“Let your eyes look straight ahead;
fix your gaze directly before you.” (Proverbs 4:25)

I find that I am losing the taste for many of the distractions that I used to think made me happy.  In particular, I’ve felt like a slave to screen-based devices.

I have struggled with internet addiction for years. Having a powerful computer in my pocket that can connect to the internet anywhere in the world, and fetch for me any type of entertainment or information in the world, makes me feel smarter than I really am.  I think that’s part of the appeal of our “smart” phones: they make us feel powerful. We brim with the knowledge that we can access, instead of seeking to broaden the knowledge within our own limited minds. Hardly anyone even bothers to say “I don’t know,” these days, because they can just look up an answer in a moment, regurgitate it, and then forget about it. New knowledge hardly sets down on the surface of our minds, and then is swept away by the incoming tide of new knowledge.

Why bother seeking knowledge and understanding of the world around us when we can find any information we seek at a moment’s notice?

When our curiosity is so easily satisfied, I wonder if its depth becomes limited? When we seek knowledge about a subject with our heart’s curiosity, and we dedicate ourselves to understanding a subject fully, we explore that subject in the context of the world, and in our minds. This is how true understanding is gained. We study, we internalize, we experiment and test. In the context of this writing, I’m talking about deepening our relationship with God, but the principle holds true for all subjects: biology, music, literature, et cetera.

Said another way: is our reliance on the internet impeding our ability to understand subjects more fully?

These past few days, when I pick up my phone to open Twitter or Reddit or check the box scores from last night’s basketball games, I touch them for a moment before realizing that they will not satisfy me.  Then I put the phone down. It’s a bit of a relief, actually.  Right now, those things don’t matter to me, perhaps because in a broader context, they don’t matter at all.  (Of course, I’m sure that once the playoffs start, those box scores will be of great social and political import.)

I do remember the last time I truly sought knowledge and understanding, and committed myself to it–and I can remember the time before that as well.  The former started this week, when I picked up the Book, and began to internalize some of the lessons.  My life is changed, because it has changed the way I see the world, and my own place in it. The time before that was about six years ago, when I picked up a different book, one about woodworking, and was inspired by the text and by the meaning behind it. That changed my life as well, because it changed my worldview and opened my mind to an aspect of the discipline I had never even considered.

In both of those cases, I sought depth of knowledge, and I took my time to understand and adopt the knowledge. I used it to foster growth within myself, and that deep understanding changed my life, both spirit and secular.

Prayer for the evening:

Lord, please steady my gaze away from distractions that would seek to divert my path from the plan you have for me.

I am thankful for today. It was early, not yet 5:00 am, and my eyes were heavy when I started this post. But I woke up with some thoughts in my head, and I wanted to get them started before I went to work.

I went to bed last night after a very long walk, and also after reading the first few chapters of Proverbs, and I rose this morning reflective upon the idea of respect. There are some passages I want to call out, and several thoughts I’d like to share.

So far, one of the prevailing themes of my writing in this space is the folly of pride and arrogance.  Specifically, my pride and arrogance. In the past, I have allowed them to get the better of me–and I am sure that I will fall prey to them in the future. I think they are my greatest weakness. (My flaws are many, though, so it’s difficult to rank them.) Over the years, that pride and arrogance had closed me off from the world.  I’ve said that before.  What I haven’t said before is that, much to my dismay, they also at times made my spirit spiteful, even mean.  Worst, they begat disrespect.

When I’ve looked inwardly at my failures this week, I’ve discovered that I have held little respect for my fellow man.  Elders, parents, peers, youths, even people I pass on the street have been bystanders and extras in my own life. Even when I understood intellectually that they are human, and they are alive, and they therefore deserve respect just as much as myself, I did not have that respect in my mind and heart.  It was just words. “I respect you.” It carried little weight in my soul.

The idea that I had never considered before, and that I realize now, is that humility and respect are related. To respect God is to be humble before him, and I cannot have the former without the latter.

