Tuesday, April 17, 2012

My Old Friend

I love my garden.  For some reason, I feel closer to the Lord when I’m working in the dirt, tilling, planting, weeding, watering, or even just watching the plants grow – if that’s even possible.  I think it’s a point of relating to my Creator.  After all, He’s the original gardener, responsible for the most famous of gardens.  I often imagine what His must have looked like, and I’ve decided that once I’ve crossed over into His realm, I will spend a tremendous amount of time exploring a renewed Eden. 

Today, as I sat in my garden, I thought of Nathan.  I thought of all that our family has suffered in the previous weeks - the nightmare we’ve each lived through.  I didn’t cry, but I was overcome with a mix of emotions, as I’ve been prone to these last few days.  I thought specifically of the role I’ve had the privilege of playing on behalf of my sister’s family, doing all that I know to do to be the hands and feet of Jesus during this incredibly harsh time.  It’s a role I’d rather not play, to state the obvious, but I use the word “privilege” intentionally, as I know there is something eternally precious about getting to love those who are hurting.  Once again, I thought of the deep and profound sorrow that weighs them down during this time and the fact that their pain causes me to hurt more than I already do over the loss of my nephew.  I also thought of how I have learned to set aside my own sorrow temporarily, in order to be strong for them.  As these thoughts filled my head, a separate, quiet, confident thought entered in and took center stage.  I began to think of God as an “old friend”.  Now, I’ve learned, over the years, that the voice of the Lord takes on many forms, but His most consistent tone in my life is that of a quiet, confident thought.  So I leaned into this thought, and soon found myself being affirmed by my Father, as a lifelong friend.  And while that might not mean much to you, it tore me up inside, and the tears began to flow. 

Friendship is not cheap, nor is it formed quickly as we’re prone to think in our warped, 21st century, western culture.  Abraham was called a “friend of God”, and Moses, as it is written in Exodus 33, spoke to God face to face “as a man speaks to his friend.”  Both men had very profound relationships with their Creator, and I daresay that God will refer to both as “old friends” throughout eternity.  Both had a history with God that was rich and full.  Both walked a road that was rocky and long.  Abraham journeyed with God into foreign lands, and while that journey was obviously a physical one, it was more so profoundly relational.  He became intimately familiar with God as He ventured into the unfamiliar.  Similarly, Moses wandered around in the wilderness for 40 years, daily facing some extremely harsh conditions.  Yet despite facing the threat of starvation, dehydration, disease, mutiny and even potential exposure to enemy armies, He experienced some of the most intimate encounters any man has ever experienced with God.  That friendship became so tangible that he ultimately vowed to not go anywhere without the Presence of the Lord. 

Intimacy carries a price.  It comes through experiences – both good and bad.  It’s what happens when we live our lives, no matter how high the highs or how low the lows, in the constant presence of another.  It’s a flow of life between two people, who dare to open themselves up to one another, during the course of their time here on Earth.  It’s what two people share that is uniquely theirs and theirs alone.  And friendship with God is the abundance of life that Jesus Himself spoke of.

During the past few weeks, I have experienced much that I wish I could simply undo.  I would be a happier person right now if my family hadn’t been hit with this insidious tragedy.  What God spoke to me in the midst of the storm, however, brought me a sense of peace.  These are the trials through which friendship is tested and strengthened.  These are the moments where we meet God in a new way, and we walk away having been kissed by the Ancient of Days.   If I had a choice, I would undo this horrible mess.  And yet, I could never choose to unravel the tapestry of intimacy that God has knit in my heart through years of pain and joy.  This is the most difficult stretch of my life’s journey thus far.  And while on this path, I am prone to loathe it.  But the promise from Him is this: walking it will lead me to a place of familiarity with Him that I would not know otherwise. 

This is not my first time around the block.  I’ve had some successes, and I’ve skinned my knees a time or two.  I’ve won some battles, while others were lost.  I’ve loved, I’ve lost.  I’ve struggled and I’ve rested.  I’ve even had my teeth kicked in.  But through it all, God and I have become old friends – His words, not mine.  I’ve always suspected as much.  For my part, I always considered Him my closest friend, even when I wasn’t very faithful towards Him.  But to hear Him refer to me as an “old friend”… well… that’s worth the price.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

The Comet


I have just ended a most unforgettable week. A week that brought about a hurricane of emotions and experiences. A week I just assume to wake up tomorrow morning and discover never existed at all, except in my dreams.  During this week, I have tasted the injustice of a premature death.  It is incredibly bitter.  I have experienced the loss of a loved one, and while I know it’s inevitable, I just assume not ever experience it again.  I have been lifted up by the hands of hope and faith, and while they both remain, I am still faced with an outcome that seems most undesirable.  I have known what it is to weep with those who can do nothing but weep.  And while I hope that was a comfort to those who most needed it, it’s not the kind of comfort I want to be in the habit of giving.  I have witnessed my children losing someone dear and have not had the capacity to sufficiently answer their questions or deal with their grief.  This concerns me deeply as a father.  I have known exhaustion of an unfamiliar kind – the kind that comes from serving others over an extended period of time in their moment of need – and while I could not envision a situation where I wouldn’t step in and do the same all over again, I hated that the need was so dire.  I also learned what it’s like to swallow your emotions and pretend to be strong, only to have them resurface in moments of quiet retreat.  I have also tasted the sweetness of worship in the midst of sorrow.  It’s as refreshing as any cold spring on a hot summer’s day.  Thanks to my sister and her amazing family, I know the grittiness of a faith that can truly say, “no matter what, Lord, I will still trust in You!”  Having witnessed such a rare sight, I am humbled.  I have heard those I love boldly pledge an allegiance and love for the Lamb of God that supersedes man’s natural desire to hold tightly to the things of this world.  By this I am encouraged and now see that the good news of Jesus Christ is an unquenchable fire that will one day consume the whole Earth.  I have seen a community respond to tragedy, crossing every racial, social and denominational line, and this makes me happy.  I have experienced the mystery of knowing someone, without fully knowing who they are until they have been taken away.  I have learned of the greatness of my nephew, whom I have loved dearly for 15 years, from those who recognized his true greatness in a much shorter period of time.  

This week, I saw the passing of a comet.  I have lived under its light for the past 15 years, and while I had every opportunity to bask in its glow, I only caught glimpses of it from time to time.  Now the comet is gone, and I am deeply troubled by its passing.  Nevertheless, I am grateful to have had the opportunity to see it – if only for a moment.  In my state of heightened sensitivity, I now suspect that I’m surrounded by comets.  This makes me want to recognize their beauty while their light is still with me.  God give me courage to live and love as freely as the one we’ve lost.