So it has been some time since I have posted on here. I am unsure why, perhaps it was impatience; that I looked for fame and fortune elsewhere. Perhaps it was money, an abandonment of anything that wasn't pushing me forward financially. In any case, three years is a long time to allow so many profound moments to sink to the bottom of my memories. I have always had something to say, at times you couldn't shut me up, but for whatever reason for a time I thought my words were just for me. The truth will always find the surface in us, whether through invitation or not.
I have begun to go for regular walks, breaking my long-time habit of being an absolute hermit. I don't walk far, I have this spot under a tree on a large field of grass that I like to sit, pray and contemplate as us melancholic types tend to do. During that time, my mind drifts from one thought to another, asking questions, probing for solutions or simply sitting in the accompanying emotions and sifting through those.
I found myself this particular time to be focusing on all the areas of my life that seemed to be stagnant and not progressing. After allowing my emotions to sweep around me and the inevitable existential questions begin to poke at my reality, I had a moment of clarity. I was ignoring where my life was going well in order to complain about what wasn't going the way I wanted.
This may seem like common wisdom, but I was amazed out how much good I was ignoring simply so I could sulk about things that most of the time weren't an issue. Creatively, I have never felt more alive, and here I was having a pity-dinner for one because I had a fleeting feeling of loneliness.
As I realised this I had an image in my mind's eye of me standing in front of a row of doors. They were all closed, except for one, wide open and inviting with a warm glowing light. There was Jesus, pointing towards it with a big grin on His face. But I, I was yelling like a madman at all these closed doors. In thinking of this I chuckled aloud.
Perspective is everything. Half empty, half full, it can be hard for a thirsty man to decide, but we have to focus on the available, for on that we can act. Focus on the open door, you may not be able to decide which door opens, but you have the means to bring out the best of what is in front of you.
DON'T IGNORE THE OPEN DOOR, MAKE IT YOUR FOCUS.
God bless you.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Love Means (A monologue of sorts)
Love is not easy.
Love means relinquishing all expectations.
Love means accepting all blemishes, scars and sorrows; self-inflicted or otherwise.
Love means lowering your defences.
Love means 'at all costs'.
Love means working on yourself first.
Love means going beyond your understanding.
Love means more controversy.
Love means unfailing, unrelenting and unconditionally.
Love means the sacrifice of one for the benefit of all.
Love is the greatest challenge to humanity...
...And its greatest truth.
'...The unfailing love of the Lord fills the earth.'
-Psalm 33:5
'...The unfailing love of the Lord fills the earth.'
-Psalm 33:5
Friday, June 12, 2015
The Need to be Broken (Presence 2015)
On a Friday, the 18th of April 2015, I was at breaking point. I could not eat, I was fidgety, my heart was racing in my chest and paranoia clouded my mind. I almost threw up multiple times. The anxiety that I thought I had somewhat defeated, reared its ugly head unexpectedly.
I was down with other's from my church to attend C3's Presence conference and was enjoying it up to that point, but I was distracted. This was unlike any other time I had been anxious. I was on the verge of throwing up and I could not tell you why. Sure, there were little things that made me mildly anxious, but the control I had up to that point seemed to all but disappear. I had anxieties coming at me from all angles and was losing control, the realisation of which amplified it exponentially.
So I tried to escape; I tried to run. I grabbed my things and as I was doing so my brother's wife asked where I was going. I wanted to tell the truth; I wanted to cry out for help. I quietly, barely holding myself together, told her that my anxiousness was making me feel like I was going to throw up and I needed to go. She, seemingly taken aback by my honesty, nodded. I moved through the rows and exited the building, feeling it lessen slightly, but knowing I would face it again once I got alone. I was halfway down the street when my phone received a text from my brother asking if I wanted prayer instead of leaving. I promptly walked back knowing that that was the only thing that could save me from this. My brother was up the stairs with his wife and one of my mates as I walked in.
