Tolstoy on Change

"When I came to believe in Christ's teaching, I ceased desiring what I had wished for before. The direction of my life, my desires, became different. What was good and bad had changed places."

The Girl and the Tree

I noticed the tree, naked against the sky. Twisted, leafless, grotesque beauty, reaching out of the packed earth. The sun was setting, the sky streaked amber. Gnarled fingers of bark grasped, empty-handed, at the fading sunlight.

She paused there, by the tree, her face golden in the dying light, and mopped the perspiration from her brow with the red-plaid flannel of her sleeve.

She was young, perhaps 20. With both hands she lifted long, thick hair off her neck — dark hair, black as the approaching night. Her slender fingers brushed sweat-dampened tendrils from her face. Then, her palms flat against the small of her back, she stretched — cat-like, I thought — and smiled, the features of her dark, tired face suddenly radiant.

Where was that smile born? In a memory? A dream? A hope? A face remembered, a joke recalled? Or was it simply this moment of wonder? The sunlight fading, the night approaching. A tree dying, yet alive, holding some mystery, a memory, caught like a kite in its withered branches.

She had worked since dawn, the young woman. Hard work. In the field perhaps, or the nearby packing shed. Doubtless, every muscle ached. It showed in the slightest stoop of fatigue, in the way she walked, in the relish of so brief a break, pausing in the sunset to mop her brow, brush her hair, stretch her back, smile.

Had she noticed me, sitting there on the earth, my knees up, my chin resting in my hands? I don’t think so. But even if she had, still she would have paused, wiped her brow, brushed her hair, stretched her back, smiled. The magic of the moment was hers and hers alone, just as it was mine and no one else’s.

She walked on, and the sun descended beneath the horizon, pulling the blanket of twilight up and over the naked form of a dying tree. And everything was alive.

Dorothy Sayers on Christ's share in the human experience

"God has himself has gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, death."

Sky-sized Portrait

In my mind I need a picture of God, a mural as broad as the sky. If I could open my eyes wider, wider, I could see all creation on his canvas. From the swirling brushstrokes of galaxies to the artful blotches of newborn aardvarks. Zinnias and canyons, hermit crabs and oaks, oceans and infants. Through what he’s painted in creation, in colors bright and dark, muted or primary, I would see something of the artist.

If I could look closer, closer, into the texture of history as he is painting it, I am certain that I would see some artistic purpose. I would see, in brushstrokes broad and fine, some hint of what he’s up to, and what he’s like. The picture would breathe with life and purpose.

If I could see the painting as only God could enable me, if he could touch my eyes to perceive his art, I am certain I would see all that is unattractive turning slowly, slowly, into beauty beneath the artist’s hand, his brush trailing crimson.

In my mind I see a picture of God. But even a sky-size mural cannot contain it!

— Excerpted from An Ocean of Endless Light | copyright © 2006

What Happens When a Baby Is Born?

What happens when a baby is born?

A possibility enters the world.

It would be easy to think that one more life joins the race and nothing more -- another solitary face in the crush of humanity, known and loved by those who gave him birth, those who nurture her, but little impact on the wide, vast world.

What happens when a baby is born? A son enters a family. A daughter takes her place alongside a mother, a father.

What happens when a baby is born? Another child becomes a big brother. A sister has one more object of affection, care, competition.

What happens when a baby is born? Grandparents are ecstatic. Aunts and uncles celebrate. Friends who don't even smoke accept the festive cigar. Pink balloons, or blue, dance on the end of strings, amid streamers and ribbons and gifts of good will.

What happens when a baby is born? Someone's future friend begins the odyssey we call life.

And what will this child do? Grow. Learn. Achieve. Fail. Befriend. Love. Disappoint. Create. Invent. Build. Destroy. Discover.

Nothing this child touches will ever be the same. His mother will change. She will carry forever the imprint of this life on her soul. The child's father will perceive things differently -- will never think of himself in quite the same way again. Friends will be shaped, however subtly, by this one child's influence.

Someday, somewhere, a chance encounter which lasts a mere moment will spark a change -- a beginning --that spans a lifetime. Perhaps nothing more than a word spoken. A smile. A gesture. A hug. An encouragement. A word of warning. A bit of advice. But somewhere, sometime, a life-changing moment would not have happened, had this life not begun.

