Confession

I have craved things that are nothing but temporary coverings.

I have misused Your Word.

I have known about You but now desperately want to know You.

I am afraid that I will not be able to meet your expectations, even though I keep hearing that you have none. I am afraid that all I will ever do is fail You.

I am angry at You. Angry that You would even create mankind knowing that we would fall away. Angry that You would create a covenant with us knowing that we have an incredibly difficult time keeping covenant. And I realize that really I am angry at myself.

I choose today to believe in You enough to ask You to cut through all of this and show Yourself to me. I need a new revelation of Your love. I cannot walk away from You, but I want so desperately to be able to trust You.

I ask that Your Word would be a light to my path, not just in the future, but as I study the past. Reveal truths. Give me the strength and courage to be able to embrace my depravity. I fall on my knees yet again. Forgive me, Lord. Lead me in the way everlasting. Give me strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow; if that's not asking too much.

Horror movie tunnels

Alright follow me on this.

This is your typical New Year's blog post. Sorry. Obligatory (I actually got a harassment call from some guy named Franky at blogger.com threatening me within an inch of my life if I didn't post something).

Here are my thoughts about the New Year and me.

Have you ever seen those horror movies where people are running away from some dreaded pin-headed, metal finger-nailed, pointy-toothed creature. They are running and running and running, then the camera pulls back and the tunnel just keeps getting longer and longer - they don't seem to progress at all.

I have often felt like that's what the process of our being "made new" is like. We work and pray and strive and just when we think we are making progress we look up and the journey is so much further. Or like that scene at the end of one of the Lord of the Rings movies: Frodo and Sam spend the whole movie dodging spiders, giant creatures made of fire, slimy green schizophrenics and horse riding skeletons and finally scale mountain. We think the movie is over! They made it! Yes! But NOOOOOO. Camera pulls back and several miles in the distance you see the harsh glow of Mordor. So many more trials left to endure. I remember a feeling massive sense of pop-cultural injustice at that scene. I wanted closure. I wanted results.

Our journey is a lot like that.

So here's my resolve for 2011:

Phillipians says:
"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (3:13b-14)

I'm forgetting what is behind. What's done is done. What is confessed is forgiven. What is history can be analyzed or dissected and learned from but I know that I could remain paralyzed in hurt and fear and resentment. I'm forgetting what is behind.

I'm straining toward what is ahead. I don't know what lies ahead. I know I've faced some fire-breathers in my day. I have been Gollum. But I choose to let the Spirit continue to work on and in me, though there may be days I see no results or progress. It is a strain. My soul aches from the strain. I wonder if there are times that God pushes us to the edge of what we believe and forces us to look around. To see the bleak world that lies beyond what our acknowledgment of who He is and what He can, will, can't or won't do. That is a frightening place to be. But that's the reality of where we are. The reality of where I am. And I am forced to ask myself the question of whether or not I have the courage to believe enough to take the next step. I'm straining toward what is ahead.

And there's a prize. I have to believe that. I have to tell myself that it's not American-consumerist-egocentricity to just take that scripture at face value. I don't know what the prize is. But even the gift of peace in the middle of fiery trials is enough for me.

So that's my resolve.

And I want to train for and run a half marathon.

And I want to have a good relationship with my wife and kids. And parents.

And I'm not going to self loathe (as much).

And I'm going to write more.

I'm resolving to try and embrace life. Hard as it may be. I can't do it myself. I'll need your help. And God's too.

Faith and Santa

So here it is almost 2011. Glad to see 2010 go. Very tough year. Spent the last weeks walking around the rubble of my own doing asking God, myself, my family and my friends some tough questions. And I wish I had more answers. But I don't.

The biggest question I've had to ask myself is, "Am I a person of faith?"

Hebrews says that Faith is the substance of the things we hope for, and the evidence of things that are unseen.

I find it really funny that I'm in this process right now - during Christmas time. My kids are all about Santa Clause. They go on and on discussing the nice vs. naughty list, the logistical challenges of global overnight package delivery, what is or is not considered breaking and entering (especially when there is no chimney), and other things of that nature.

Kaley, my 6 year old, is all in to the Santa thing. She even has her brother convinced that last year she went on a sleigh ride with Rudolph when they stopped by the house. She has no problem falling completely into the story and placing herself right in the middle of this tale. It's pretty amazing, actually.

