A Little Bit of Goodness

I wonder why they are walking up the stairs.  It's funny to think that I can see them and they
don't know they are being observed.  I see they're wearing IDs...must be some type of
official establishment. Why does the building have such large and clear windows up the
entire stairwell?  I wonder...

...how they think that of me.  Why is it that they view my words

of comfort and hope as wisdom?  Anything useful I have to say is 

just what God speaks, what he has taught.  They don't know, I 

guess, of the things deep inside.  Of the past hurts and aches,

crimes and darkness.  They don't see my inmost being the way 

I do: the dark places occupied by selfish sins, greeds, and lusts.

If only they could see, they would no longer...

...scratch themselves.  Or worse.  What lewd acts do we perform when we think

no one is looking?  How often have people walked up those stairs and caught a 

second to smoke, to unzip and tuck in their shirt, or even exposed their secret

places to satisfy a dark and dirty desire?  And what I am watching for?  Am I

hoping to catch a glimpse of wanton privacy?  Or maybe I am just...

...watching for something special to emerge.  So many times I see 

the glimmers of possibility expose themselves for a moment.  Is

that not my task, not to be some freak wise man but rather to be 

the quiet cricket telling them , showing them of the beauty made 

in them by the Creator?  Perhaps that is what wisdom is: seeing 

the truth and speaking it when there is need.  It is not that I must

know their innermost secrets, but rather that I want to encourage

the brightness of their spirit and help them release their fears.

And I just hope they never misread it.  That is the constant fear,

is it not?  That confluence of fear and  darkness that dreads the 

possible-inevitable and hopes, prays, works to make it the

impossible.  But I cannot live in fear, and so I must do what is right,

for them, and continue to sacrifice the darkness to the Light...even

in my secret thoughts.  But even so, God will...

...make all things good.  How interesting.  I thought he stopped

to chat her up, but he was simply being courteous.  Why did he

move aside?  Does he always, for anyone, or is it just because it

was a woman coming up the stairs?  I have taken pride in myself, 

noticing the lack of air-conditioning due to the open windows, the

IDs and lack of doors in the stairwell.  But of what use is this pride?

Here I lie, watching people's lives as they walk up and down stairs.

And I am satisfied.  What will continue today is that one man's gesture

of respect, and since I do not know his whole life, only this brief instant,

I must take it for what it seems to be.  A little bit of goodness.  Oh

how many times do I get a glimpse and see the poverty of the soul!

And yet here, in this quietude of my bedroom watching the sonorous

steps across the way, was given the gift of someone's thoughtfulness.

It gives me hope.

Is that what sets me apart, God?  Is it that a little bit of kindness,

of goodness, shines into their lives?  And yet, like the young man

in the stairs, all the goodness that I have flows from the throne of your

grace.  Whether through parents, friends, or strangers, or directly, all

goodness flows from your throne.   Just as your grace does.

It is enough then.  May the small moments of my time in their lives be the same as that one gesture.  That while so many expect failure and darkness, as is typical of the world, may the light you give me shine through, exposing them to your Love and Tenderness.  And I am but a portal, a little bit of goodness reflecting your light in my life.  It is enough.

Good morning, world.

What I want to be when I grow up

When I was about 4 years old, my father was in the Air Force Reserves.  Once I was on the field when he jumped from an airplane, and I watched him parachute to the ground.  I turned to my mother and told her that, when I was older, "I'm gonna be a preacher, a teacher, and jump out of airplanes."  Just like my father.  I loved my father with child-like abandon then.

  As I got older, things changed.  I began to resent and fear my father as the harsh disciplinarian who was strict and unfeeling.  At the same time, I wanted to please my father and be worthy of the praise he showered on me constantly.  I felt so unworthy of the praise, as I only did what made sense to me at the time.  I began to see my father as someone who didn't really see me, but just saw who he wanted me to be.  So I grew distant from my father and mistrusting.  Balanced in the same falsehood was the feeling that I had to measure up, somehow, to who he wanted me to be.  But being a teacher or a preacher were purposefully removed from my list, simply because that would be being like my father.