They were looking for me and turned to walk away. I called out to them and they turned around. My mate asked if I was okay and I let out a laboured 'Nup'. They got me to sit down and they started praying for me. Almost immediately I began to weep. I felt all the grief of my anxiety bubble up and overflow. I wept so bitterly that my eyes, my nose and my mouth all dripped. I wept so loudly that I was running out of breath. My body was bent over as it all poured out. As the prayer went on I began to cry out to Jesus through the mess of my tears. All this happened as the sound of worship music thundered through the walls.
There seemed to be no end to the grief. It poured out as if it had been filling up for a lifetime. Then I heard a whisper within me. 'It's not your fault,' it said. It continued to repeat, 'it's not your fault.' The Holy Spirit was ministering to me in that moment. Eventually my pastor came and took me for a walk to talk about what I was going through. We talked about a lot of stuff, and I am now stronger for that experience with a better understanding of myself, my motivations and needs. With hindsight, what was broken that day was a fear. A fear of never being good enough.
I do wonder though, what if I had walked away? What if I had continued to the station, got on that train and gone back to my grandparents? What if I never addressed it?
Any person that looks at this situation could say that I would simply implode. That is probably true. There is a deeper question within this, like why do we try to keep up appearances and at times refuse to reach out to God or people? Pride is too simple an answer. I believe sometimes we try all we can to be responsible for ourselves; sometimes even over our own punishment. Like somehow forcing ourselves to endure further pain is a great recompense for our failures and perfect partner for our apologies. God is not into punishment as much as you think. If He cared so much to punish us, He never would have sent His son Jesus to stand in our place and take the wrath that we deserved.
We cannot fix ourselves; though we try to resist the things that God wants to deal with. Sometimes entering the wound in which our pain resides is the scariest thing imaginable, but it is necessary. My weeping was an incredibly painful process, but I am now free because of it. Our resistance to God's prompting can be so strong that he allows us to break in order to save us. God has no problem in bypassing our dignity; often putting us in a position of forced vulnerability in order to deal with what is causing us pain.
We need to accept that we are broken, and need God to take us into places that we don't want to go.
I was down with other's from my church to attend C3's Presence conference and was enjoying it up to that point, but I was distracted. This was unlike any other time I had been anxious. I was on the verge of throwing up and I could not tell you why. Sure, there were little things that made me mildly anxious, but the control I had up to that point seemed to all but disappear. I had anxieties coming at me from all angles and was losing control, the realisation of which amplified it exponentially.
So I tried to escape; I tried to run. I grabbed my things and as I was doing so my brother's wife asked where I was going. I wanted to tell the truth; I wanted to cry out for help. I quietly, barely holding myself together, told her that my anxiousness was making me feel like I was going to throw up and I needed to go. She, seemingly taken aback by my honesty, nodded. I moved through the rows and exited the building, feeling it lessen slightly, but knowing I would face it again once I got alone. I was halfway down the street when my phone received a text from my brother asking if I wanted prayer instead of leaving. I promptly walked back knowing that that was the only thing that could save me from this. My brother was up the stairs with his wife and one of my mates as I walked in.
They were looking for me and turned to walk away. I called out to them and they turned around. My mate asked if I was okay and I let out a laboured 'Nup'. They got me to sit down and they started praying for me. Almost immediately I began to weep. I felt all the grief of my anxiety bubble up and overflow. I wept so bitterly that my eyes, my nose and my mouth all dripped. I wept so loudly that I was running out of breath. My body was bent over as it all poured out. As the prayer went on I began to cry out to Jesus through the mess of my tears. All this happened as the sound of worship music thundered through the walls.
There seemed to be no end to the grief. It poured out as if it had been filling up for a lifetime. Then I heard a whisper within me. 'It's not your fault,' it said. It continued to repeat, 'it's not your fault.' The Holy Spirit was ministering to me in that moment. Eventually my pastor came and took me for a walk to talk about what I was going through. We talked about a lot of stuff, and I am now stronger for that experience with a better understanding of myself, my motivations and needs. With hindsight, what was broken that day was a fear. A fear of never being good enough.
