The Sacred Space of Dark & Light

"In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters" (Genesis 1:1-2).

It all began in darkness. It all began in darkness and God was there. God was there, hovering over the face of the darkness deep. I think we get the characterization of God all wrong. We somehow envision him as this cosmic scorching beacon that just blasts out conquering darkness. But this is wrong. God has no need to conquer darkness. Darkness is harmless. It is nothing more than a state of readiness.

We fear the darkness as children. Surely there is something there that will take me and pull me into nothingness. There must be pain and blood and claws there. Underneath my bed, inside of the cracked closet door, outside of my covers. Surely there is death waiting for me and I'll die here alone.

But what is darkness except a stage awaiting the spotlight? A room anticipating the flick of a switch that will signify activity. The moment before sunrise when the earth has rested and cooled, or that beat between a Hollywood Studio logo that disappears seconds before the anticipated fanfare.

We fear the darkness, and we forget that God is there, hovering over the expanse of it all. In other words, we fear what might be there while we forget what definitely is there. The only thing that we can really know about darkness... is that God is there.

And so the darkness is a sacred space.

 After I was newly married, my bride and I rented a very small apartment just off the campus of Anderson University in Anderson, Indiana. The washer and dryer were beneath us in an unfinished and sparsely lit, spider-filled basement with an outside entrance. The only source of light was a single naked bulb that hung from its cord. It looked menacing. I'd stare at it while holding the outside door open. It hung there like a hangman's noose.

The only way to turn on the light was to abandon the open door. As you stepped into the basement, the door would slam shut behind you, cutting off the daylight and sinking you into total darkness. You then were forced to continue walking forward, feeling in the space ahead of you for that little silver chain. Once you found it, a simple tug down would activate the bulb, blinding you as you tried to adjust to the sudden burst of light.

There were two bits of madness that held my mind in those moments. The first was that I'd pull the chain to find myself suddenly face to face with something inexplicable when the light came on. The second was more simple, but perhaps more primitive. I had a simple fear that I'd get to the light and pull the chain... and find that the light would not come on.

I had actually had nightmares about this scenario. Pulling on the chain over and over... with no light, hearing sounds in the darkness and waking up with a start, soaked in sweat.

Late one night I came home from work to find a note that asked me to go down and switch clothes from the washer to the dryer. I smiled, happy to help, and then made my way to that basement door. I paused and gathered my breath. I knew I was an able bodied adult male, average build and reasonably strong. But still... this was simply unnerving. I shook it off, allowed the door to slam behind me and made my way through the darkness.

Right as my imagination was manufacturing fear one, a disfigured face in the darkness that would suddenly become visible when I pulled the chain, my fingers found and pulled on that light. I felt the chain slide down with its normal satisfying "click" that brought the light. But this time, the light flashed and popped, blinding me and then plummeting me into the dark.

What was that that I saw in the corner? 

I pulled the chain a second time, and a third time. NOTHING. I could hear myself breathing. I was convinced that I was not alone. I ran in the direction of the stairs. I misjudged the distance and crashed into them full speed, somehow falling up the stairs. I half crawled and half ran up the flight and flung myself through the door, into the welcomed light of the night.

I turned and stared at the door to that chasm of hell! It just was there, silent, remaining shut as I listed to crickets and heard distant traffic. Slowly my rational brain returned to me and I realized that I did not want to wake up to explain to my new bride that I was too chicken to switch the laundry because the light was out. 

I removed the small headlight from my bicycle and used it to light my way back down those stairs. I'll confess that I stood there, mid-flight while I shined that small light into every recess and corner in that crowded basement of abandoned furniture and spooky shadows. I crossed the expanse and moved the wet laundry from the washer to the dryer in what must have been a new world record time.

I stood again outside. I could hear the sounds of the dryer turning. Mission accomplished, I could make my way back inside of the apartment. I felt equal parts relieved and ridiculous. So much drama over a lightbulb. Seriously. I was still ten years old and afraid of skeletons under my bed.

How often in life though am I still dashing through that basement? I'm not saying that darkness is good. Oftentimes it is the result of some sort of destruction or malfunction. Even so, I'm learning that God can be found in those dark spaces. The things that I fear are only possibilities, but the presence of God there is a guarantee.

So maybe this is a dark space? 

"Go out into the darkness and put your hand in the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way. So I went forth, and finding the hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And he led me toward the hills and the breaking of day in the lone east." 