Abby, my oldest, is a lot more like me (sadly). She's an evidence girl. She'll talk about about Santa, and even though she was a part of buying the presents for my stocking - she tells me that "Santa got it" for me. She's more of a realist; yet is able to join in the fun conversation of St. Nick with the other two.

Sounds a lot like me.

I've had to really dig deep. Do I actually BELIEVE in God? Do I have faith in something I can't see? Sometimes, it seems less crazy to believe in Santa Clause. At least Santa leaves some evidence of his existence (fraudulent though it may be). I look around me and I see broken Christians. I see my heart filled with sin and corruption. I see hypocrites. There are times that I feel like everything I see points to a no-god reality. If God has offered me salvation, why am I still so broken and hurt? If God offers redemption, why is there so much sin, emotionalism, arrogance and duplicity in the church?

And yet, His reality is my deepest hope. And I search for His substance, His evidence. Everyday I have to get up, look in the mirror and ask myself if I'm really going to believe all of it. And the answer is yes. Though it is not easy.

There are many days I feel that my own humanity will thwart God's ability to show His reality in my life. I don't doubt Him, I doubt me. And with good reason. There are many days that I feel unworthy of salvation, unworthy of grace (and please spare me the Sunday school talk about how none of us are worthy; I already know that - some of us sure do a great job of making others feel more worthy than others). All of this talk about duplicity and sin in the church is directed mostly toward me, you understand. I'm the one who is the hypocrite. I'm the one who, despite my best efforts (and again, spare me the talk about not needing to "try" or put forth effort and just let God blah blah blah - I'm talking about reality here) can not get it right. I just can't get it right. I know all the scriptures, I've sang all the songs, I've said all the prayers - and have fully meant all of it most of the time. Shouldn't this come easier now? Why do I feel like most of my fruit is rotten? I'm tired of trying, and even more tired of failing. And I ask myself, "Why?"

And the answer I come to is that if I choose not to believe then I fall into an abyss of despair that is far deeper than the one I have dug for myself. If I choose to reject God's reality, then there is absolutely nothing I can stand on and hold to. So, I believe. Though I am still searching for the evidence.

I'm hurt. I'm broken. From my own actions. From others. I feel hopeless. Worthless. I feel damaged at the core, unable to be fixed. Rejected. I guess that's the biggest one, rejected.

And even here as I weep - I hear the voice the Word speaking to me about Jesus: "He was despised and rejected by men." Comforting words for certain (though the dark part of me reminds me that He didn't do anything wrong, He had no reason to be rejected - I certainly have done wrong and deserve the rejection I feel). Still it's comforting to know that I can sit down with Him and say - "this really sucks, and I'm really tired." And He can identify with those feelings (thanks again, Hebrews).

So there's a little evidence for me today. It's not much, but maybe it'll be enough.

As I continue to survey the wreckage of my life, as I start to try and reconcile the heartbreak I feel and the heartbreak I have caused; I plead for God to show me more evidence, more substance. As I continue to wonder about the days ahead and all the questions that come along with it, I plead for God to show me more evidence, more substance. There's so much that points to it all being made up, some elaborate fairy tale.

But today, I'm choosing to believe.

Kaley, come here. Tell me about Santa.


(p.s. if this is considered mustard seed faith, I've got some mountains I need to talk to)

A new day.

So I just woke up from a dream. Actually - I'd have to call it a nightmare. But it wasn't one of those hand-held cams shaking while running through the forest while bloodthirsty vampires chased you nightmares. It was one of those this is so real that I can feel the humidity and I can feel my body begin to shake with the reality that this is actually happening and I can't believe it.

In my dream I was going about my normal routine. And we seemed to be making plans for my mom's funeral. Which is fairly normal, I suppose; but it's not something I ever considered normal. Me and death or plans for death are not good friends. We don't hang much. I try to avoid it at all costs. Anything death related, actually. I try to keep at a great distance. Anyhow - so there we were talking about this church and that dress and these flowers and what not. All this with her very involved in the conversation - as if it was a normal day with slightly abnormal content.

Then, in my dream - I walk into the church. I think I was going to meet the Pastor (it was actually at First Baptist, which was bizaare) and then BAM. He was in a black suit with a white corsage - there we all sorts of people crammed into this small cubilcled office. All of them frantically getting ready for something.

He looks at me and says - are you ready? "For what?" I respond, innocently. "The service, of course!" He says - and pins a corsage on whatever t-shirt I decided to wear that day. And next thing you know we are lining up in a hallway getting ready to enter into my mother's funeral.