I do wonder though, what if I had walked away? What if I had continued to the station, got on that train and gone back to my grandparents? What if I never addressed it?
Any person that looks at this situation could say that I would simply implode. That is probably true. There is a deeper question within this, like why do we try to keep up appearances and at times refuse to reach out to God or people? Pride is too simple an answer. I believe sometimes we try all we can to be responsible for ourselves; sometimes even over our own punishment. Like somehow forcing ourselves to endure further pain is a great recompense for our failures and perfect partner for our apologies. God is not into punishment as much as you think. If He cared so much to punish us, He never would have sent His son Jesus to stand in our place and take the wrath that we deserved.
We cannot fix ourselves; though we try to resist the things that God wants to deal with. Sometimes entering the wound in which our pain resides is the scariest thing imaginable, but it is necessary. My weeping was an incredibly painful process, but I am now free because of it. Our resistance to God's prompting can be so strong that he allows us to break in order to save us. God has no problem in bypassing our dignity; often putting us in a position of forced vulnerability in order to deal with what is causing us pain.
We need to accept that we are broken, and need God to take us into places that we don't want to go.
Monday, April 27, 2015
A Death-like Grip
Recently something has occurred to me. Some things slip through our fingers because they are meant to.
As humans, we have trouble sensing the infinite. The limitations on our mind allow us mainly to focus on temporary things. Therefore it stands to reason that when things are uncertain and the ground is shaky, we hang on to those temporary things. I don't believe we were ever meant to. These things can't hold our weight; they can't handle our grip. Inevitably, they slip from our grasp or are crushed as we desperately try to maintain our hold.
I am one who holds on too tightly. Attempts to control, manipulate and predict people have left me empty handed. From these experiences I can say for a fact that the temporary things that are meant to stay with you will sit gently in your hand. Anything that you attempt to restrict will escape. So what then can we hold onto for stability?
The infinite. God is infinite in all ways. His love is infinite. His hope is infinite. His goodness is infinite. We can put our trust in Him because He outlasts all the other stuff that we try to hang onto. People, money, security and health may all elude us, but we can depend on God to never abandon us.
As humans, we have trouble sensing the infinite. The limitations on our mind allow us mainly to focus on temporary things. Therefore it stands to reason that when things are uncertain and the ground is shaky, we hang on to those temporary things. I don't believe we were ever meant to. These things can't hold our weight; they can't handle our grip. Inevitably, they slip from our grasp or are crushed as we desperately try to maintain our hold.
I am one who holds on too tightly. Attempts to control, manipulate and predict people have left me empty handed. From these experiences I can say for a fact that the temporary things that are meant to stay with you will sit gently in your hand. Anything that you attempt to restrict will escape. So what then can we hold onto for stability?
'Hold tightly to the eternal life to which God has called you...'
- Timothy 6:12
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Character VS. Magic Mike
The movie Magic Mike is a big hit with the ladies. But admittedly when I saw parts of it I felt sick to my stomach. I thought, 'is
that really what women find attractive? I am none of these
things.' I am not nearly as ripped as that dude, I've got body hair that is
confronting to say the least and though I would like to think that given
a lifetime to learn I could, I can't dance and I am not an
exhibitionist. Sure, I can speak eloquently and I have a good sense of
humour, but outside of that what do I have to offer? This isn't self-deprecation, just a simple a question how we measure ourselves. By whom and what do we measure off of?
I wonder when the day comes when a woman decides she'd like to be with me will it be because I have changed physically, or whether I will be judged on my whole being and my love for her? The dilemma of men with no magic.
I wrote a post a few days ago about how women in our culture should be encouraged to see themselves as beautiful and not worry about being sexy. As a man I felt it was appropriate to talk about the other side of this. As women typically are sensitive to whether or not people see them as beautiful, men seem to have a similar question.
Where women ask: 'Do I look beautiful?'
Men ask: 'Do I look powerful?'