- Minnie Louise Haskins

 

Never Too Late to go Home

 

The familiar sound of my Facebook Messenger app squirrel-diverted my attention away from my attempt to write. A video appeared on the screen from a trusted friend and so I pressed the play arrow. The view was clearly from the passenger window and the first house that I saw looked deeply familiar. Could it be? I saw the old fencepost go by and a smile exploded on my face as my childhood home appeared on my iPhone.

My Dad and Grandpa Harry built that fenceline that still stands on the back lot of the property. My Dad, my Grandpa Carmel and I built that front room that extends from the front of the house. My Dad and I once ripped down a portion of that chain-link to the left of the garage when we'd forgotten to detach a chain before slipping the transmission of that step-side truck into Drive. I'd backed my Dodge Horizon into the house one day while my Dad sat inside... hearing the collision and knowing immediately what had happened.

I'd taken a thousand three point shots on a basketball goal that was no longer there, hugged some amazing dogs, sat in a treehouse, and imagined tragedy and heroic comebacks a million times in that backyard. This was the home of my childhood, the geography of my greatest imaginations and memories of all my best friends. All of my grandparents who are now gone... embraced me on that plot of land.

Time stood still as my heart swelled and broke with thanksgiving and loss all rolled into a single powerful gut punch. I want to go home.

Several of you who know me best and perhaps love me most have recently reached out with a sincere, "Chad, how are you really doing?" If you were here to ask me this in person, you would all be met with an uncomfortably long and blank stare.

Life.

I could tell you the tough things, but at the same time I'd be internally chastising myself for focusing on the whiney negative things of my life that are either self-imposed natural consequences, or positive things in my life that I tirelessly work to reframe as negative. 

How am I? I'm freaking insane. I'm better than I've been in years. I'm studying and praying again. I'm writing again. I'm investing into my church and into my work with the non-profit. I'm this inexplicable mixture of saint and sinner. I'm blessing lives and uttering curses. I'm beating myself with heat and pressure into a better person and I'm enjoying a stiff drink before falling asleep.

How's that? And really, how are you? 

Now... to those who asked that question... please don't take offense. Any writer worth her or his salt knows how to write for dramatic effect. You and I are quite good, and please do not stop asking. I do need you. This is just a late night purge and attempt to bleed a little on this cyberpage.

Life for me follows one of two patterns: (1) drought and (2) flood. I have been in a 7 year drought. It was like everything I touched died. Ministry... lost. Marriage... lost. Identity... lost. And like a dying man in a desert, I just kept walking. No excuses here. I have no-one to blame but myself. I had an overwhelming wave that consumed me that just drowned me in an inexplicable feeling of unease.

The past two years have been about healing. A return. A reclamation.

I'll recount this incorrectly, but the recollection I'm recording is how it felt in my soul. The sequence of events and facts are assuredly incorrect. My memory exaggerates things and my psyche adores the exaggeration. I mean, come on, any good story is worth a little color.

While living and working in Guatemala, one of the pastor's who'd been a part of my ordination (bless his kind heart), was Tim Kufeldt. I absolutely adore that man. He brought a team from his church to work alongside us there. Together we built homes and giant chicken coups. His team was extraordinary. They were absolutely kick-ass.

Nancy Hulshult was on that team. She was a clown. I mean... for real, she was the real deal. And on the same team was a man from another Central American country (I cannot remember which). His name though, was Felix Escobar. Tim, Nancy, and Felix were life and breath to my soul. The three of them knew no obstacle. They were absolutely a force and their combined work was evidence of the miraculous nature of the God named as "I AM."

After my family left Guatemala expectantly, I lost all contact with them as my life fell apart.

But the story does not end there. There was a word being whispered yet... "reclamation."  

Thanksgiving of last year found me in isolation with Caleb, my the 20 year old son. He'd been sent home from his university with an active case of COVID-19. I invited him in and together we braved that virus and burned through Star Wars and every Avengers movie. It was a feverishly wonderful time!

And that is when I received a book in the mail from Nancy. She had written a chapter of me and my family in Guatemala. She spoke of the impact and character of our children. I read those words... I and wept. I cried Biblically for days. All I could see is what I had lost. We had everything. We had family. We had faith. We had guts. We were out there and we were doing it. We freaking pushed back the gates of Hell and reclaimed lives.

And we lost ourselves in the process. Our sacrifice was too great.

How does one recover from that? When you win countless battles and then lose the war of what matters most?

