darkened & hardened areas of my heart. This impossible story of Jesus's birth became too beautiful to ignore just as impossible as it was for me to deny the beauty looking out at the sun dipping behind our Colorado mountains with radiant oranges & pinks running through the sky. This story became not just something I heard but something I felt, not just something I knew but something I believed & I was ready to believe something that seemed so impossible. I was ready stop selling myself short on what my belief was made for & I no longer wanted to listen to a world where a love so great as Christs was considered falicy.
So this year as I think back & see Christ's story entering my life as a young boy, I am thankful. I am thankful that He never gave up on us. I am thankful that in His life He offers us something seemingly impossible to believe & has transformed countless hearts & lives through His. I am thankful for His story because through Him it has allowed me to believe in others & myself again. His story has made my life not only a better one but one worth living.
'Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!'
Merry Christmas & I love you!
Friday, December 7, 2012
Story.
Recently I acquired a book & it was free, which I love. I flipped it open & for hundreds of pages there were inspirational quotes & after each quote there is a small amount of room to write & reflect on the day, or that quote, or life at large. For twenty minutes or so I sat reading page after page of quotes, inspired by some & left wondering, "Did that quote make it in by mistake?" by others. After I had my fill of mild inspiration I closed the book to find the pinnacle of self-inspired messages on the back cover, it read, "You are the hero of your own story." I almost threw the book out after reading this.
The more I think & read of it the more I realize my life is a story. As far as it relates to this world I have a beginning, a middle & an end. There are seasons of drought where the story line waivers & I question whether or not mine is a good one. Then there are climaxes or turning points that beckon us ahead or stop us in our tracks, these are the exciting parts. But however our story is currently being written or in what direction we are headed in, a truth is there; when we believe a better story lies before us we have no choice but to move forward. Well, really, we do have a choice but the choice is move ahead or numb ourselves in our march toward death, to pretend that call is not there. The latter of the two we seem like the obvious one to avoid. But when a greater story lies ahead of me why do I often choose to stay where I am? Why do I ignore or decline the offer for a greater story? This is a question I struggle with daily.
Being a human & a man I default towards comfortable & safe things. More than not I set roots in areas of my life where comfort is ample & when distress trespasses inward I again strive for comfort. This sole desire for comfort makes me an increasingly boring & predictable author of my own story. I sit most days & pencil in a script of good food, familiar company, mediocre faith & an occasional outdoor adventure. These are all alright things to have in part but not through the entire story, it's so boring. Yuck. I realized several years ago I didn't want to play author of my life anymore, I wanted God to.
At first I really did not like the things He would write; love that person over there, forgive this person over here, ask for forgiveness for yourself, tithe your hard earned money, don't eat for a full day... But as I did these little things my story began improving, I began enjoying living in it. I began understanding God was able to write a story for me far greater than I could write my self. A life full of all the elements of my favorite books or movies; growth, adventure, romance, joy, forgiveness, redemption, justice & love. If it were up to me I would continue writing the story but with a slightly more attractive narrator, with slightly more money, with a supermodel wife, that has to work less, that has to sacrifice very little to achieve great things. This is not real life & thankfully He has far greater plans for me than I do for myself.
We are not all promised a good beginning to life but we all have equal chance of a good death. If we want a funeral with standing room only we have to ask God daily, "What will you write for me today?". If we only have today with God as the author & if we let Him write, we are part of a story worth sharing & remembering. It is my prayer the our ending is written far better than our beginning, with God being the Author & hero of our stories.
The more I think & read of it the more I realize my life is a story. As far as it relates to this world I have a beginning, a middle & an end. There are seasons of drought where the story line waivers & I question whether or not mine is a good one. Then there are climaxes or turning points that beckon us ahead or stop us in our tracks, these are the exciting parts. But however our story is currently being written or in what direction we are headed in, a truth is there; when we believe a better story lies before us we have no choice but to move forward. Well, really, we do have a choice but the choice is move ahead or numb ourselves in our march toward death, to pretend that call is not there. The latter of the two we seem like the obvious one to avoid. But when a greater story lies ahead of me why do I often choose to stay where I am? Why do I ignore or decline the offer for a greater story? This is a question I struggle with daily.
Being a human & a man I default towards comfortable & safe things. More than not I set roots in areas of my life where comfort is ample & when distress trespasses inward I again strive for comfort. This sole desire for comfort makes me an increasingly boring & predictable author of my own story. I sit most days & pencil in a script of good food, familiar company, mediocre faith & an occasional outdoor adventure. These are all alright things to have in part but not through the entire story, it's so boring. Yuck. I realized several years ago I didn't want to play author of my life anymore, I wanted God to.
At first I really did not like the things He would write; love that person over there, forgive this person over here, ask for forgiveness for yourself, tithe your hard earned money, don't eat for a full day... But as I did these little things my story began improving, I began enjoying living in it. I began understanding God was able to write a story for me far greater than I could write my self. A life full of all the elements of my favorite books or movies; growth, adventure, romance, joy, forgiveness, redemption, justice & love. If it were up to me I would continue writing the story but with a slightly more attractive narrator, with slightly more money, with a supermodel wife, that has to work less, that has to sacrifice very little to achieve great things. This is not real life & thankfully He has far greater plans for me than I do for myself.
We are not all promised a good beginning to life but we all have equal chance of a good death. If we want a funeral with standing room only we have to ask God daily, "What will you write for me today?". If we only have today with God as the author & if we let Him write, we are part of a story worth sharing & remembering. It is my prayer the our ending is written far better than our beginning, with God being the Author & hero of our stories.
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