I was shaken to the core. I remember in my dream trying to process the reality of this while looking at three other pastors who were debating whether or not they should switch socks because the one was wearing a brown suit with brown shoes and maybe the socks should be black (a conversation I would totally be in by the way in the same circumstance). The door swung open and we headed out to the venue in our thrown together processional (the location by the way changed to what appeared to be the America stage at Epcot - I always wondered if there was some sort of Stargate/wormhole like portal between First Baptist and Epcot...).

I was shocked. Then it hit me - In my dream we were making the plan because we knew she was dying. Then I got so busy with the logistics of it all that first of all wasn't there when she actually left. And then, worst of all, I couldn't even remember the last words I spoke to her.

I struggled to make my way down the processional aisle. Literally forcing one foot in front of the other. Then began to shake and cry out loud, "I don't want to say good bye to my mommy!" In absolute shock at what was happening around me.

Even as I write this I weep.

Thankfully, it was then that I woke up.

It was just a really bad dream.

Then the revelation.

She is dying. We are all dying. No matter how hard I try to distance my self from it; it will embrace me and everyone around me. Am I so deeply mired in the denial of it that I don't allow that reality to color the interactions with those I see, know and and love? As the grandfather clock goes off in the other room I am reminded that I don't know when the end will come for anyone, but I can be certain that it will come. I have to reevaluate myself yet again. I can;t let that dream become my reality.

I think of my dad. It's a strained relationship at best. I don't want my kids to meet his new wife. I don;t want to hear them ask me if they should call her "grandma." I don't want to argue about who did what to who and simply rationalize away the pain of their divorce. But I would feel so much worse if something were to happen to him and I didn't take the God given moments that I have to at least tell him that I love him. Even though I disagree with so many things - I love him and need to tell him that.

I think of myself. I have just given up lately. I eat whatever I want, whenever I want. I haven't exercised since the 80's (when ankle warmers were in - I looked great in ankle warmers. It's just awkward now). I know that though I may distance the end in my mind, I am not doing much physically to keep it away. The cheese and butter will one day win if I don't do something. I rationale it all away - I haven't really gained weight, I've been the same pant size for years; blah, blah, blah.

When I started this blog thing, I kept having these "new me" thoughts.

Lately I keep thinking how depressing it is that the new me looks and acts so much like the old me.

Maybe it's now that I wake up.

And the cycle continues

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9/14/09

So I’m sitting in a Pastor’s conference and I’m looking around and wishing we could just get rid of the whole church thing all together so that we could start it over.  It’s amazing how stereotyped the church has become – and I’ve spent so much of my energy (maybe not actual physical actual energy, more of the pretend emotional or mental energy) trying to break out of that stereotypical box.  Maybe it’s just another way that I seek approval, validation.

But here I sit now.  And the stereotype has swallowed me whole.  Everything I see and hear IS that stereotype.  Mediocre music.  Mediocre facility.  Talking in languages that really nobody speaks in – and sometimes talking about things that don’t really matter (when it comes to the actual cause of Christ).

And then the guilt comes.  The realization that I have become the judger.  I have decided that I am the one who should hold the scale because apparently everyone else around me is a moron.  

Ah.  There.  Now I AM the stereotype.   I have become the judgmental Christian.  That is the ultimate Christian experience – to get to the point where you know just enough to be better than anyone else.  Whether it be talent, opinion, looks, interpretation of scriptures; doesn’t really matter what it is – my way is better.  Although in my defense – I do have a few people that I really respect and look up to and see as trailblazers and mentors – and I enjoy my time with them.  It’s just that a majority of the time a I feel that I am trying to carry the dead weight around me lest I sink.  Only that I have done it under the guise of worship – I have done it under the guise of an offering to God.

Yes, I know that the attitudes of my heart have revealed how far from Him I actually am in all of this.

And yet I still think that worship to God should be the best that it can be.  In everyway.  Musically, spiritually, technically.  An worthy offering for a worthy God.

But really- this communication style – does it still work?  Suits and pious talk?  Really?   Does this person know or even care who I am and what my challenges are day in and week out?   Do we really still need to use the clichés and metaphors that I’ve heard a million times – so much so that I have lost the power of the image it was supposed to portray.

Ps – I don’t care how charismatic you are.  If you have to ask for an “amen,” what you said didn’t resonate.  So change what you say or how you say it.  I learned something from Rolling Stone a few months ago – it was an interview with AC/DC.  The guitarist said he didn’t want to ever have to feel the need to try and pump up a crowd,  He didn’t want to stoop to asking them to clap.  He wanted to play.  And he wanted what he was doing on that thing to illicit a response from the people.