I had to breath deep in those days and take account of the blessings that still surrounded me. God had been good and blessed my ex with a good man. Caleb was strong and graceful and faithful, finding a path of ministry. Aleks was tenacious and determined and was clearly finding her way with beauty and power. Sterling was growing up, possessing humor and intelligence. God was still faithful!

Meanwhile the missions in Guatemala were still thriving. The Christian American School, Catalyst Resources International, and the fledgling Ministerios Iglesia de Dios Guatemala all were being used and blessed by God. His mission and story continued. Our work there was not in vain. We planted. God harvested. The enemy attacked. We fell. God's plan continued.

We now rebuild. We are not finished.

Nancy, the same Nancy, reached out to me via Facebook messenger and we began a dialogue of what would it look like to co-author a book. What if we together told God's story of restoration. How He rebuilds broken and dead things. How He can bring new life where there is no hope. How He can take the clear defeat from our enemy... decimation and undeniable destruction... and somehow from that rubble grow something beautiful and new and even powerful.

I agreed to engage in the conversation. I said yes to exchanging stories and began laughing and even crying as I read her stories and saw my own truth reflected in God's interactions with her.

I do not miss the irony that I am reflecting on God's reclamation... and He is restoring me in the process. 

6088 West Elkton Gifford Road, that was my home address growing up. It is about a mile from a retreat center where I've been invited to take my family this Christmas. That was the first convergence. And then there was a chance to share there with a group that I've accepted. And then... my parents decided to move from their home in South Carolina, returning to this very same town that houses the retreat center, and that same town that held me as a wondering, imaginative, and untested young boy. 

I want to go home.

And perhaps I can. I'm exploring those options now. God may very well be making a way where there was no way. He is, after all, the God of reclamation, and I am learning that it is never too late to go home.

Echoes from a Country We Have Never Yet Visited

"Time is an illusion, a construct made out of human memory. There's no such thing as the past, the present, or the future. It's all happening now." -Blake Crouch

"He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past." -George Orwell

"But you can't make people listen. They have to come around in their  own time, wondering why the world blew up around them. It can't last." -Ray Bradbury

"They are living in the moment. They are not ashamed of the past; they are not worried about the future. Little children express what they feel, and they are not afraid to love." -Miguel Ruiz

"Let the children come to me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. -Jesus of Nazareth

"What has been is what will be and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun." -Qoheleth

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be.“ - Lewis Caroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

"I am the Alpha and the Omega- the beginning and the end," says the Lord God. I am the one who is, who always was, and who is still to come- the Almighty One."

I have been reading lately about human concepts of time and perception. I was fascinated to learn that everything we see is nothing more than reflections of light. Since we can calculate the speed of light (186,000 miles per second) we realize that by the time our brain has processed an image, what we perceive is already in the past. While the world around us is tangible and real, our perception of it is never anything more than echoes, reflections, and interpretations.

Our concept of time exists as a way we seem to explain memory and dreams. While we will never escape this delayed present, we nonetheless insist that life is experienced in a linear format. Somewhere in our awake awareness, our nocturnal dreams, our active imagination, and our flashes of deja-vous, our mind finds a foothold to maintain sanity.

You and I agree that a tree is a tree and that the sun is the sun, but we can not know if we perceive those objects in the same form. We share a common language and agreed upon values to each word, and yet our minds form those concepts independently, based upon our own life constructs. Who is to say that your perception of the color green isn't different than my own? Although we've both agreed that that particular wavelength is green, cognitively is it possible that we process it differently?

Does anyone else wonder about these things? 

Perhaps none of us should be so opinionated (pot calling kettle black, here), when we're all struggling to perceive the most basic awareness of our existence in the universe. After all, if the universe is a real, constant, presence... then the only possible disagreements between us are perception based.

And then, enter morality. Error based on ignorance seems innocent enough, but error based on selfish pursuit must surely be evil. Personally, I apply this concept to the issues of our time: global warming, pandemics, civil unrest, immigration, perceptions of racism, etc. Is the source of conflict ignorance, or is there an attempt of manipulation? Our world turns on power and control, even though every human merely longs for happiness. It seems we surely create our own conflict. 

What would it mean to go back to our original form? To perceive the world with the untainted view of a child? I'm not sure? There is merit in the mind of a child that is based on the perspective of living in and enjoying the present. Of course, the child also has that human quality of wanting control, self-gratification, and the ability to manipulate perception to gain what is desired. I suppose it is necessary to parse out the virtue of present-mindedness, apart from the "that is mine give it to me now" mentality that seems as innate as the ability to breathe. 