   It's funny the things you realize, when you are older.  How you were so very wrong.  Time has a way of humbling you, if you listen.

  As I got older, I realized that what I was good at was teaching, but I fought it because that would be just like my father.  It wasn't that I didn't want to be like him, but rather I had to ensure that I did not become a teacher TO be like him.  And now here am I today, deciding it is time for me to preach.

  I have wasted so much time listening to this world, and God has had to really twist my arm and show me great suffering to get my attention.  Will I listen this time?

  You see, if I had, just for a little while, given up my own selfish desires and feelings of inadequacy, I would have flourished under my father.  I was so busy fighting and being independent that I lost the chance to be molded.  What I would have been, or whether my father should have dealt differently, is a useless conversation.  This is the road I have walked, and I am grateful that God has had the patience to mold me and break my will down little by little.  And he is not yet done breaking me down...there is still work to be done on my heart.  I am still to focused inward to be of much good.

  I have to let go.  I have to release my desires and wants and be free to follow God.  Sacrifice all that I want for myself and live for the good of the people in this world.  People are dying without knowing Christ, without the chance to hear his calming voice in their lives.  I don't know how God wants to me work, but I know I can start with my precious students.  I ache to speak love and compassion into their lives, yet I must be as aggressive as a badger and as patient as an ant.  My preaching will not be from the pulpit, but the sharing of my heart and soul to people who need hope and love.  And yes, I have to think about you, and not me so much.

  So I am going to purposefully, tentatively, walk in my father's, my Father's, shoes, that I might be more like him.  I realize that a rejection of being like my earthly father made it harder to be like my Heavenly Father.  I am not ready to jump out of an airplane...yet..., but when I do, if I do, I will be proud to do it because I will be following in my father's footsteps  And by so doing, in my Father's footsteps as well.

It is time

The time has come.  I have wasted enough time, though I can feel and see God's hand at work in this time that has passed.  Perhaps it is merely TIME now, as opposed to a mistake.  Does not God fashion us in his Time, honing us to perfection in the right moment?
  My family is not falling apart, and yet it feels misshapen.  My wife is in the doldrums and I am blazing ahead, but...  I have lost the respect of my family, if I ever had it.  When I consider my own mother and father, and my siblings, I see that I do not want the respect of fear from my family, whether it be fear of disappointment or fear of retribution.  I want the respect that God desires of me.  I do not want the same amount or level as God; I am not so full of hubris.  But I want the same flavour.  Respect borne out of love, devotion, and appreciation for the position I have in my family.  But God earned his position through his love for us, by his creation and sacrifice and ever-lasting care.  So how am I to earn my family's respect now?
  The only guide I have, the best one, really, is the Saviour himself.  First, he sacrificed everything: his exalted position, his life, his time. He surrendered his entire being to God first, and through that surrender to his people. Second, by surrendering himself to his Father, he set the example for us, his beloved children, in how one is to live life.  This I must do.  This I will do.

  It is small and petty, and almost unworthy of mention, but I have surrendered my online gaming accounts to everything.  I do not have the time to devote to be any good at them, really, and what worth are they when I am dead and gone?  Who that I truly admire as men and women of God spend their time in such a pursuit?  So if I am to be respected, must I follow in their example.  It is TIME.

  Time to truly devote myself to God.  Time to spend time where the time God created is worth being spent.  Time to write, time to correspond, time to spend with people, time to invest in people.  Time to invest in my children, and in my wife, and in my community.  Time to be who I was made to be, and settle for nothing else.  How much TIME I have wasted... No, not wasted.  Although the slough of clay off a potter's wheel is unused and tossed out, it had to be there to remove in the first place.  It is simply time.

  I will be writing more often, pouring time into useful pursuits.  I hope it will be of use to you.

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.