Every Time I Hear This Song

It makes me smile.
This is my song.


Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto no. 1 for Piano & Orchestra in B flat minor, Op. 23: Allegro non troppo e molto maestoso


http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Piano+Concerto+No+1+For+Piano+and+Orchestra+or+2+Pianos+In+B+Flat+Minor+Op+23+Allegro+Non+Troppo+E+Molto+Maestoso+Allegro+Con/2fmijl?src=5

Table Rock

(Since I decided that this is Throwback Tuesday... this is from a couple of years ago. I went on a hike really JUST to write a blog post about it, but it turned out to be amazing and memorable apart from the writing experience. Last week, I went to Jones Gap- a park similar to and close to Table Rock- with friends, but I can't concentrate, and write, when I'm trying to keep up and/ or keep up a conversation with people- although it was fun in its own way. I  think I'll do this again, soon... just like that time... I'll tell you about it...)

I really like art. And that's why I'm here at this gallery.

The best part is, the Artist is here with me and He's giving me the tour. He's saying, See the sunlight on those leaves turning them into a thousand shades of green and white and brown? I didn't have to clean my brush and dip it back into my palette and mix the paint just right. I did all of this with my voice.

His work isn't signed. Some people deny the artist. This living color and light and the water pouring and pouring and blurring the surface of the rocks- it all just came to be by itself. Yeah. Of course it did.

But God still lets them into His gallery and His work is there for them to look at and it's self-explanatory. They're not taking the tour. Maybe one day they'll see His hand in it- books in the running brooks, sermons in stones.

It takes some effort to get through this gallery. I'm tramping up mud slippery rocks and then I get up this slope and there's a tree with woody scales overlapping and no two are the same and He fitted them together. He's the master sculptor.

I think if I'd done that, I would have made them a regular shape and pattern, consistent and boring and my tree wouldn't even compare to the rugged beauty of His.

There's a pile of black leaves, beaten down by rain and there's bright green ones springing out of them, perfect in the traditional shape of teardrops. See, my tour guide says, my art is forever changing and renews itself and I don't need a custodian.

And I'm not looking in between at wallpaper and carpet and tables, just more and more and more living art and it goes on forever. No one, no one could think all of this up except for Him.

I can tell I've reached the top, it's open and easier to walk and then suddenly I'm on the sloping face of a huge rock and I realize that I've only walked through a tiny, tiny hallway in His gallery.

Mountain line-up, so far in the distance that I can't see the trees and boulders and creeks but I know they must be there. Gently curving line of the softest gray. More curves, and more and more like the waves of a motionless ocean.

I'm wondering why God poured out His creative energy and power into this place. There's no one here to see it right now except me. I've been hiking for hours, so I know.

He did it because He could. He did it because He is great. He did it because He doesn't need to impress anyone and He doesn't need our accolades.

Like the ocean full of intricate and amazing creatures living so deep that no human eye will ever see. Sometimes He paints and sculpts and.. really just speaks beauty into existence.. just because.

There's an eagle floating in circles above me, wings outstretched, and I think he's enjoying the view too. And there's a little mud colored toad who has no clue about it. I touch him with one finger and his skin is softer than I expected and I tell him that even he is a credit to his creator.

I wish I could describe all this with words or even photos. It's kind of like going to Vatican City to the Sistine Chapel and doing a few quick sketches with a pencil and then when you take it back you expect people to appreciate it the way you did.

His artwork is beautiful. He doesn't need me or anyone else to tell Him so. But I think He does like hearing it.

Ephesians 1

(Story I wrote a while ago... it is possibly the best post of my old, forsaken blogs... just wanted to share it with you. Michael is named after the archangel.)

Today I was driving on the interstate, and I noticed a sign with the word "Castle." I had to look at it again because it seemed too... well, official... to be a White Castle, or any cheesy tourist attraction. The sign simply gave directions to a "Castle." I veered toward the exit at the last second... I just had to check it out.

I turned left onto a curvy road with a bower of tree branches above it. The sunlight grew brighter, subtly, as the trees became more evenly spaced out. 