If only we could use our discernment to accentuate the better angels of our nature. I'm working on reducing my weakness of granting others the power to offend me. I can imagine how much better my life would be if I could view dissenting viewpoints of my own as merely different perspectives of this same real world? Differing thoughts then wouldn't need to be taken so personally. Discernment could be used to determine if our differing perspectives are ignorance based or if one or both of us is seeking to control the other? If our differences are just based on limited knowledge, then we can continue in friendship. However, if our differences stem from something more sinister, well, even then I do not need to be offended. I can simply move on. 

We are all of us on a journey. We are moving in a universe that we cannot truly see. Everything we experience is already passed by the time we perceive it, and it seems that our perception of time as linear is a flawed view even it itself. After all, who can explain time? It is our best theory to explain how we experience this universe. Nothing more. We all know the reality of the things in the past wrecking our present state of mind, and likewise worry about the future can also have immediate effects on today. Our minds are created as image-bearers of the creator, the One who was, who is, and who is to come.

And so then what is this life other than flashes and echoes of deep knowledge inside of us while we navigate our perceptions and interactions? To my fellow humans, we are on the same journey and we are creating these echoes that come back to us from a country we have never yet visited.

"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. 

For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited. . ."- C.S. Lewis,

Post contains: mild language, a reference to alcohol, and misquotes Jesus

Sometimes it isn't about what you need to change. Oh sure, change is needed, but most of the time the timing just isn't up to us. I've been working lately on just living with awareness in the moment. A Jewish-carpenter-turned-Messiah once had something to say about this, something about why do you worry about whether you have a place to sleep, or if you'll be able to eat later, when even the birds of the air or the lilies of the field have a place and beauty unmatched? Do you really think that God will care less for you than He does for them?

The skeptic in me quickly thinks of drought and wildfire and flood... all things that kill the birds and lilies! And I think of all the suffering in the world. Even just this past week I was asked the question that I hate most. I thought I'd avoid this question since I'm not wearing my cleric on my shoulder these days. Nope, it found me again. "Why does God let bad things happen to good people?"

Since I'm not getting a paycheck from a church congregation, I answered honestly. "I hate that question. Why can't humanity move past that question? We've been asking it for millenniums. It's like a full grown man asking, "Are we there yet?" It was about then that I looked at the face of the person who had posed the question. Whoops. I had to laugh. "Sorry, I'm an ass sometimes."

"Ok, let me try that again. Here we go, first of all, I hate questions that begin with the word, 'Why'. Why is always the wrong question to ask. We need to ask better questions like, 'What is the reason that...?', or 'How is it that...?' When we start the question with 'Why,' it presupposes that something was done to us and we're the victim. But... in the case of this question, there is nothing farther from the truth." 

Why is there evil in the world if it was created by a just and loving God? Again, wrong question. 

Let's try again. What is the cause of evil in a world created by a just and loving God. Ah... there's a question that can be answered. 

Simple. It's because the world is inhabited by humans.

We screw things up. Quite a bit. We cause disease, we fail to adequately prepare for disaster, we are selfish, we are fearful, and... we fail to hear those words of that Jewish Carpenter turned Messiah. 

We fail to miss our daily heavens and instead put ourselves in a daily hell. We fear, we fret, we wring our hands, we assume the thoughts of others, we're selfish, we think everything is a slight to us personally, we think of ways to get even rather than set them right. 

It's much better to take a walk. Lay down on the grass with your dog even though you didn't bring a blanket. Feel the sunlight. Watch the clouds. Are there things that need to change in my world today? Oh yeah, for sure. I want to sit at La Hacienda and be served chips & salsa and a giant margarita. I need to get back into the gym, I need to pay off my car, I need to be a kinder soul. All these things with time.

And I think part of that is learning to lay things down, feel my humanity, experience the goodness of this world, and slow down to be thankful. With all the things I can not change, there is deep enjoyment in the things that are freely given to my everyday. Just look for it. You'll see it too. 

The Rain Falls Softly Tonight

The rain falls softly tonight and darkness slips behind the day. Billy Joel's River of Dreams album runs smooth in the atmosphere. A splash of rum and Coke complete the scene.