It is the same with my fellows on this earth.  Men, women, and children of all colors and nations are equally low alongside me, and equally exalted. Understanding that, and being humble before both God and my fellows on this earth, is the first step to having respect for both in my heart.

Romans 12:10 teaches to “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.” In order to respect each other, we must first lay ourselves lower than our peers, and to consider them our betters.

It is the same with our earth and its other, non-human inhabitants.  I must see this home as a gift given freely, and not as repayment I have earned. Our fortune is great, and every creature on this earth, as well as the ecosystem itself, deserves our respect.  We are all laid low in the eyes of God, and even if we are the greatest among the creatures in his eyes, we have no right to treat the gifts given as though they are secular and made by human hands.

For further understanding, I’d like to turn to a neologism that is secular, and one for which the definition is made up.  John Koenig, a writer whose gift I greatly respect, created the website The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. There, he creates words and defines them. The words may not be real in a conventional sense, but they can still be very true.  This one is my favorite, and it is very relevant to my thoughts.

“Sonder:  n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.”

We are all together.  We are all equally complicated and wonderful, and this life on this world is a sprawling network of connectivity.  If we respect each other as equals, and pay forward humility and honor to each other, that rising tide will raise all ships.

In the past, I’ve neglected humility. I could say the words “all men are created equal,” but until recently, because of my arrogance, what that meant in my heart was that I was greater than or equal to anyone I met. Until someone proved that they were my equal, I did not consider them worthy of respect. I will strive every day to switch that around, and consider myself to be humbled next to my fellows, just as I am humbled before the Lord. Then, and only then, will I be capable of respecting them.

Prayer in my heart at the moment:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, help us to love each other above our own selves. Make me humble that I might see that we are all equals in your eyes, and that we are all in your service.

Until this week, if I woke up before my alarm went off, I would just lay there and drift in and out of sleep until I was out of time.

Today, I woke up an hour early, and instead of wishing for more sleep, I was thankful for the extra time to write and explore some thoughts.  But, when I sat down at a keyboard to put those thoughts to words, I struggled.  That thought was not yet fully formed.  It is important, so I’ll get back to it later.

Once I’d resigned myself to putting that thought on the back burner to simmer, I decided to come to work early. My morning routine only takes about fifteen minutes (there’s a lot of preparation the night before), and after that I hit the road.

Then I became inspired.  Honestly, deeply inspired. I stepped outside to a light drizzle, and I felt gratitude for the cool, cleansing rain. I started my car, and my radio said “Bluetooth audio,” so I obliged by selecting my favorite song of the moment, Third Day’s “Soul on Fire.” I’ve played that song many times over the course of this week; I like how it sounds, and it lifts my heart.  Today was different, though.  Today on the way to work marked the first time I’ve ever sung that song out loud. In truth, it marked the first time I can remember singing a song of worship by myself in earnest. The lyrics are simple, but true.  They are a proclamation of intent, but also a request.

God, I’m running for Your heart
I’m running for Your heart
‘Til I am a soul on fire
Lord, I’m longing for Your ways
I’m waiting for the day
When I am a soul on fire
‘Til I am a soul on fire

(Tai Anderson / Brenton Brown / David Carr / Mark Lee / Matt Maher / Mac Powell)

I’ve written previously that I’ve felt the Holy Spirit’s touch before, when singing a sacred hymn or song of worship in a choir. The moment had to be right, and a chord and lyric had to strike me in the right way.  This was different.  It’s a good rock song, to be sure; it’s got a great sound.  But what happened to me on the way to work cannot simply be explained by saying that I enjoy the song.

Because today, that song cracked my heart wide open.  The first tear that rolled down my cheek surprised me.  The chill that spilled over my skin lit me up. In the span of thirty seconds, I turned into a puddle. Relief and inspiration washed over me. I was rejoiceful and grateful in a way that I’ve heard other people describe, but can’t remember ever feeling. I cried tears of joy for miles.

What was holding me back from feeling this joy before? Myself, and myself alone. I arrogantly considered it to be false, or silly. I thought that seeking such feelings was unnecessary to my life. The only word that adequately describes my previous self is “stupid.”