Then I came to a huge lawn, smooth as a green pool, with a fountain in its center shooting higher and higher every moment. The bushes surrounding it looked like they'd been trimmed with nail clippers.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it was really surprising to see an actual castle dominating the whole scene. It looked like it had come straight out of the pages of the Medieval Life book I had when I was a kid, with turrets piled on top of each other, pointed caps, and wide stone walls glimmering.

I parked in a parking garage about half a mile away from the entrance; the garage seemed modern and out-of-place. With some trepidation, I walked along a path bordered by perfect shrubbery and more fountains, then up some marble steps to the entrance. The door was held open with a huge rock; I could see that it was very heavy and carved on both sides.

A tall woman stood up from behind a polished desk. She walked around it towards me, extending her hand. "Welcome! We're so glad you are here. This is the best day to visit!" I breathed a sigh of relief- apparently, it was okay for me to be there. Then thought of the sign. Of course! If this place were private, the owner wouldn't have advertised it.

The lady was already paging a tour guide.  Soon, a man wearing an immaculate suit walked into the room.

"My name is Michael, and I'll be your guide. This is a very special day for all of us, and we're so glad you're here!" He gestured to the hall, and from where I was standing, I could see beautiful tapestries, golden fixtures, and an ornate carpet. "This castle is coming into the possession of an extremely fortunate heiress this very afternoon!"

"Really?" I exclaimed.

"Absolutely. Today, she will become one of the wealthiest people in the entire world. I've been authorized to give visitors a complete tour of her new estate. Please come this way!"

I walked into the great hall as Michael told me that throughout the tour, he would show me everything that the woman would inherit. "We'll start with the throne room."

We came to the end of a corridor, and a door loomed over us, made of the darkest wood I had ever seen. It looked sinister after the warmth and richness of the hall. Michael turned the knob, and the door swung open slowly.

I saw a great throne towering on a dais; the only furniture in the room. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were completely covered in crimson tapestries. It was a solemn and majestic place, and it took my breath away.

Michael's smile had disappeared. He spoke seriously, looking into my eyes as though every word were vitally important.

"The heiress is unworthy of favor. She has done great wrong to her benefactor, and he could have judged and punished her severely. But he has forgiven everything. Not only that, but in this very room he has proclaimed his will for her. She has been predestined to be completely blameless before him, and she will be." He spoke with confidence.

"She will change?" I asked, trying to make sense of the words.

"He will change her. She had an evil heart, but now she will fulfill his will, and she will be to the praise of his glorious grace. This is guaranteed. He has proclaimed it, and he has sealed her with his own seal."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. I'd never heard anything like this before. Then he smiled again.

 "We'll move on to the chapel."

In this smaller room, stone walls rose to a perfect arch, warm in the light of thousands of candles. A crimson carpet lay before the altar, which was carved with the image of an empty cross. Magnificent stained glass windows spanned every wall. "Here, she will receive every spiritual blessing in heavenly places. Her benefactor has chosen her before the foundation of the world to be his adopted daughter, and he even died to redeem her."

I couldn't speak. I had thought that someone this wealthy and powerful would be equally heartless, but it seemed that the one of whom he spoke had a heart greater than the whole world.

Michael gestured toward the hallway. We walked side by side to the next door; it was very heavy, and I saw him strain a little to push it open. Then my eyes filled up with the sight of row on row on row of books. They completely covered walls that were higher and wider than I'd ever seen in any library; and I've visited many.

"This library contains secrets that people have died to obtain, and still could not. They will be freely revealed to her. He will allow her to know the mystery of his will. He will give her wisdom, insight, and an enlightened heart. She will be given knowledge of him and of the hope to which he has called her."

I couldn't answer now because I didn't trust my voice. I saw the true value of the wisdom he was speaking about, of the hope and also the love in this room. I'd been smothering my desire for these things, chasing things I thought were attainable, the cheap substitutes. I wanted to stay, to pull a few books off the shelves. Michael gave me a knowing look and opened the door for me, and I thought that I would cry at having to leave.