It's January and my sliding glass door is slightly open. The heat hasn't kicked on for days and the cool air feels fresh on my bare chest. I can smell the rain. I pull the air in deep before slowly allowing it to escape into the night.

It's a good night to contemplate my being. The falling rain somehow provides some cover, some grace, some comfort. I think of things wagered, battles won, losses taken, and scars that bear evidence of stories to tell. I see that I am not perfect and yet I am learning to love who I am.

When the rain drop falls does it enjoy the plunge? Does it regret it's time as vapor before becoming liquid? No, surely it must simply enjoy the journey.  And so I sit in my fourth floor apartment over Indianapolis and I contemplate my present. I am overwhelmed by the people in my life who I love. There is beauty in the rain.

And so what do I have to say tonight? I say that I recognize that I am here. I am content with the man my creator created that I call me. Beyond my self-judgments, beyond my own self-inflicted Hells, even beyond the scrutiny of others... I choose the falling of the rain.

This soft night I choose to be a man of thanks, of peace, of reflection, and dare I say... even a man of hope. The rain falls softly tonight and I allow it to cleanse my soul. 

"Invariably our best nights were those when it rained." -Henry David Thoreau

Driving on Dark Country Roads

I can still feel the darkness. The terror of hopelessness does not fear the light. But I'm learning that hope is not extinguished by darkness. I can't eliminate darkness, but I can highway through the night with blinding headlights.

I've been studying trauma and the difficult escape from its devastation. I've had crash courses in Cognitive Based Therapy and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. Today I found myself staring at a simple model of recovery: safety, mourning, and re-connection.

I've gone through this process before. I'm staring at the training manual because my mind is rapidly reclassifying memories and adding understanding where there has been only angry questions. I see times of fierce safety grabs, times of deep mourning darkness retreat, and finally times when I've stood blinking again in the light.

I'm no longer one who lives in darkness. I can't be a simpleton who merely Sunday drives in light. I know too much to ever be that man again. I'm no longer defined by the safety or danger that surrounds me. It's not about the light or the darkness, it's about tearing through them both with headlights blazing.

It's funny how the mind works. This morning after dropping Aleks and Sterling off at their respective schools, I flipped to my customized personal playlist from Amazon Prime Music. The title on the dash pulled my memory before the music flooded my senses. Country Roads, Take Me Home, by John Denver pulled me backward as the car shot forward down the highway.

Sixth grade, the spring of 1987, Preble Shawnee Middle School was a miserable time for a chubby, glasses-wearing introvert. The classroom was empty when Ms. Stanze asked me, "So what song are you singing for your audition?" I was perplexed. I didn't know that I was supposed to have a song ready. I thought I'd just be singing something she gave me!

"Well, I heard a song the other day. It was something about country roads take me home." Her eyes lit up and she smiled while she reached to the piano and held up sheet music. "Country Roads Take Me Home by John Denver? Oh, that's my favorite. I've actually got it right here!"

She began to play and I began to sing out the words. We were both hypnotized by the magic of the moment. What are the chances? The next day the cast list was posted and my name was at the top. I'd landed the lead role in Small One, a Christmas musical about how Mary and Joseph found their donkey. 

That December I performed in front of the entire student body and my parents. I didn't return to the stage again until college when I was cast in Carousel. I don't expect there will be a third show for me. 

Life is filled with winding roads. Everything is familiar to me at this point. I see connections everywhere. Like a small country road in Ohio eventually reaches a crumbling bridge in Guatemala, so does each moment in my life connect to every other life moment. 

There really is only a single road in the entire North American continent. A single road that branches off and spiderwebs a billion different ways, but never loses it's connection to all the disparate parts. And there really only is a single memory in my mind, a memory with a billion parts all linked together.

Life defined by trauma: the warmth of safety, the shock of safety violated, great sadness when safety is lost and our view of the world as good is shattered, a desperate return to safety, and finally a willingness to actively live again. Country roads take me home to the place I belong.

I'm everywhere right now. But this life should not be about pathology. It should not be framed by trauma. We are created, something from nothing. Not born from broken pieces, but from divine perfection. Life is about potential. Pick up your torch. The road hasn't yet ended.

C-17

Greatness lies, not in being strong, 

but in the right using of strength:

and strength is not used rightly 

when it serves only to carry a man

above his fellows for his own solitary glory.

He is the greatest whose strength carries up 

the most hearts by the attraction of his own. 

-Henry Ward Beecher

Thank you for your smiles today,

they'll carry me for miles today.