The moment the first tear fell, I knew that the lyrics had inspired me to seek God truly in my heart, and that singing them with my voice and heart had given me the humility needed to break my last shield of doubt and mistrust. The relief I feel this morning is my load being lightened. It is also the relief of knowing that I am actually capable of practicing faith. One of my great fears, and one of the things that had been holding me back from truly accepting God’s presence in my life, was a nagging dread that I might be incapable of giving myself over. Today, that fear is extinguished. I am delighted!

Verse of the morning:  James 4:6 Prov. 3:34

But he gives us more grace. That is why Scripture says:
“God opposes the proud
    but shows favor to the humble.”

Prayer of the morning: Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, today is a day of blessings. I am humbled by grace, and grateful for the feeling of joy You have poured into me.  Thank you.

Psalm 135:15-20

“The idols of the nations are silver and gold,
and made by human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak;
eyes, but cannot see.
They have ears, but do not hear
nor is there breath in their mouths.
All those who make them will be like them
and so will all those who trust in them.”

When I was young, and I learned about false idols in the context of Christianity, I always envisioned a golden ox. Or perhaps when I learned about eastern thought, I thought of a fat, little round-bellied statue.  My juvenile self thought about people bowing to these statues, and about God being angry and jealous because the worshipers had created their own representation of a god to worship. I never considered that an idol could take a form other than a statue or an altar.

Today, I know the reality is far more nefarious.  We all create our own false idols, and they can take many forms. One of my greatest failings has been materialism.  I don’t actually believe that material goods have any power.  But it is one thing to say that I understand that material goods are not a god, and another thing entirely to stop worshiping them with my actions. I have pursued them, I have felt envy for them, and I have lusted after them. I have blindly tried to heal my heart and soul by filling the void I felt with goods, instead of filling it with Good.  The problem with that, of course, is that by filling my soul with material goods, my soul became nothing but a collection of material goods.  Just as those things have no soul, and no breath of life, so neither did my heart.

I have hoarded and protected them as though they could give me meaning.  I have clung to them as though keeping them close would keep me warm.  But there was no depth, and no warmth.  I have chased them, and I have neglected other aspects of my life to acquire them, but my life will not be an hour longer because of them.

We live in a culture that makes impossible a total rejection of consumerism. We must buy things occasionally. But I have blurred the line between things that I wanted and things that I needed, and this is a source of great shame for me.

Partly because I had been filling my holes with meaningless assets and holdings, I did not have any room in my soul for God.  This was the height of stupidity.  When I was thumbing through some Psalms two nights ago, the above stanza of Psalm 135 caught my eye, and planted the seeds of this writing. I had never considered that my materialism could be false idolatry, nor had I considered that my “worship” of these things could harden my soul, making me as lifeless as my possessions.  They have no magic, and neither did I. Clinging to them with such fervor also closed me off to the world, I think.

I was raised in a house of collectors and hoarding.  My parents were similarly raised by people who did the same. Though it’s no excuse, it likewise became my nature to collect and hoard. This was blind, and it was blinding.

For me, it is a great relief to accept that these possessions cannot ever bring me true joy. Once I accept that, I can also accept that I am not tied to those things, and that losing or giving them away will cost me nothing. They are a sunk cost on my pocket, and I cannot get back the time, money, or effort spent in acquiring them. But they are weighing my soul down, so perhaps loosing myself from their grip will give me some much needed buoyancy and lightness. Ridding my soul of material things will make room for a real thing.

Prayer of the afternoon:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, you are the chain-breaker. Please guide me to freedom from my false idols and material possessions, and help me to put my soul’s dedication to your love first, second, and third.

I wrote in a previous entry that the journey of faith is in some ways short, and in some ways infinite.  I’d like to take a moment to explore that idea here.

Faith is simple.  You just do it.  You just let go, and believe.  You have faith.  You take the leap. Just like that, it is done.