"We're going to the banquet hall," he said, not looking at me. He walked quickly, and I broke into an awkward jog to catch up.

We walked through an open archway into a room that absolutely glowed. The walls were lit by oil lamps and lined with thousands of portraits in golden frames. The room had more tables than I had ever seen in my life. It was warm from a blazing fire in the great fireplace. I felt my feet sinking into the thick carpet and suddenly wanted to take off my shoes, but I realized that Michael was speaking again.

"This is the place in which the heiress will experience the most wonderful fellowship possible. She'll have a close friendship with her benefactor, and will be united with others because of him. These friends will be filled with the same love and faith that she'll be given, so they'll be understanding of each other and able to serve him together."

"This is so amazing!" It was all I could really say.

"There's more," he said. 

We came to a door that was inlaid with jewels and securely locked. Michael pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and expertly found the ones he needed. "This is the treasure chamber," he told me, and as the door swung open, I gasped. The place looked like a dragon's lair from a fairy tale. Gold and jewels were heaped up on shelves and even on the floor. Diamonds in velvet cases, the biggest rubies I had ever seen, and glittering treasure chests with wide-open lids. “It will all be hers; she's blessed in the beloved. He simply chose to lavish his rich grace on her."

Michael stooped to pick up a golden crown, set it on a shelf and turned back around to face me. I could see that he was tearing up a bit, himself. "You know, the best part is, she doesn't even realize the rich and glorious inheritance she will receive, but he is going to reveal it to her. He is so good. She'll even receive a guarantee of a future inheritance of greater riches."

"But-" I said, suddenly remembering something. A contradiction. "I thought you said her benefactor died!"

"Ah." His eyes lit up. "I have one more room to show you."

I startled a little when I walked into the next room and saw two knights holding enormous swords. Then, I realized that they were only suits of armor. The walls of this chamber bristled with swords and spears of every description, and an iron table in the center was piled with weapons and protective armor. I noticed a shield with the symbol of the empty cross.

"He died for her," Michael said, "but his father raised him from the dead. Their power is immeasurably great. And they will work in her with that very same resurrection power. They will give her their own power so that she can fight her battles.

“On top of all this, she will have my master as her head, to love and obey, and fill her with everything she needs. She will be his fullness, the fullness of him who fills all in all."

As we walked back to the entrance, I noticed something on the wall. A golden case with a thick document inside. "What's this?"

"It's the deed to the castle, and all of the riches that I've described to you." He pulled out one last key, and I thought I could see bloodstains on it.

Then he put it into the key hole and turned it.

"What are you doing?" I asked. I could hear my voice shaking.

"This is the deed for the rich and glorious inheritance." He held it out to me.

"It's for you."

Fighting Words

I'm starting a new blog, Fighting Words, for things I learn from the Bible that I want to share with you. It's ireadatsixam.blogspot.com. There's nothing there, but there will be. Tomorrow. First thing. In the morning.

Yes, that's right. I am the proud owner of TWO blogs. I'm thinking about starting a third anonymous one. (I do this a lot.)

(But that high-hopes-crashing thing that usually happens is NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.)

(I can do this.)

I have decided to write something on Fighting Words every day. I promised you I'd write on Conditional Me Writing Unconditionally every Tuesday, and I have written (almost) every Tuesday. Why? Because YOU READ IT. That's why. Because I know that you know my blog name, and it says I write on Tuesday. And if I wait till Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday, I can't deal with the guilt. I can't look at my laptop. I CAN'T FUNCTION. I want to become a Democrat. That's how bad it is.

So if Conditional Me forces me to write once a week, Fighting Words could force me to get up, read the Bible, and tell you about it, every day. It's one of the hardest things for me to do. I'm a night owl. But I'm going to change that.

Good night.

Little Kids With God

I've noticed something funny about little kids. Little, up to seven, maybe ten- sometimes. They accept what they're told (factually).