I need to look again at what I do.  How I do it. 

Oh, yeah – and if you are a guitar player – please get a tuner.  For crying out loud.  It’s the best first step you could possibly take toward actually being a better player.

The experience

9/7/09

So it’s Monday – the first day of the first week of the newer and improved me.

I sat down to pray and read and I’ve thought about how often I’ve done this and remembered standing on the pier in San Fran.

I suppose it would be good to read a book about San Francisco. About the unique architecture, unparalleled topography, weather or culture or whatever. It could even be one of those huge offe table books – you know, the ones that don’t fit in your bookshelves but you really don’t want said book sitting out all the time because your living room is not the waiting area t the salon. They have huge pictures and great information – it might even be shaped like the Bay Bridge. All very well and good.

Except it’s not really experiencing anything besides a book. No book could adequately describe the sensation of standing out on that pier. To have the wind rip through your hair all while taking in scene after scene of amazing views.

And I thought I wanted to experience God in that way. I was tired of just reading and talking about Him, I need to feel the sensation of being where He is. I don’t care if it’s burning bush or still small voice or whatever.

I decided it was best to let him decide. I just told him that I wanted to experience Him that way.

I was reading in Psalms today and it was talking about not paying too much attention when the wicked prosper and about how the writer had never seen the righteous forsaken. I thought about the Nazis and the Jews. I thought about those who are struggling so much now. I thought about those who are close to losing homes they’ve lived in for decades. In one passage, it said that we had to trust God. That’s not easy for me – I hardly trust myself.

God, help us who have a hard time seeing you to experience your wind in our face and your light in our eyes while we face the turmoil that surrounds us. Help us to remember to trust you.

My trip to the promised land

Blog/Journal – blojournal? Jlog? Bournal? Forget it.

9/4/09

So I’m the Bay getting ready to head home and I’ve decided that I need to journal more. This decision came after the Songwriting conference in Mt. Hermon – not necessarily because I was advised to, but because sometimes I have had so many thoughts in my head at the same time, this is a good outlet for processing. As usual, the second I write something I will disagree with it totally and wonder how I could write such an ill-informed or closed minded statement. I am throwing a handful of change in the air realizing that each one has two sides and hoping that somehow they will land with exactly half of them heads and the other tails.

I also feel it necessary to write this disclaimer. I am not a blogger. I am not a blog reader. I am not at Twitterer. I often have a hard time keeping my own interest in what’s happening around me, let alone me actually thinking that everyone else in the technological universe should know or care about the ridiculous things that are floating around in my head. I don’t expect anyone will read this – in fact, my hope is that no one will. I only post it because I know that probably my wife may read it and chastise me for my lack of follow through with this ridiculous project. I never met a project that was I afraid of not finishing. I will gladly leave most every project half done and rest my hat on the thought that I at least had the wherewithal to start said project.

So this trip has been quite an experience. Not from the standpoint that the conference itself was awesome. It wasn’t – really. It was ok. It was weird and loose and somewhat disjointed. Though any time in Cali is a good time. And I know I got more out of the conference then I think at this point. Even in conversations, little things have come up that show that I was taking things in even when it didn’t seem like it.

In many ways this was a bit of a pilgrimage. One that I needed to go on and see firsthand; with my own eyes and soul. Some of Charlie’s (Peacock) sessions at the conference talked about how I (we) as a believer in the coming of Jesus Christ as God-man and Savior, and as a follower (or at least one who admits the desire to follow) in His teachings/life perspective live in the constant tension of being in the In-Between. Though through confession and repentance my spirit has been redeemed and have claimed sonship through the gift of the cross and grace, my soul and body live in the fallen now, striving to attain the wholeness that was my original design and overcoming the effects of sin. In some ways I am like Christ in that I am fully man – prone to follow the desires of self fulfillment in and among those living and at the same time redeemed. I have been bought with a price, I am no longer my own; I have been adopted, given and new name and admission into the family of God, I am a brother to Christ and God calls me His child. It is a very tense place to be. It is increasingly difficult to reconcile all of these things and I know that much of it is a mystery that will not be solved until I enter the portal of God Himself. My guess is, at that moment I will not care too much of all this.

