Heartache

I take pains to keep my identity hidden; it's is frivolous, really, since most people who read this know who I am. But there is a semblance of dignity here, of anonymity that allows me to post the cries and passions of my heart. I haven't posted for ages, mostly because of a lack of time and energy. But I still have a small hope that maybe this blog, at times, speaks to people and gives them a stronger Hope.

I generally post out of the passion of my heart, and, in a sense, this post is such. But this time, I thought I'd post my cry to my God. This post is not for you. This is for me. Yet, if God in his wisdom uses this for you, then glory to him that the prayer of a weak-eyed man makes a difference:

Dearest Saviour, why do you torture me so? I have such passions of love and hope, yet I am tongue-tied and torn. You have given me such a cautious spirit, but the prudence means so much is left unsaid. Would it be so wrong, God, to speak unfiltered from the heart? Would it cause so much evil?

Yet, I know the answer, God. We are not called to live selfish lives, prostituting our hearts to any. Rather we are called to speak with psalms and hymns, words of compassion and hope. To speak unfiltered is to speak without you, without the wisdom you have given me in the few years I have had on this earth. But how, Lord, to I conquer these burning emotions within me? I have so little time before I will lose them again...

But it is not about me, is it? It is not about my passion, but yours. When I speak and act from my own heart, throwing care and caution to the wind, I neglect you and bear the evils that come from that stupidity. If I speak and act as you will, however, then I will be a blessing and a hope. Maybe I was not supposed to speak yet. Maybe it is not time. Maybe it will never be.

Lord, teach me to be patient for the end of days. Make your patience the bricks and mortar of my heart. Make your wisdom the source of my words. Teach me to live for them, and not for me. That is why I am here, isn't it? So mold me in your image, dear Lord. And thank you, for those few, those precious few.

This was not for you. It was for me. But who knows God's plans, eh?

On death

What do you do when you find that everything inside is dead? When the world seems to cry out for the extermination of your soul? The darkness creeping in, threatening to choke the breath from your body...
   What do you do? You wake up. Humanity views death in all the wrong fashions. We fear it and hide from it, but is death not necessary for life to be. My Lord died so that I would have the hope to live with him; sometimes I have to die in order to live again for him. There are things within a man that must die so that new life can begin. Consider...a virus. A virus infects you, often through no fault of your own. Perhaps you were simply not aware that your friend was sick when you finished off his drink. In order for you to live the virus must die. It must be eradicated viciously to keep your body whole. And yet, there long remains in your body the memory of the evil, an immune system that remains wary of further attack.
   And so...there is hope. We believe some truths to be self-evident, but some of those beliefs are simply wrong, the warping of God's truth. They seem so close to right, yet we oft times learn the dark paths these seemingly sweet ideals lead us down. And yet...if we dare to listen, if we suffer the pain of refitting our ideals, an unwarping of our hearts, then we just might walk in a brighter sun than ever before.
   Sometimes death is required in order for a better life to begin...

Hope

   This blog is called "Hope for the Homeless", a voice in the wilderness of lostness on this earth that I and others like me live in.    It is to give hope to others...but what about me?  I want to give up, to run away and hide.  I want to do anything but face my day-to-day task of inspiring the young people I teach.  It feels so hopeless, like trying to force a horse to drink who continually denies his thirst.  I understand better now why the youth of the USA is so lost: we perpetuate our culture, our downward spiral through our educational outlook.  I see desperation and hopelessness everyday amoung the staff, much more so there than the students.  So many are good teachers who are hamstrung at every turn by the blindness of lawmakers and defense attornies.  Many give up because it is just too hard.
   But that's why you sent me here, isn't it God?  Because you made me too dependent on you to ever give up.   You created a slowly turning prepetual motion machine that sees the reality of your power, your strength, and your love for the people you created.  If I can give up, give in to your love and sight, truly trust you regardless of the cost, then I will see your light shine... I know.  I go home with so little hope but every day you produce new ideas, new strategies, and a new love.  I do not have hope in myself, but I hope in my Saviour to work his miracles.  With or without me.

Another day to hope

  Why did God make me this way?  So many days, so many, many days, I wanted to just give up and walk away.  Strike the curr that wounded me, walk out on the child that scorned me, give up on the people that won't listen....so many times.  I have been angry a hadnful of times, but it never lasts.  Bitterness, yes, but even then...

  I lashed out once or twice, true.  But I can't help but look at the Creator who never gave up on humanity.  There are those beyond saving, perhaps, but Christ never gave up on me....even when I think I've buried the last nail in my coffin.  So how can I give up?  How can I throw in the towel?  Jeremiah reminded me that whatever happens, no matter how painful it is, the Redeemed will win in the end; God will make sure of it.  And if he is for us, who can be against us?  