They don't know that adults make mistakes. That we're weak and foolish, we don't know everything, we tell lies.

But we expect that, right? We expect them to believe the things we tell them. And it's even a little jarring when they don't, anymore.

I went to a concert at BJU, a lady in a long dress singing "Good Night, Moon." The words of the picture book I used to love.

"Goodnight room
Goodnight moon
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon
Goodnight light
And the red balloon."

It was surprisingly beautiful.

And I thought about how trusting little kids are. How they believe that everything in their room has a personality, feelings, they kiss their teddy bears goodnight. They trust the lady whispering "hush", that it's best for them to hush. That they're safe and that they'll wake up again in the same safe room. That everything will be alright.

Fits notwithstanding, they believe that you know best and that you are doing what's best for them.

I'm trying to be a little kid with God. Like He doesn't make mistakes, He isn't weak and foolish. He knows everything. He doesn't tell lies.

The childhood illusion that's painfully broken and discarded. We recycle. Please place your illusions in the blue bin, new cynicisms are manufactured daily.  

But I think that the expectations of children are misplaced, they're really meant for God. Because He's the only one who can fulfill them.

God says, "But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you." But people argue, because they're adults now, and they know better. It's okay, expected, even admirable for consenting (loving) adults. May I see your ID please? 

Because when we're 18 we know more than God. 

Listen to me. Your parents may be wrong. But God is never wrong. You will never know more than God. Not even close. 

You may never understand why, like a little kid doesn't understand why their parents tell them not to touch that, to come back, to run. But he knows his parents are concerned for his well-being. How? From experience.

"If you who have fallible parents trusted them to do what was best for you, how much more shall you trust your unfailing, all-seeing, all-knowing, everlastingly loving Heavenly Father?" (Not from the Bible) (I made it up).  

Sometimes when He says No, it is really really hard. But hard does not mean bad. Hard does not mean impossible. Just picture yourself as that little kid, right now. You're cozy warm, full, almost asleep, and you hear your mother whispering "hush", and you trust her with everything in you because she has always been good to you. You know that nothing bad will happen to you in that room. If your mother asked you to do something hard, you'd know she wasn't trying to hurt you. You'd believe that she was trying to help you in some way. And that's the way God loves you. He loves you even more. I'll prove it to you.

"As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you." Isaiah 66:13

"Can a woman forget her nursing child And have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. - Isaiah 49:15

"O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty; Nor do I involve myself in great matters, Or in things too difficult for me. Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; Like a weaned child rests against his mother, My soul is like a weaned child within me." -Psalm 131:1-2

All That He Had Made

Have you ever thought about Jesus' personality? I'm not talking about His Divine attributes. I'm talking about His personality.

I read a book about personalities, once. The Delicate Art of Dancing with Porcupines (Bob Phillips). It was one of the most important and memorable books I've ever read. Helped me to understand people, and even learn how to be a better writer, to portray characters more convincingly.

According to Bob Phillips, we have different orientations to work and to other people. Each person belongs to one of four groups: Analytical, Driver, Amiable, Expressive. Analyticals and Drivers are task-oriented. Amiables and Expressives are relationship-oriented. Each group has different emotions and different ways of responding to conflict.  And each group has another group that really gets on their nerves. If you have different priorities or different conflict-coping methods than I do, we'll clash with each other- unless we work really hard to understand each other.

I think I ended up being  some weird combination of Amiable and Analytical. I figured out my parents' and siblings' personalities too. I would tell you them BUT 1. They might get mad at me for telling the world their personalities 2. I don't remember them anyway so…

Now, what if I gave this personality test to Jesus? I know what you're thinking, but that's not irreverent. He was a Person. He never sinned, but He responded to people in certain ways based on His personality.

What's honestly confusing to me is how He could have just ONE personality. He's God- eternal, omnipotent, omniscient…

So shouldn't His personality include all personalities? If He only had one personality, wouldn't that mean that He could relate to some people better than others? Wouldn't that mean that He'd like some people ("the disciple Jesus loved"), and feel irritated by others?