Anyhow, I wish I could say that this pilgrimage in it’s entirety was of my own design, but that is not the case. After the conference was over, I had a day to myself to traipse through San Francisco. Ever since the idea of taking this trip first entered the conversation, the opportunity to do such a thing has made my soul salivate. There was so much to see and do. San Francisco offered a huge buffet of experiences. And I tried to do it all.

Obviously, this has start with walking the port – seeing the bay, the bridges, Alcatraz, the skyline; all of that. And I did that. I stood and soaked it in, burning the images into my memory. Even as the wind waves stung my eyes causing the images to blur from the tears I could still see the natural God made and structural man made beauty in all that was around me. Every glance was a masterpiece. Every blink like the shutter of a camera closing the aperture on one image and opening again to take in more. All this and In n Out burgers and Chocolate sodas from Ghiradelli. Awesome. But, I had seen all this before and had the desire to kick it up a notch.

As of late, I have been obsessing a bit with Bob Dylan – he’s such an intriguing character to me. Obviously he is an amazing poet, storyteller and songwriter not to mention cultural icon. I have been reading a massive biography on him lately and am currently in the 1969-1972 moments of his life. A lot was happening culturally in the US, music was really taking off in a million different directions. He was plugging in guitars amidst crowds booing him and ridiculing their once folk hero. At the same time, the drug culture began to boom. Marijuana, Cocaine, LSD, all beginning to spread like wildfire. The desire to connect with something outside of the self through self medication and chemical abuse. Very much a spiritual dilemma, I know. I wanted to scope out Haight Ashbury. I wanted to find this section of town where the hippie movement was so strong, where people spoke of peace and free love and wore rugs as shirts and refused to wash or shave. All of those things seemed appealing to me (except the wash thing, I would’ve been the cleanest hippie there in the park). So after a long bus ride to the Golden Gate park area I found Haight street. I knew from my handy dandy map that Ashbury was a bit East of where I was. I headed down the street with eyes wide open (another thing that was encouraged at the songwriting conference – take in all that you see, process it, how does it affect your worldview or your values and so on). As I strolled the pungent smells of illegal narcotics filled the air (thanks to the Steely Dan and Radiohead concertgoers who helped me recognize that smell right away). I sort of chuckled to myself, in a way glad that my quest had not led me to a Super Walmart with a little plaque landmark. I wandered into what I think is a fairly well known used “record” store (obviously, CD’s now) and began to peruse around. They had some great Filmore concert posters. There was a hip-hop group performing live on a little stage off to the side. I think it was a husband and wife combo. She held a baby to her hip the whole time but worked hard to get the 6 bystanders involved. They fired the wrong track several times, but kept on. The music was so loud it was distorting the speakers but they didn’t seem to care.

As I flipped through CD’s (1.99 for a used one seemed a wise investment) a lady had wondered into the store. Hip Hop Momma had wrapped up her shtick, so I could hear more of what was going on around me. This girl must have been in her late teens or early twenties and was semi-coherent semi-poetic rant right there in the middle of the store. She would say things like “Daddy, what about you’re baby – you just going to leave him there?” (somehow referencing the DVD rack that she was staring at) and “You man sitting on the ground and looking for your life” (which may have been a reference to me as I was down on the floor rifling through the rest of the B section in desperate search for the B 52’s Cosmic Thing – which I found; only to discover once I got back to my hotel room that someone had placed an Oingo Boingo greatest hits disc in the B 52’s case. I burned it anyway) and something about a gun (all of my friends know that word will instantly get my attention). No one seemed to pay her much mind. Even the clerks made aside comments about her attention getting behavior and obvious altered mental state.

As I made my final selections and headed up to the counter I saw that she had collapsed to the floor. There were a few people around her, reluctantly helping such a lost cause. She was not unconscious but had fallen or something. My checkout clerk commented, “Just another day in the life here at the Amoeba record store.” I thought it was sad and yet chuckled.

I left the store and headed farther up the road to the intersection I was seeking. All kinds of people lined the streets in varied states of consciousness. It was quite revealing. Here at this intersection where two roads go two different directions (one of them dead-ending) people camped trying to go somewhere they haven’t been before – maybe trying to travel out of their skin (thank you Sara for telling the story about that song “Like A Skin”in your session). I found the spot I needed for my cell phone photo shoot. A very nice aged hippie tried to show me the best place to take the picture so that I could get the clock and everything (a ploy that had earned him a dollar from people like me countlessly). I politely declined to which he responded “You don’t have to be so nice about it!” which still didn’t get me to give him a dollar.