I'm wandering alone today,

like my child-self roaming the creeks alone.

The warmth, the breeze, the trees today.

But when I think of your smile,

my wandering heart is home... today.

The sky had darkened on that spring Saturday evening in May of 1980. My KangaRoos pocket shoes stood still as I felt fear rise in my throat. Darth Vader stood in front of the theater, flanked with Storm Troopers. He was really tall and seeing him in person brought a side of terror to my main course of admiration. 

For forty plus years I've carried within me a deep sense of wonder about the Star Wars saga and an awareness of (in my best Darth Vader voice) "Destiny." Epic characters seem to wander for most of their story lines. While less than heroic, my own storyboard reflects a traipsing unease.

I've just never really felt at home. The fit was always a struggle. It's like the old shapes toy I had as a kid. You can shove the oval through the square hole, but you know it doesn't really go there. I've tried to be a lot of shapes: salesman, loan originator, marketer/merchandiser, missionary, teacher, principal, retailer, pastor, and chaplain.

Am I the only one in life that just wished that the universe would send a sign to let me know that I'm in the right place? But God speaks in whispers right? He's a still small voice. You've got to search for the will of God, pound your Bible, swirl some tea leaves, or meditate/pray for hours.

Well, not if you're me. God likes to slam me in the head. I guess that's what it takes to grab my attention. And, I think He laughs when He does it! 

In 1998 I left the Center for Mental Health in Anderson, Indiana when Kellie and I moved back to Ohio. Now, twenty years later, the company has grown, merged, and changed quite a bit. I'm thrilled to be back. I feel like the fit is perfect. Whatever weird shape I am, they somehow had a vacancy that fit "just right" as if Goldilocks herself had designed it.

And... after being here for forty-four days, I noticed the building code designation for my office, C-17... the first letter of my name and the day of my birth. I stood in outside of my door and cackled like Hillary Clinton! A few heads popped out of cubicles and doorways...

Sometimes life brings us back full circle after the tumble of life has worn off our sharp edges. It seems to happen a lot... if our eyes are open to perceive it. Sometimes things change, and sometimes they don't really change at all. 

This past Sunday found me again intimidated by the size and presence of Darth Vader when I unexpectedly encountered him at a church we have been visiting. I felt like I was six years old again as I stood next to him and could nearly hear him whisper into my ear, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

I whispered back, "I am one with the force. The force is in me." Cue credits...

That's Me in the Corner

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I'm choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool, fool

That's me in the corner... Lord know's I've been in the corner before. You've heard of of the proverbial dunce cap and stool? Mrs. Willis, my Fifth Grade Teacher actually brought them in just for me. She wasn't fond of my tendency to get up and run around the room at unexpected times. 

She retired that year.

I really haven't changed all that much... and, Aspire knows exactly where to put me. Yes, that's me in the corner. My reputation precedes me here. I worked for the company twenty years ago. My direct report from then is now a corporate VP and the therapist who I roasted (while wearing a dress and heels) is now the CEO.

She met me in front of my orientation group on day two and told them all about it. Apparently, it is on VHS in company archives and is the stuff of company lore. 

That's me in the spotlight...

Losing my religion? Nah, not so much. I have learned that I will be initiated by the executive management at a meeting this coming Friday. After I endure whatever baptism they've planned, I am expected to tell them my story. I am thrilled!

When I share my story, I share my faith. I'm ready.

That's me in the corner office and that's me in the spotlight choosing my confessions. I'm a hurt, lost, and blinded fool who has yielded life to the One who stands in my corner.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; 

I have called you by name, you are mine. 

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; 

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; 

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, 

and the flame shall not consume you. 

For I am the Lord you God, 

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. 

-Isaiah 43:1-3

Above Thy Deep and Dreamless Sleep

It is in places of great sorrow where God and humanity collapse. Miracles happen in those places where the Divine meets our tears. It is good to be torn by what we have lost and to be consumed by the silence. Deep and dreamless sleep is elusive from our God-scorched soul shadows. His image burned into our flesh and His passion bleeding from our veins. Great love meets unbearable pain and the beauty drowns out the sky.

Madness sieges the minds of the sane through the weapon of streaming consciousness. Neon lights from the upscale strip mall outside my window invade my space to compete under a timeless sky with Rachel of old weeping for her lost child, King Herod drenching the land with the blood of a thousand infants, and angels that pierce through the darkness in a land called Bethlehem.