What happens when a baby is born? Unparalleled good. Incomprehensible evil. A breakthrough. A cure. A masterpiece. A crime. The course of a nation redirected, the change leveraged by one life.

We could think of a life touching a family, an influence felt in a sphere of friendships. But this is only the beginning.

Somewhere, in some small boat, in an infinite ocean, a child trails her fingers in the sea. A tiny wake of froth and bubble goes by unnoticed and unforgotten -- the waters undisturbed.

But couldn't something truly mysterious happen? Something of immeasurably greater consequence? Couldn't one child's touch change the very tides?

What happens when a baby is born? A possibility enters the world, and nothing is ever the same.

© 2005

As If There Were One

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us," Augustiine wrote.

It is, of course, a wonderful thought -- an idea full of wonder. It is also quite true.

One way to take a measure of the love of God is to ask myself, "Does God really love me in such a personal and self-sacrificing manner? Does God love me as if I were the only one, even as he loves you so uniquely?"

If I were the only one, would he still go through with the bother of the incarnation? Those long months confined to the uterus of Mary, his mother, knowing the messy and perplexing dependence of infancy was to follow?

If I were the only one, would angels have cause to sing, would the star still rise, guiding me to the Christ child, would Mary still smile at the Good News she birthed? Would I have reason to shout and laugh and lose myself in praise?

If I were the only one, would he have spent the long years of childhood, learning and growing, step by patience-testing step, enduring the teasing and ridicule of those who questioned the circumstances of his birth and the integrity of his parents? Would he endure the hunger and the thirst and the fatigue and the grief that are part of the human experience? Would he do that for me, if I were the only one?

If I were the only one, would he face the bitterness and inhumanity of the mob, the injustice of a rigged courtroom, the anguish of abandonment, and the agony of the slow, tortuous execution? Would he do all this for me, if I were the only one?

Would he rise from death and ascend through the clouds with the promise of return and a place for me, if I were the only one?

Would the skies still split and the thunder of angel-praise still shake the earth? Would time cease and eternity dawn, and the arms of Christ spread wide to welcome me home, if I were the only one?

Why, yes, of course. "God loves each of us as if there were only one of us."

How can we help but celebrate, and pass on the astonishingly great news?

© 2005

The Breath of God

There is a reason they call him "The Wind," or "The Breath of God." He fills the earth and there is no vacuum. He stris, he rustles, and things happen. He breathes and we live or die. He settles smooth over life like air settles thick and full over fields, mountains, streams and cities. He gusts and blows and nations topple or habits break or someone changes her mind about God.

He is the Holy Spirit.

I call him "The Wind" -- "The Breath of God" -- because in the languages of both Old and New Testaments the word for "wind" or "breath" is identical to the word for "spirit." What is spirit? It is wind, breeze, the breath of life.

So I picture God's Spirit as "the wind," covering the earth, carrying the goodness of God on its breezes. It fills everything, touches everything, reaches everyone. It is everywhere and inescapable. I picture God's Spirit as "The Breath of God." Without him, life suffocates.

The imagery of God's Spirit as wind and breath is apt. We might try to close ourselves off from him, slam the door and close the windows against his breezes. But there always seems to be a draft under the door, reminding us of his presence and his patient but persistent desire to enter our stale and stuffy lives. Those who are wise not only throw open the door, but also inhale deeply.

© 2005

Assembling the Puzzle of Joy

You open the box and empty its contents on the table. There, before you, are hundreds of individual pieces that, when fitted together, will create something that makes sense. A complete picture. You pick up individual pieces, look at them from different angles, and try your best to fit them together with other pieces. Slowly, the project takes shape, as you compare the puzzle on the table with the picture on the box -- your only guide to what the puzzle is to become.

Your life is such a project. In time, hundreds -- thousands -- of individual details will somehow fit together. When the puzzle is at least complete, you will be satisfied with the result. Until then, the process of figuring out the place of each piece can be annoying, a seemingly endless trial of your patience.