That's a scary thought.

I know He was people-focused. Would He look at the work-focused person and say, "How about a little consideration of others, you jerk" as other people-focused people would do? But then, wasn't He also work-focused? "I must be about my Father's business"; "I must do the work of Him that sent me."

I've read about the way Jesus reacted to conflict. He asked questions of the Pharisees, probing them. He didn't just walk away as some of us tend to do. Would He look on us as conflict-avoiders? He didn't snap back when He was cornered. Would He think that those of us who tend to do so are overreactive and immature?

I don't think so.

I think we can't be sure of His personality for the same reason that we don't know the way He looked. If we knew Jesus had brown hair, we'd think brown hair was holy, or something. If we knew He was relationship-oriented without being task-oriented, we'd tell every task-oriented person, "Come on, be more like Jesus!"

I can say with assurance that Jesus understands you the way you are because He is omniscient. And don't forget: He is the Creator. He gave you your personality- and He gave it to you for a reason. Stop worrying about the ways in which you're different from people around you! You're not supposed to be them. You're supposed to be you… to serve God and minister to people in your OWN way, unique because of the character traits He gave you. There's no right or wrong way to be. 

If you think you're pretty normal anyway, don't walk around thinking other people are weird and wrong just because they're different from you. It's a wonderful thing that God gave them different personalities. We don't want to be surrounded by a thousand you's. 

God is not the Creator of the boring and the bland. Look at the ocean! "And God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good."

Really, Really Good Blog Post

http://www.reclaimingthemind.org/blog/2015/03/four-characteristics-of-legalism

This is SO TRUE, EVERY WORD.

Joys to Come

I heard this in a song once: "A faith that ranks the joys to come above the pleasures lost." Wrote it down, just tried to look it up. The closest thing I could find: "Best Faith Evans songs, ranked by fans like you." Google, you have failed me once again.

I love that line, though, because I want a faith like that. When I focus on immediate things, I'll settle for something less than I could have had- every time.

It's hard. I'm such an impatient person. I want to be happy NOW. How about you? Are you jumping-up-and-down excited about happiness deferred?

But our lives will not be as long-drawn-out, even, as Christmas Eve. In the grand scheme of all time, they will be more like the first tick of a brand-new clock. And then we'll have an eternity to be happy. So what goes on in the almost-invisible movement of that fragile black wand? We defer a little happiness. Would you shed tears for a happy, successful person because his finger was pinched in a door once when he was two? That's what it's like to be depressed about our troubles in this life. Of course, the two-year-old is going to cry, so it's understandable. But it's so much better- more mature- to be able to look at life as the happy-adult-to-be. I think that's why God gave us Revelation.

I watched Heaven is for Real recently. Rented it from Redbox, got really really busy, didn't return it for five days. I paid way too much to watch that movie. It was so uninspiring, it should have been free.

There's a minister who doesn't even know if he believes in Heaven. A wife who tells him that he should worry about things of this life as she throws things around her kitchen, angry. A little boy who talks about things he saw in a heaven that is basically just like earth, a place where no one will ever hurt him.

I don't believe that Heaven is like that. Colton's heaven was very imaginable. And I believe that Heaven will be unimaginable- more glorious and God-filled than we can possibly imagine. And we who have accepted Christ will be there soon, in His very presence.

In His presence is fullness of joy.

We don't know exactly what it looks like, although Revelation gives us some clues. We don't know what Jesus looks like. Sorry, Colton. If Jesus had wanted us to know what He looked like, He would have described Himself in the Bible. He wouldn't have told us through you.

But with everything He's given us, everything He's done for us, right here in this darkened, miserable world, why would we not believe that Heaven will be absolutely amazing- something to look forward to, to make us smile every day?

"I go to prepare a place for you... that where I am, there you may be also."

I like to think about this when I hear about the terrible things happening in the world, when I feel helpless, when life seems dark even with everything that I have been given. That's where I'm going.

Its lamp is the Lamb.

And there will be no more night.