The moonlight beckons deeper as I ponder [head on pillow] tonight with streaming consciousness in a new land, with reflections of: Rachel, Herod, Bethlehem, Carmel, 1874, and 1974. They are all snapshots of places and times of loss and hope. I am a Shepherd under silent stars.

I am a Shepherd under silent stars.

I turn my head from this vantage, scanning a new horizon with familiarity. Another time I was in this place... it was me that stood here then, but I am someone different as I hold this ground today. A new city, a new job, new schools, a new roof covers my head. The promise is true that each morning can be new. 

Coincidental parallels flash as beacons to illuminate truths. My father was born in this land. My grandfather who once prayed over me is memorialized as repeat play each moment I think of the name of this town... Carmel. His first prayers covered me in 1974. This town was founded 100 years earlier... 1874. 

"In a hunnert [hundred] years, nobody'll know the difference." He said that whenever I'd help him build. We built decks, fences, and houses. I know now that he was building so much more. He was building me... and that has made all the difference. 

There are no coincidences here. 

This is a place of a violent collision of sorrow and unimaginable hope. This is Bethlehem. A land of great hope that has been birthed from great loss. I am so grateful. So very grateful. Above Thy deep and dreamless sleep, above time, above the face of the darkness... through the water and through the blood... there is nothing but peace. 

Qoheleth knew it... God whispered in his ear under dark skies and empty streets, "The end of the matter, all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments..."

When the shattered pieces disturb the dust of the earth, and the desolation consumes the light... there is still God in the darkness, resting deep in dreamless imaginings... ready to create. I never walk in darkness. Even the thickest of darkness is filled, He dwells there. 

I tremble in the darkness, but it is not the darkness that fills me with fear. His deep and dreamless presence is above, below, to all the aspirations of the compass. I tremble because He whispers to me in the darkest of places. I cannot escape Him and I tremble with fear, with relief, and with an incomparable thankful, bleeding, and beating heart.

I am not worthy to be here. But I know that I am placed here by the one who fills the darkness with a burning light. And so I rest here. I lay down my weapons. I yield to this landscape. I breath deep the cutting night air and I lean in to the sounds of angels. He has set me in this place. 

And in this place I will keep my watch.

Where Is God and How to Find Him

But ask the animals, and they will teach you,

or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you;

or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,

or let the fish of the sea inform you.

Which of all these things does not know

that the hand of the Lord has done this?

In His hand is the life of every living creature

and the breath of all humankind.

(Job 12:7-10)

The presence of God is to be found in the present. He identified Himself to Moses as "I AM." Jesus described Himself through statements of "I am," using the words: "the bread of life," "the light of the world," "the gate," "the good shepherd," the resurrection and the life, "the way the truth and the life," and "the vine."

These are all things that sustain or guide in this present moment. God is here. He said to Moses that His word is not so far away that it must be carried down from the sky, or carried across the sea, but that it is right here in our hearts, minds, and even in our mouths. Present.

When His identity was questioned by religious leaders, Jesus answered, "Before Abraham was born, I AM." 

Jesus went farther to even describe those who love and follow Him the same way, saying "You are the light of the world." The very presence of the present God filled His son, Jesus and it fills His children even yet it this moment.

It is only in the present that we quiet our souls and look inward to find our identity. We are daughters and sons of the living, present God. Even in the silence of nature, if we listen, we will find His deep and indescribable presence and truth. There is so much to be seen that we often cannot see and this ever-present, omni-temporal covering of God in and through all things is available to calm our souls, guide our hearts, and restore our strength when we are still enough to find his present presence.

This past Sunday afternoon we spent some time at Tawawa Park in Sidney, Ohio. We stood on an overlook and simply listened to the sounds around us. The birds sang, the squirrels scampered, a distant lawn mower hummed, and families passed by below us with chatter. But more than that, we calmed our day enough to connect into the moment. And in that place, we found the Great ever-present God who restores our souls. 

Have you heard Him? Have you taken the time to listen?

Calling Back the Past

Whatever is has already been,

and what will be has been before;

and God calls back the past.

In the darkness I write with rain falling against the glass. This week has been life and death, promise and despair, both shadow and sunlight. I've basked in the light and I've asked the darkness to hide me.

I've prayed bold prayers, felt immediate assurance, and seen impossible solutions. A happenstance meeting on a street corner resulting in a prayer with a desolate despondent who became rescued and loved.