The encouraging difference between these two puzzles is this: The puzzle that is your life, God is assembling. Each individual piece -- whether hardship or happiness -- God will fit together with flawless skill. When the process is complete, your life will perfectly match the picture in his mind -- the precise image of what you can become.

© 2005

Stars and Sand

A promise to Abraham
A promise to us

God made a promise to his friend Abraham. Though he was old, his wife unable to conceive, he would father the Nation, the people of the promise. Abraham, whose descendants are "as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore" held onto the unlikely promise.

Faith. Hold on to the promise.

Even today, God may seem distant, his promise a faint memory. But faith holds on to the promises of our Friend.

Sometimes faith means remembering, when everything inside you and around you screams for attention and will most certainly distract you and drown out the voice of memory, and cloud your vision of the better things God has promised.

So do this: On a clear night, go out and find a place away from the light pollution. Look up and start counting stars. You are linked to the promise, the promise God made to Abraham. You are an heir to that promise by faith. You are one of those stars. But what is one star among so many?

It is a flame of promise and potential known by an infinite and omniscient God.

Take a pilgrimage, in your imagination if not in reality. Make your way to the coast. Stand at the shoreline. Look out at the vast, immeasurable stretch of ocean. And look down at your feet and all around you. Stoop down and fill your fist with sand. Let the grains filter through your fingers. But hold one. Look at it. Keep it. Imagine its place amoung all the coastlines of the world. You are that one grain of sand. You are nothing. What do you matter?

No, remind yourself that you are known. That which seems insignificant and forgotten, that appears lost in the infinity of stuff, is known by God. You, the single star -- you, the solitary grain of sand -- are part of the promise and are known and loved by your Creator.

© 2005

Show Time

You enter a dark movie theater and take a seat. The curtain rises and the screen comes to life. For the next two hours you will watch a motion-picture depiction of reality.

Someone has written a script, but the limitations of the medium have dictated certain things. Let's say the story covers a span of three years; the movie will run 120 minutes. Obviously, much will be omitted from the story. The events will be abbreviated, as will the characters. People will be depicted, but the movie will fail to capture the full, rich complexity of real life. The best characterizations will remain caricatures, compared to reality, and the sequence of events as the movie related them will, of necessity, be distilled to simpler form.

The best of screenplays falls far short of the real story.

Even so, you watch the movie, captivated by spectacular effects, yet scarcely aware of them. You're so engrossed in the production that you're not distracted by the mechanics of simulating reality. If it's a good story, told well, it will touch your emotions and provoke reflection. You will not be quite the same when, finally, the closing credits begin to roll.

Then, as the lights brighten and you step through the exit, you enter what Hollywood has spent millions characterizing and you have just spent two hours escaping: reality.

It will be similar when we exit this life. We will look back on time as a gripping and convincing drama, but it will suddenly feel flat and simplified in the true and eternal light of day.

© 2005

A Place Called Forever

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

Eternity is outside and all around us. Four walls, a floor and a roof hide Forever from view.

But something has punched a hole in the wall of this room called Time. God has installed a window.

Look through that window. Always look through that window, and let the great outdoors called Forever give perspective to all that happens in these cramped quarters we call Time. Then pause and thank the Builder for flooding your life with light.

* * * * *

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

But one day, and soon, I suspect, the roof will fly off, the walls will fall, the floor will dissolve beneath our feet. Time will be consumed by the Eternity that has always surrounded it.

What will we do with the sudden brightness and the brisk winds that blow across Forever?

I imagine some will wither under that sun, shrivel up and blow away.

Others will be only warmed and invigorated, as if truly alive for the first time.

© 2005

Is There Any Future in Tomorrow?

On the other side
of tomorrow,

On the far side
of the future,

After the nightmare,

What dream
lies waiting for you

That you can hardly wait
to wake up to?

© 2005

Natal Star

A star rose into the emptiness.

At first it was only a pinpoint in the void of sorrow and pain.

But it grew larger and larger until even the vastness of sorrow could not contain it.

That star is still shining.

It rises on our emptiness, energy pulsing.

And those who are childlike enough to listen can hear a voice in their night sky asking:

"Would you like to be born

again?"