Fightings and Fears

Lately I've realized that several people are affected spiritually- by me. Feels like a backpack I pulled up onto my shoulders four miles ago, settled on my back, it was nothing. The breeze pulled at me gently and the sunlight glittered in the trees and I thought the whole hike would be like that. Easy. Invigorating. Now that backpack is heavy, the straps are digging into my skin, my muscles hurt. I'm wishing I'd let someone else carry it, just sort of looked the other way, fiddled with my shoelaces when they asked.

At Piedmont Women's Center, they share the gospel with every woman who enters the building. I've been helping with ultrasounds, reading the manual, talking with the other Christian women who work there. Easy. Invigorating. Then last week they asked me to role play a counseling session. Suddenly, I had to decide what I was going to say to some woman who was scared, lost, looking for guidance. How to communicate the judgment of God and the love of God, the darkness of sin and the light of the cross, looking into the eyes of a woman full of questions and hangups. I was playing a part with my new friend and I just stumbled around. I told her I'd have to work out what to say. She said I'd be great, but I knew that I wouldn't. Not that simple, not that easy. Not on my own.

I might be the one person between that woman and her decision to kill her unborn baby, her decision to reject Christ.

At church, I'm driving six kids who really don't understand what it means to have a relationship with God. I hear a mother yelling at one of them and I think, these kids aren't loved the way I was loved. No wonder they don't get it. And there are leaders who are shocked when they say a curse word. Yeah, your kids don't say that. But your kids don't have parents who live five miles apart. Your kids don't listen to Beyonce on Youtube or to two people screaming at each other in the next room.

I try to explain that God cares about the things we think about- He knows and loves us that much. But when I talk about anything other than sports or school, they say "Okay, Okay, Okay"- loudly.  One of them told me something that echoes in my mind. "When the other leaders talk about God, I understand, but when you do, I just don't get it." And I think that it's me, that I'll never get through to them. That I can barely keep them from getting up out of their seats and throwing things at each other.

One of the boys said he wants to be a drug dealer when he grows up. He's sullen, rebellious and- real. So do we just want kids who keep that rebelliousness down inside of them, do we want pews filled up with quiet, respectful rebels? They're saying he might not get to come any more. Maybe he won't have any Christians in his life at all.

Three little girls said their verses to me last night. They needed me to explain. To show them that I love the Bible, that I'm excited about it. To memorize right along with them, tell them that we keep doing this our entire lives.

My small, selfish world is expanding. But sometimes- honest- I wish it weren't. Sometimes I feel that these women and these kids can't depend on me. They just can't. I have nothing to offer them. I struggle every day. I think God cannot use me, and then I think, why of course He can, because [pride]. Either way-I'm doing these things. Either way.

Most of the time, I get it all wrong. In the things I say, in the ways I respond. I'm impatient and I discourage rather than encourage.

I elevate sincerity over spirituality.

Once I played board games with a couple of ten-year-olds. I don't know how they started the conversation- I think maybe the word "hypocrite" came up in some word game. "What's a hypocrite?" one asked. "Oh, you know, when people sit in a church pew and look all holy and then they go home and listen to their rock music," her friend replied, demonstrating headphones on and rocking out. They laughed, went back to their game, but I felt like I'd been hit. Because the one thing I want to be is genuine. And is it genuine to wear skirts to church and sing hymns and "look all holy" if that's not really me?  Sometimes I haven't gone for that reason. More worried about the way I look to other people than about refreshing my soul, renewing my mind.  But that little girl was wrong. It's never hypocritical to go to church. Maybe sometimes it's just thinking about God first, people later.

For all of this, I need to pray- hard. I believe that God can help me turn around from mistakes I've made, and use me, somehow. He can show me what to say to people in my life. He can change the minds of the men who only want well-behaved kids in their Bible club. I've doubted that He could change people in my life, my coworkers, my friends, as I've doubted that He could change me. But truth is? He could change all of us.

Come back.

I'm too busy to talk to you right now.

But don't think I don't love you

Because

I do.