Faith is also complicated and difficult, because we are human.  Doubts enter our minds, and our minds sometimes trick our hearts.  Our human brains are unbelievably powerful observers of information, perceivers of stimuli, and processors of pattern. They are working constantly to give us information about our surroundings, and bring us the understanding of those surroundings required to survive in a constantly dangerous world. Every day, we drive deadly, two-ton hunks of steel at speeds orders of magnitude faster than we could ever hope to move on our own.  We do this on freeways where 10,000 other humans are performing the same task, at the same speeds, many of whom are some measure of distracted, and our brains allow us to do this as though it was second nature. It is staggering to think about.

This observational, logical nature of our brains is a gift, to be sure, but in some ways it is also an interdictor, preventing us from realizing our total, true self. I have fallen prey to overestimating the limited facilities of my own brain, to be sure. My mind is one that values the scientific method, order, and empirical evidence. It has cast doubt upon the unseen. I believe this was one of the reasons why faith has been such a struggle. I trusted my limited human brain to tell me everything I needed to know about survival. Because I thought that understanding the world with my mind and soul were more or less mutually exclusive ideas, I never really considered that my empirical observations and logical understanding of the world might actually only constitute one portion of the whole picture that I needed to survive.

Empirical evidence and faith are not mutually exclusive ideas, and you can simultaneously trust your mind and your soul to guide you, because both of them are of the Lord.  And just because I trust in science to tell me about the observable universe does not mean that I cannot also trust my heart to tell me about the unseen truth behind the curtain, because one does not preclude the other.

I also trusted my mind to tell me when the time was right to believe in God. This was undoubtedly one of the reasons why it took me so long to understand what it truly meant to take a leap of faith. I’m coming to understand that faith is not necessarily about what my brain tells me. It’s about that for which my soul thirsts.  My brain can help me comprehend along the way, of course. There are lessons in the Book I need to digest in order to internalize.  There are lessons I will learn from observing the good deeds of others. There is knowledge to be sought. But coming home to the Lord means using my whole array of senses to make the leap of faith, so that I can move my soul from the dark rim of the canyon to the light.

So, in much the same way that we will never run out of questions to ask of science in a seemingly infinite universe, our souls will never complete a journey to faith.  Our souls are limited and flawed, and the Lord’s presence gives us an infinite space to explore and observe.  The journey to understanding God will never be complete.

But it is so simple in theory to begin the journey.  Open the book, open your heart, and take the leap.

I have chosen to jump.

Prayer of the morning:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, this morning is a time for courage. I ask that you please give me new strength every day to take another step closer to you.

Why Christianity?

Today, American Christianity is perceived poorly, particularly among intellectual and scholastic communities.  A stigma permeates the word “Christianity” writ large, and I am partially guilty of accepting and perpetuating the stereotypes. Christians are stubborn. Christians refuse to accept scientific facts. Christians are inflexible and unyielding, and generally unwelcoming to outsiders and people of other faiths.  These stereotypes are not baseless, of course.  No stereotypes ever are. But I do not believe they are representative of Christianity ut totum.  The reputation is earned by a few vocal outliers, but must unfortunately be borne by the whole community. That is the very definition of stereotype.

As I mentioned, I have been guilty of painting the Church with broad strokes myself. In today’s political climate, it became easy to pass blame. The racism and misogyny associated with the alternative-right movement is not representative of the totality of Christians, and of course I knew that. But bitterness entered my heart and hardened it. I was cynical and arrogant. (Arrogance is a recurring theme here in this writing space, in case you haven’t noticed.)

I foolishly forgot that at its core, Christianity is astoundingly beautiful. Accept love without limitations or caveats? Yes. Love your neighbor as you would love thyself? Yes. Receive unconditional forgiveness for your flaws and failures? Of course. Have a charitable heart, and give of yourself for the sake of others? Treat others not as they have treated you, but as you would want to be treated? Welcome any neighbor into you arms and into your heart? It is intuitive, and it is wonderful.  It is also difficult, of course, and on this journey I’m certain that I’ll have to be reminded daily of what it means to be a welcoming soul.