© 2005

Great Joy

As night fell, quiet filled up the valleys and settled over the hills. In the fields, talk died down to a whisper and then silenced altogether. Without city lights to dim the view, stars blazed through the blackness overhead like the suns that they are. Vivid. Close. The campfire, which hours before crackled and sparked, now hissed and smoldered, glowing only faintly. And shepherds dozed.

It was quite a birth announcement that stirred those herdsmen from slumber. Angels lit up the night sky and filled the countryside with their good news: a special baby had entered the world. The King had left the magnificence of his kingdom. The Creator had left the warmth of the womb.

There was good news.
And there was great joy.

© 2005

Quality Product: You

The Poetry of the Beginning

Picture God enjoying a crreative day. A special week. He calls light out of darkness, spreads the vast expanse of space. He uses words to gouge out a place for the seas and molds mounds of mountain, thousands of feet high, out of common dirt and stone. His fertile imagination calls lush vegetation into being. He hangs stars and moons on threads of nothing and sets them spinning in their places. A word, and the seas teem with fish, and out of nowhere birds take to the air. He speaks again and livestock and reptiles spring into being to roam and prowl the earth.

Then, finally, God gets to the good part. The really good part. People. Like me. Like you.

Where did we come from?
From the fingertips of God.

Who are we?
The pinnacle of Creation.

What are we like?
The greatest creature imaginable ... and also the worst.

I picture God enjoying a creative day. A special week. I do not doubt that he found the work of creation exhilarating. But I choose to imagine that when he came to the work of making people, with all their potential, he visualized each individual who ever would be born, descendatns of the first creative day--people like me, like you. And when his mind fell on each of us, I imagine his pulse quickened.

And he smiled and cried and smiled at our potential.

Numbers and Names

It's a crowded place we call home.

Two thousand years ago, during the earthly ministry of Jesus, the planet was not so densely populated. There were 255 square miles per person. Today, there are eight. In 100 years there will be six.

Over the past two millennia, the world's population has increased 30-fold, from 200 million then to more than 6 billion today. Almost 6.5 billion individuals, known intimately by their Creator.

He knows their joys and their fears, their hopes and their hurt, their pride and their shame. He knows their life story--even the swirl of their fingerprints. And each one is deeply loved by their Maker, though millions are born, live and die without ever knowing that their Creator is also the Savior, and wants to be their friend.

So Christ walked the earth with 200 million other people. It took around 1,000 years for the population to double. It doubled again in 200 years. And again in less than 100 years. Forty-five years later, it doubled again. In 1975, Earth's family reached 4 billion. By 1999, the population passed the 6 billion mark. By 2050, we will number more than 10 billion.

The remarkable thing is this: The love of God keeps pace with the population growth.

© 2005

Teaching the Silence to Talk

A man once found a key while walking along the beach at dusk. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Immediately, he recognized that it had been forged from solid gold and inlaid with precious stones. He imagined it had great significance and value. Even so, he said to himself, it serves no useful purpose. What could it possibly open here, on this deserted beach?

Again he turned the key in his palm, toying with the setting sun as it reflected on the precious stones. Then, noting that the sun was low on the horizon and night was fast approaching, the man pitched the key into the waves and turned to hurry off. What he failed to notice was that before him stood a massive doorway in the darkening sky.

* * * * *

There is another world, a parallel reality, a spiritual realm beyond the reach of our limited physical senses. For most of us, perhaps all of us, there is a critical moment when those spiritual realities are close. A hand stretched out in faith could take the key, treasure it, fit it into the lock, turn the latch, and open the door. A that crisis point of decision or awareness, faith would carry us over the threshold, if only we would allow it.

At this turning point, some look forward into that other realm, and the spiritual reality they see suddenly appears to be all that truly matters in life. Standing at that doorway, they look in and see life for what it can be. How could anything that had gone before hold value now, compared to this? At this same decisive juncture, others, in denial, look away, because they are only capable of seeing life as they imagine that it is or has been. They trust their physical senses alone and so turn away, their backs to all that will someday matter.