  Remember, dear children, the love of our Father in Heaven and his hope for you.  Can you do any less and give up on people?  If God, who knows our hearts, has such hope for us screwed up ones, how can we do any less for others we know so little about?  Hope for another day.... every day.

Hope in the desert

I used to wonder why it is that so many great writers were really messed up. Drunkeness usually scoots to the front, just ahead of depression. Maybe that's because they are so often linked. If you're depressed enough, for long enough, you eventually say, "Well, I certainly can't get any worse! Why not drink myself into oblivion? At least then I won't know how depressed I am!" Never works though. You wake from the stupor, expel your body-poison to more poignantly feel the sting of the spirit-poison. And things aren't any better. Except....while you were drunk...at least then.....

In that moment of absolute bottomness, you feel your humanity so strongly that you understand just what a hellhole you are in. But....we are the people of Christ. We are the light of the world, the bright progeny of the Holy God. So we do not give in, we do not drink deep of the delusions of this world to find oblivion. To the wonder and amazement of all, we seek out the hellholes; we wallow in the abyss and embed ourselves in sorrow. We bury ourselves in the muck and decay of the world's worst fears without fear. You see, we know something they do not and we possess the thing the people of this world yearn for: God's secret wisdom.

Do you know of his secret? Have you heard it? My dear children, do not listen to the lie that our secret is just a fairy tale, an imagining to make up for the lack of substance to our lives. God's secret wisdom, his great mystery, is life. It gives us the freedom to delve into the deep shining brightly with all the love of heaven. The light of the Mystery purifies and sears into the flesh of those buried in the muck and decay. It shows them the True Light that offers a way to shine in the pit and never get sucked under. Dear ones, do not despair. It is in the darkness of life that the Light of the Mystery is the most clear.

Making a house home

There are those who spend their whole life in one house. Though they are few, they never ask the question: how do we make a house a home? Home is synonymous with the actual house they dwell in; since they never have more than two (their own and their parents'), that definition works. The people, the scenery, the buildings are seen to change from time to time, but most are slow enough to be assimilated into the feeling of home.

But what about the rest of us? How do the wanderers make a home? In the Laura Ingalls books, there was a little china doll that was placed on the mantle to mark a house a home. That was when the Ingalls children knew that they were staying put for awhile. Others in this world need to have a meal with invited guests to mark a house home. Some feel the need to decorate: putting up family pictures is a common choice in that definition.

I have been in many dwellings, fewer than many of my friends yet more than many, many others. Those dwellings have been in four different continents and numerous varieties of culture. I always felt that I would never have a home. Perhaps, if I was alone, that would be alright. I have a family, and that makes it a very different problem. My family needs a place to nest, to rest themselves, to work, a place to call their own domain. Maybe that's the key to this conundrum: once you are able to define your space and mark it as your own on a permanent (as far as you are aware) basis, then you are home. For adults, that would include a job, the location where you provide for your domain, as well as kitchens, living rooms, studys, etc. For children, all they need is a treehouse: a few planks to stash their stuff, sleep, and live.

Home. As soon as I find a place to call home for a little while, I feel the urge to be moving again, to find out if I can live in a new home, and learn what they have. Perhaps this time, I can explore the nuances of this culture, embed myself and my family in it. Then, maybe, it'll be more like home.

If only we knew..

So you go to the store to buy some milk. It's a great walk: the grass is green and freshly cut. The sun is shining and there is gentle breeze to cool you off. "Wow. I'm so glad that I decided to walk instead of drive," you say. Just at that moment, a car comes racing down the road, skids out of control, and crashes into a telephone pole just in front of you. The driver crawls out of the car, bleeding profusely. He gasps once, breathing his last at your feet. Still glad you're on that walk?

What do we know about the future? We count the grass and sun as blessings and the dead man as a curse on our walk, ruining what was so pleasant a few seconds before. We wish, because of the horror of the crash, that we had never gone on that walk. But what if you had driven instead? Would you have been in that crash? Maybe...

There is an assurance that Christians hold, a confidence in the future that I hold dear. As Paul said, "To live is Christ, to die is gain". We can enjoy the grass and air, appreciating the goodness God has created, but we can do it without fear of its removal. Were the loveliness to be replaced with a mangling disaster, the Christian can live for Christ..or die, and gain the reward of heaven, thankful that his earthly task is completed. Do you have that confidence, the seal on your life that brings release from worry and anxiety?

Take a look at the God of Abraham and Adam: he is offering you a chance at peace and life.