I seek the warmth of the Lord’s embrace. I seek the acceptance of Christ the deliverer. I find it difficult to conceptualize in my mind, being loved and forgiven unconditionally by an invisible God, but I have faith that my soul will be more accommodating. For some time, my soul has felt like it is tightly bound, wound like a thin thread, in my chest. Perhaps a doctor would call it depression. Perhaps they would be right. I believe that if I open my soul to God I will find myself more open to the world.

Having been raised in and around the Christian Church, I also know that it is a welcoming community.  This is easy for me to say, of course, as a white, American male who grew up attending a Lutheran church in a predominantly Caucasian part of town. There are few places I cannot go. But I know that the best Christians would accept me regardless of my skin or gender or country, and I seek to be likewise unconditionally open-armed myself. I have always had trouble opening my heart to people. It has nothing to do with them, I don’t think, and everything to do with my own attitude.  I’ve known for some time that this needs to change, and I think of all the aforementioned traits, this one will be my greatest trial.

Once upon a time, I saw myself as a generous person. (Perhaps that is another example of arrogance. I have always needed an extra dose of humility.) I don’t remember when or why I became so selfish, but lately there has been precious little charity in my heart.  Christ teaches us that “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). I have rarely been so ashamed of myself as when I read that passage, because I knew that it was true.  I knew that my material possessions had taken over my life. I knew it before then, but to see my foolishness laid out so plainly stung, plain and simple.

The Golden Rule we all know from Luke 6:27-31 ends with “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  It sounds so simple!  Doesn’t it?  In practice, though, it is easier to do things the other way around. When I treat people the way I’ve been treated, it just perpetuates anger and frustration, and begins a vicious cycle. I must be diligent to remember this lesson; I believe that it can perpetuate a cycle of joy and belonging.

None of these lessons are new to me–I learned them long ago, and forgot them. But even though I knew them in the past, I’m not certain that I practiced them, at least not consciously. Today, and every day forward, I must make a great effort to internalize them, and do so with humility. I must be disciplined, while still being open and loose.  I must learn the lessons not with my mind, but with my heart.

Prayer of the moment:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, now is a time for understanding. Please grant me the wisdom to know the difference between a lesson I have learned with my mind, and one I have learned with my soul.

Attitude is greater than aptitude.

That platitude is simple to understand, intellectually. When dealing with matters of the heart and soul, it seems obvious that the emotional attitude, effort, and commitment we apply are more important assets than our intellectual capacity for learning and understanding.

In practice, applying that lesson is a tremendous, monumental task.

As someone that has always been pridefully self-reliant–and perhaps too clever for my own good–I find that it is difficult to admit that I cannot bear a burden on my own. In our culture, we suffer from a chasmic dichotomy. We are taught from a young age that we can do anything we desire with our lives, and that simple elbow grease and determination and a little know how can overcome any obstacle.  On the other side of the canyon is the wisdom that not only are we incapable of bearing the burden of the world by ourselves, but also the admission that we were not meant to carry that burden alone.

The first part of the previous sentence seems obvious during the most difficult times of our lives, or at least it feels that way to me. I have felt overwhelmed, and I have borne my burden poorly.  I have suffered setbacks, and I have sought refuge in trying to control my environment, thinking that order and control of as much of the madness as possible will put my heart at ease. Such order is not the answer. It also requires an admission of failure and weakness, which is another stigma in our American culture (particularly as a man). But the truth is that the second half of that above sentence is the key for me. In order to truly open my heart to Christ, I must admit to myself that I was not made to bear the yoke. I was made to walk by his side, so that he can bear the brunt of the burden for me, and he might shelter me from the sand and sun and storm.

I have behaved thus far in my life as though the key to my soul’s peace was insulating myself from chaos and disorder.  I feel now as though I have been very wrong.  Insulating myself from those things resulted only in isolating me from the world, not from my own problems. Even in the best, most perfect moments, our world is a bit of a mess. Chaos, disorder and hatred surround us, and it is impossible for me to overcome them on my own. I don’t have the strength of will for such a weight. Until now, I sought to separate myself from my peers by rising above my own weakness, but I believe now that those weaknesses are not my fault; they are not a flaw or a failure on my behalf. That is what it means to be human! Accepting Christ in my heart and soul is simply an admission that I am ready to have my burden lifted from my shoulders.