Right there I saw the depravity of man. I experienced the emptiness of self-fulfillment and self medication. I stood open eyed. I didn’t want to miss the significance.

I caught the bus back to the other side of the city – to where my rental waited for me. With a flat tire.

The next morning (today, actually – so I suppose I will refer to it as that) – Today I woke up with all the sights and sounds and experiences rolling around inside of me. I was ready to head out and get one more slice of mushroom swiss quiche and a vanilla latte from the little café in downtown San Jose. It’s Labor Day today, a lot of the streetside parking was unavailable but I did manage to find a 30 minute spot and took my chances that the cops were too busy putting up no parking signs to notice if my Focus sat for a little too long there. As I got out of my car I noticed a small cathedral (I know it sounds weird to call a cathedral small, but when you’ve been in some of these European monsters or even dare I equate the Sistine recreation in Vegas, it was pretty small) and thought it might behoove me to go in and read scriptures or pray for a while. It seemed a good way to maybe process some of the things I experienced the day before.

So I downed my latte and egg pie and headed over there (luckily finding another open short term parking space). Outside I saw a few people standing out on the front steps of the church. As I entered the lobby signs informed that there was a service going on and visitors were welcome…..to enjoy the lobby quietly. There was not much to enjoy in the lobby.

However, through the lead glass of the door to my amazement was an incredible sanctuary. Decked out with paintings and sculpture from top to bottom. Stained glass windows casting the stories of Jesus and the disciples on to the floors and wall all around illuminated by the sun. It was breathtaking, even from the vantage point of the criminally neglected lobby.

I stood there with face to the glass wishing I could somehow have a conversation with someone about the veil being rent in twain and now everyone should have access to the throne room – but instead stood quietly.

There was a christening ceremony happening on the inside. Two Latin American families brought their newly born and highly adorned babies to the holy temple to receive the blessing of the priest. I stood and watched the entire ceremony. I watched as they removed the generationally passed hand stitched bonnets from their heads and poured water over their highly protesting heads. I watched as the family members, some awkwardly dressed in suits and dresses that may not have seen the outside of the closet in a decade stood and sat and stood again as the priest gave orders. Though I could only hear bits and pieces of the service itself, I could tell it was in Spanish and I wondered if the people involved in the ceremony understood it any more than me. I watched as the priest administered the Eucharist. I thought about the broken body of Christ. I watched as the priest held it up over his head for a moment, contemplating the revolutionizing act that took place those thousands of years ago. Then breaking the wafer and partaking of the flesh. I watched as the cup was sipped. Then it hit me.

There I was in this little church in San Jose seeing and experiencing the Father’s redemption of his creation, of His children. The very glory of God revealed through this ancient ceremony (communion). I did not seek it out. Rather I stumbled upon it haphazardly almost clumsily and was one unavailable parking spot away from missing it altogether. I saw the inspired iconology painstakingly created on the walls and ceiling of this monument for no other reason than to try and echo the smallest glimpse of the glory and majesty of God our Creator and Redeemer.

Other people had come in and decided that the sign had no authority (apparently they were under a new dispensation – I’m wasn’t so sure as I have not spent much time studying Catholic signs) and entered the room. I stuck to my convictions and didn’t want to add any further distraction from the holy moment they were having as a family.

Once it seemed the service was over I decided to cross the threshold. I walked quietly around the sacred room with my trusty LG phone, taking picture after picture of all that I could. I stared up into the dome of the cathedral in wonder and amazement at the amount of talent and work and money that went in to making such a remarkable place. I knelt down at one of the altars and prayed that God would forgive me for taking so much of Him for granted. I prayed that he would help me along this road of redemption, this road of recovery. Recovering my identity. Redeeming my life from self focused causes.

I sat down and read. I would like to say that I knew exactly what I should read, but as I have been a “by the seat of my pants” student from early on I opened the Bible and where it took me was where I read. Some frightening passages in there. About God’s wrath. About the pleading of the prophet. And Him relenting. Some serious calls to repentance. And I did just that. Again (I try to be Baptist, but a lot of times it just doesn’t work).

I left there and found myself alive with internal conversation about what it is to be a person. To be a person and be a Christ follower. To be a person who is a Christ follower and a songwriter.

Maybe I’m not a songwriter. Am I ok with that? Am I ok if God made me to be something different than that? I’d like to think that after this weekend I would be ok.

I read a passage earlier in the week that said that God would satisfy the desires of our hearts with good things.

I wonder if that means that some of my desires are not so good and need to be surrendered.