I used to think there was this one critical, life-changing moment only, when we either embraced spiritual reality or turned away from it. I now see that all of our moments offer such crucial choice, such perspective-altering potential. Spiritual reality calls me to live every experience, each moment, with the heavens in view. To make every decision in faith, governed by the unseen. To see every chance encounter as a holy moment. To face the mystery of pain, and find somewhere traces of the compassion and purpose of God. To confront the contradictions and incongruities that perplex my limited mind, and humbly trust God's greater wisdom. To create stillness amid the distractions of life and will myself to hear the voice of God.

To do this is to live.

© 2005

Now & Then & Yet

The eyes that close in sleep
will open to the blazing of the dawn.
The small and great from every age
will stand alone in fear.
Whispered secrets,
lifelong shut,
will shout till they are heard;
and all these things that might have been
will shame what has become.

But grace can change our yesterdays,
and transform our tomorrows now,
long before they come.
Grace can change our yesterdays,
and write our story new again.
Grace can change.

The King will stand to welcome you;
his smile will shout, "Well done!"
Your voice will raise your ceaseless praise
like smoke around the throne.
Like smoke around the throne.

The One who gave you sight
will be himself your light,
and he will be your never-fading joy!

Grace can change our yesterdays,
and transform our tomorrows now,
long before they come.
Grace can change our yesterdays,
and write our story new again.
Grace can change.


© 2005

Hellen Keller on Joy

"There is joy in self-forgetfulness, so I try to make the light in others' eyes my sunshine, the music in others' ears my symphony, the smile on others' lips my happiness."

Simply Loved

Sometimes the simplest things are the most profound. For instance, I say the words, "God loves me." What is my emotional reaction? If the phrase has not become so commonplace that I have emptied it of meaning, I feel gratitude. That response deepens as I dwell on the idea.

"GOD loves me." Who is this God? What is his nature?

God is omnipotent -- he has all power. No power is greater. There are so many ways he could use this power. A harsh thought from him could crush me. His breath could incinerate me. His anger could sweep me away. But how does he use his power? He uses his power not to devastate me, but to help me, to lift me, to shield me. This God loves me.

God is omnipresent -- he is everywhere. His presence is inescapable. David celebrated this trait in Psalm 139. There is no destination distant from God and there is no mode of transportation that can outrun him. Jet travel would have been unimaginable to David. Imagine how he would react should he be escorted up the jetway, and buckeled in for flight. How hard it would be for him to understand. How incomprehensible that he could leave Jerusalem and that same day land on, say, the British Isles, a place so distant and foreign he does not know it. Yet David would know God had traveled with him. "If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guild me, your right hand will hold me fast."

The sight of a submarine diving would mesmerize him, but he would not suppose the vessel would dive beyond divine reach.

Death he was family with -- yet death could not separate him from the caring God.

This, of course, is the point. God is present everywhere. I cannot escape him. But his nearness is a comfort, not a fear, because this God loves me.

God is omniscient -- he knows all things. There is nothing unknown to him. More to the point, there is nothing about me unknown to him. No thought crosses my mind without his awareness. No idea ever occurred to me without him seeing it, hearing it, feeling its impact on my thinking.

God is all-knowing, but he does not use this knowledge against me. David is excited and comforted by the reality of it. He applauds the knowledge of the God who understands him so completely. And this all-knowing God loves me.

God loves me.
God LOVES me.

He has grounds to detest me. Divine indifference would be understandable. It would, in fact, be astounding, and would prompt eternal gratitude, if he merely found me tolerable. Better still if he liked me. Instead, his affection for me runs infinitely deeper. "I have loved you with an everlasting love," he says, "therefore, in lovingkindness have I drawn you."

Like the shepherd with one lost sheep, he sets his comfort aside to look for me. Like the woman with the lost coin, he searches diligently for me until I am in his exuberant grasp. Like the father with the wayward, distant son -- the lost son -- he longs for my return, and throws a party when at last I find myself home, back in his arms.

He sacrificed everything to make me his own. Everything.

God loves me.
God loves ME.

Who am I to merit his attention? What in me prompts divine favor?

Look at me. See me as he alone is capable of seeing me. I am unworthy, with thoughts and attitudes alien to the Kingdom of God. And yet, look at me. See me as he alone is capable of seeing me. I am loved, forgiven completely, wrapped in the righteousness of Christ.

God loves me.

So simple an idea.

So profound a thought.

© 2005