The honest reaction some men have to that question, though they may never admit it to another soul, is a defeated 'no'. The problem being that they seem to equate physical strength as the only strength that matters. I challenge that idea with another: strength is an attribute of character, not physical aptitude. As it is with women, our culture and advertisements are usually aimed towards a man's most obvious insecurity: his strength.
There seems to be a false correlation made between physical appearance and strength of character. If you see a man overweight in the street, the immediate judgement is to assume he has a character flaw of laziness or cowardice; a weakness.
Hear me right, I have nothing against physical fitness, but I do believe that steroid use, especially in young men, could be connected with this belief.
Think of this scenario, you train harder and harder, every time consistently seeing results and improving your physical appearance then one day those results stop suddenly. You want to get bigger, cut more fat and gain more muscle mass but your body won't go any further in your quest to be more attractive. You start to age, and it's harder to maintain the body you want. Someone offers you a drug that will help you get to the next level or maintain your current one, do you take it?
It seems sometimes we are willing to ignore certain realities to get to the level fantasy when it comes to appearances. Even to the point where the people who matter have absolutely no problem with how we look, we want to take it further to make ourselves feel better. That is insecurity.
Strength is character. Insecurity is a weakness in character. The strength in our character is found in integrity, composure and steadfastness. To find this strength we need to face and master our mortality. Not in the sense that we become reckless thrill-seekers looking for new ways to endanger our lives, but by being purposeful with our limited time on earth.
When our muscles shrivel and our joints cease and we look back upon our lives, what will we see? Will it be self-indulgence and desperate insecurity? Or will we know that we have come into this world and marked it in some way for the better?
The great truth that every man must know about strength is that we were born with it. We were born to endure, to press on and fight. We simply need to turn our eyes inward and find it.
We all have what it takes. Don't settle for a counterfeit strength.
I wonder when the day comes when a woman decides she'd like to be with me will it be because I have changed physically, or whether I will be judged on my whole being and my love for her? The dilemma of men with no magic.
I wrote a post a few days ago about how women in our culture should be encouraged to see themselves as beautiful and not worry about being sexy. As a man I felt it was appropriate to talk about the other side of this. As women typically are sensitive to whether or not people see them as beautiful, men seem to have a similar question.
Where women ask: 'Do I look beautiful?'
Men ask: 'Do I look powerful?'
The honest reaction some men have to that question, though they may never admit it to another soul, is a defeated 'no'. The problem being that they seem to equate physical strength as the only strength that matters. I challenge that idea with another: strength is an attribute of character, not physical aptitude. As it is with women, our culture and advertisements are usually aimed towards a man's most obvious insecurity: his strength.
There seems to be a false correlation made between physical appearance and strength of character. If you see a man overweight in the street, the immediate judgement is to assume he has a character flaw of laziness or cowardice; a weakness.
Hear me right, I have nothing against physical fitness, but I do believe that steroid use, especially in young men, could be connected with this belief.
Think of this scenario, you train harder and harder, every time consistently seeing results and improving your physical appearance then one day those results stop suddenly. You want to get bigger, cut more fat and gain more muscle mass but your body won't go any further in your quest to be more attractive. You start to age, and it's harder to maintain the body you want. Someone offers you a drug that will help you get to the next level or maintain your current one, do you take it?
It seems sometimes we are willing to ignore certain realities to get to the level fantasy when it comes to appearances. Even to the point where the people who matter have absolutely no problem with how we look, we want to take it further to make ourselves feel better. That is insecurity.
Strength is character. Insecurity is a weakness in character. The strength in our character is found in integrity, composure and steadfastness. To find this strength we need to face and master our mortality. Not in the sense that we become reckless thrill-seekers looking for new ways to endanger our lives, but by being purposeful with our limited time on earth.
When our muscles shrivel and our joints cease and we look back upon our lives, what will we see? Will it be self-indulgence and desperate insecurity? Or will we know that we have come into this world and marked it in some way for the better?
The great truth that every man must know about strength is that we were born with it. We were born to endure, to press on and fight. We simply need to turn our eyes inward and find it.
We all have what it takes. Don't settle for a counterfeit strength.
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