Show Yourself!

Sometimes I wonder why God does not make himself more obvious.  Sure, the signs are obvious and undeniable, to any honest and humble heart.  But, who has a pure heart, to see God?!   Why is He not more like the movie title, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”?!  Where is the lock that fits my key?  Some things fit, but, I have more questions than answers.

Really, why can’t God just break into our TV’s with a “sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled program, but tonight I am bringing you a special message from the real White House; …”?!!  Now, that would get our attention, right?  What if, everywhere, around the globe, at 3 p.m. local time, each time zone in turn, He appeared on all channels, in everybody’s own language?  After about the third time zone from the dateline, most people would be tuning in.  By the time it got to NYC, most people would have already listened to the BBC!  I can hear it now – “no, I’m serious; turn on your TV!  Google it and you can watch the youtubes with translations!  I’ve heard it in Japanese, Chinese, Hindi – look for the Australian video, you can understand it!!  God said …”

God could do this.  But, he chooses not to, seemingly.  As I pondered this question, driving to work one morning, eastbound, the rising Sun, nearly blinding me, forced me to lower my visor.  I wanted to stare into the brilliant orange fireball, but to do so would be hazardous.  It was beautiful, but too much for my retinas and was overloading my optical nerves.  It hurt to stare, but the beauty was overwhelming.  Like a moth to a flame I was feeling, drawn but dancing around, attracted but afraid!

So many have incredible stories of contact – trances and séances, anointings and appointings, visions and decisions, “over here” or “over there”.  Yet, I do sense you in the smile of a newborn.  I hear you in the silent glance and held hands of an old couple.  The stars can be heard praising on a clear, cool night.  Sometimes a song or even a good movie can stir my spirit to touch the ethereal.  And, when I read of the Nazarene, I muse, “yes!” 

But, when I turn to the glare and the noise, it gets extremely dark and quiet.  Like one trying to appreciate the delicate flavor of a mushroom cream after a jalapeño appetizer, I am left frustrated.  It will take a while to cleanse my palate to “taste and see that he is good”.  Like one trying to appreciate the intricacies of Bach after years of over-amped BTO, elusion leads to delusion.  A little too much AC/DC, and far too little "JC"!  We have taken the wrong exit, and we are on a "Highway to Hell"!  And like the people at Sinai, we ask not to meet.  Like the garden stumble, we fall back in fright, only to attack.

Create in me a new heart.  Give me ears to hear.  Turn and heal me.  I will listen for the whispers.  I will watch for the shadows.  Open my eyes that I may see.

Show Yourself! 

 

The Old Ones Are Dying

THE OLD ONES ARE DYING

(Vertice, Gilbert’s wife, was buried yesterday, 01/21/12)

At work, in the Lime Kiln Mud Room, waiting on my co-worker, John, I began to wander to scenes from my younger years.  “Is Gilbert alive?” was the question twisting my mind.  As I get older, I have trouble remembering who has left, and who remains.  Gilbert was the preacher who baptized me, two weeks after my 13^th birthday.  Years later, he also performed my wedding to Melanie.  In many ways he has been a mentor.  I still remember his advice to a teen boy considering ministry – “If you can do anything else, then do not preach.” (some 40 years later, I still find myself not wanting to do anything else, although I am.)

Snapping back, “is Gilbert still walking among us…”  A year ago, last October, we buried Rupert, my 83yr old dad.  At work, this month, we lost a co-worker, in his 50’s, to cancer.  At the Christmas dinner, for the paper machine crew, I skipped meeting the retirees who were invited.  Somehow, I did not want to walk over from the pulp mill.  It was not laziness.  Soon enough, I will be stepping through the doors of retirement and …

Sometime during my senior year in high school, in the football locker room, I sat alone, dealing with the relentless advance of time.  I had just made a great tackle, on the practice field, and coach rewarded me by sending me to the showers, letting me skip wind-sprint drills that ended practice.  But, I was not feeling fortunate.  Rather, I sat there, alone, in the dark, sweaty locker room ruing, even lamenting, the knowledge that I had only two games left, and then, it was over.

Gone?!  “…teach me to number my days…” (Ps.90:12) is the advice/warning that echoes in my head.  The words “…your life is but a vapor, a mist…” (Jas.4:14) take form in the haze.  To be sure, the “sting” (1Cor.15:55) is gone; it will be nearly euphoric.  Like some Valhalla seeking warrior, I welcome the final battle.  In victory, pulling him close to me, although it means grasping his sword edge, I want to spit in Death’s face as he vanquishes me.  Remember Obiwan’s esoteric answer?  “you cannot imagine…”  Then he quietly drops his defenses and allows Vadar’s light-saber rage.   

Images of three departed, yet present, warriors haunt me.  Moreso, I am reminded of the Good Shepherd’s confident boast, “…no man takes my life, but I gladly lay it down…” (Jn.10:18)

For now, I will cherish each breath, each moment, each day He gives me. I will choose to have a good attitude.  I will pray for good health and, moreso, a good heart.  Life is too short to be negative and down.  I will raise my head, in positive praise, and sing the victor’s anthem.  I will make each day count. 

Recently, I gave in to the nagging of my wife and mother, and the advice of my daughter, and went to the sleep clinic.  I now have a “snorkel” and sleep in deep-space cryostasis as we transport to the next destination. (weirdo)  My oldest son asked, “…why did you give in?”  (he knows how stubborn I am.)  With a grin, I responded, wryly,  “I want to play the last quarter full-speed.”  He smiled, knowlingly.  But, now with good REM, I can fully face the new day!

Soon enough, I will be with them.  Somehow, recently singing “Precious Memories” with the rural Tennessee church we sometimes visit, seemed to be especially bitter-sweet.  Questions of legacy and replacements nag my thoughts.  Sometimes, I question that I may be a “weak-link” in this inter-generational hand-off.  I do not want to fumble the ball!  Let’s run the race with perseverance and focus.   The grandstands are full of cheering fans, all-stars from the past. (Heb.12:1)  And, soon enough, they will run onto the field to celebrate the victory!