I have of late stared at the enemy of all things good as he leers at me from across the chasm. I remember the day when I realized that the enemy of souls took note of me. It was terrifying. Sure, evil has always pursued me, but I was part of a more general target. 

As part of a local task force I've been able to reach into some of the most devastated lives in the county and spread real hope. We've seen miracles. We've lost more lives than we've seen changed, but every changed life is exponential with hope. 

There is no fair in warfare. The enemy of my soul has failed against my savior, and so he prowls over those things that are still within his reach, and most precious to me. From all that I've seen lost on the streets, I've learned to hold my family all that much closer.

Too many lives that I've crossed began with a happy little family that became destroyed by a choice or a series of choices. We are all so weak. There are none of us who are as strong as we think we are. And so this humility and recognition of vulnerability must result in a self-less abandonment of status quo, replaced by an all-out yield to the way of my creator.

There is nothing that is too big, no chasm too wide, no wandered path that is too far. As Moses said to the people, God is not so far that He must somehow be retrieved, rather He abides in our mouths and hearts. He is our God and we are His people.

And so each day is a renewal of the mind as I freshly abandon the things of self: pride, anxiety, fear, sadness, anger, lust, and take on those things of His Spirit: the true, the noble, the authentic, the reputable, the compelling, the beautiful, and in an attitude of thankfulness.

Surely what I have already been saved from is far greater than those things I fear in the darkness. There is a light that shines in the darkness and it illuminates today, burning out the shadows of past and painting the horizon of tomorrow.

And so with the fierce brow of a father protecting his children I return that stare across the chasm into the face of the destroyer and I say, "Not here. Not now. Not today. The One who fills me makes me strong enough to withstand. 

I know who I am and I call back the past... all the way to the beginning when the One spoke out light, truth, and life to place everything into being. 

And on my knees I find strength.

The Light that Pierces the Darkness

Every picture has a story, but some are better than others. The Polar Bear, the official 15 passenger van of Emmaus, was cooling its V-8 engine in the concrete and concertina wire lot and the crew had unloaded the bags from the roof-top carrier with skill gained by the past four weeks of practice. The air was cool with the promise of a coming storm.

Pastor Ayala shoved his mobile phone into his pocket and spoke quietly to Antony who relayed the rapid Spanish phrase to me in English, "Pastor Isaias has had an accident and they want you to go to the scene of the crash."

The advice from the American Embassy regarding an automobile accident in Central America is to remove yourself from the scene as soon as possible so that you aren't caught up in an emotional exchange of retribution or misplaced blame. I knew that the practical thing was for me to say, "No."

But I am a Pastor. The world needs those who can run towards the hurting rather than those who run away. I ran into the church to grab my Passport and then joined Antony and Pastor Ayala in his car. 

We approached the scene. Pastor Isaias was driving his motorcycle with another young man who is a member of the church riding on the back. The front of their motorcycle struck a man as he stepped into the street, drunk. The force bent the front forks of the motorcycle and shattered the headlight. 

Stretchers were already being lifted into an awaiting ambulance. Pastor Isaias friend was dripping blood from a busted leg and the intoxicated man was unconscious. We learned that the police were taking Pastor Isaias into custody. He would spend the night in jail.

As the police began to complete their reports, I stood silently at the scene of the accident, praying that they would release him. Pastor Ayala seemed calm, but sure that Isaias was going to jail. Even so, as I prayed, Pastor Ayala began to speak with the police.

During that conversation, the police officers decided to release Isaias and the also agreed not to confiscate his motorcycle, even though the documents were not in order. 

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and took a single photograph blindly, just touching my thumb to the shutter icon. The result was this photo that captures the police officer as he completed the paperwork to release Isaias as Isaias held his cell phone for light.

I watched the officer masterfully sketch the accident scene on a grid with a worn pencil and a white gum eraser. The clipboard was worn thin and the officer's posture pointed to a more innocent time in his life as he drew with his tongue slightly protruding from his lips. 

I wondered if he dreamed of being a police officer when he was young? I wondered if Isaias had always wanted to be a pastor? 

The wind began to pick up as the night grew darker and quiet. Somehow in this chaotic night, a few disjointed souls gathered to find a peaceful solution as a beam of light shone to remind us all that we are more than the situations that surround us. 

In the threat of the night, we are called to pierce the darkness. I am thankful tonight that we answered the call. There is still a hope for this sad world.