I’m not saying that that admission and acceptance will be easy; I am prideful and stubborn.  But I am saying that at least now I believe I understand the first level of what it will take to accept the help of the Lord.

(Second) Verse of the day: Psalm 55:22

Cast your cares on the Lord
    and he will sustain you;

Prayer:  Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, now is a time for sharing. I ask you to share your unconditional love, and in return I will share my burden with you, for I know that you were meant to carry it for me.

When I was at the University, I sung in several choirs over the course of my time.  They weren’t part of my major, but I’d always loved to sing, and I’d likewise loved the sound of a big, four-plus part choir.  I would sometimes sing tenor, sometimes bass, depending on what was needed.  I was (am) not a particularly talented singer, but I practiced plenty, I listened well, and I have sufficiently good pitch.  One of the great parts of singing in a choir is that you don’t need anyone with much talent or power.  If you get 80-plus voices working together, you can fill an auditorium with harmonious song.  Thinking back on it in context of this blog, that was a powerful lesson on the value of community, and one I hadn’t even bothered to reflect on until now.

The reason I bring up that memory is several-fold.

During a walk today, I reflected back on a recent moment of learning regarding the Holy Spirit.  In my entire life, no one bothered to explain who or what the Spirit was with clarity, and I was astonished to hear someone put it so simply: the Holy Spirit is what fills us up with inspiration, and compels us to feel a sense of closeness to God.  It is the impetus, the driving force in our relationship with God.  Until I heard it put so plainly and eloquently, I’d never really had an understanding of what it meant–or perhaps I simply hadn’t sought an answer.  After all, growing up praying in a Lutheran church, I think I was repeating lines verboten than actually internalizing the prayers as lessons.

I can say definitively that I have felt the presence of the Holy Spirit on multiple occasions, one of which I’d like to talk about here in this space.  One semester, during the second half of my sophomore year, one of the songs chosen for us was a rendition of Psalm 96.  It reads (in English, by the NIV):

Sing to the Lord a new song;
  sing to the Lord, all the earth.
Sing to the Lord, praise his name;
  proclaim his salvation day after day.

and this version, in French, by Jan Sweelinck:

Chantez à Dieu, chanson nouvelle,
Chantez, ô terre universelle,
Chantez, et son Nom bénissez.
Et de jour en jour annoncez
Sa délivrance solennelle.

The song is appropriately uptempo, quick and light, with staccato beats and staggered melody lines.  It’s a beautiful melody, with rich harmonies, and it’s wondrous to hear. You can hear it below.

As someone that has taken this song on, I can tell you that it is trickier than it sounds, and also that this group is quite good, even if they do have a little trouble with their sibilants. That is neither here nor there.

The point, to me, is that during practice I could tell it was a wonderful song, and a poetic translation of the verse.  I can also tell you that during practice, even on full run-throughs, I did not feel compelled.

However, in front of an auditorium which sat slightly over 500, I can tell you that I got that chill during the resolved crescendo: “et son Nom bénissez.”  Despite the nerves, I was floored. That shiver ran through my body, and I was filled with . . . something. At the time, I simply chalked it up to performance adrenaline. Looking back upon it, knowing what I know now, I know what it was.

On rare occasions, I can still capture that feeling while listening to a sacred hymn.  Now that I know what I’m looking for, I’ll be more grateful for those moments.

Verse of the day:

Matthew 11:28-30 – “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in my heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Prayer of the day:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, today is a day of praise.  I ask that today you help bring peace and comfort to my burdened heart as it aches.

I was born into Christianity, I suppose.  My mother was Catholic, my father raised Lutheran.  I was baptized.  While there are differences between the two, in practice they are virtually indistinguishable when looking at the worldwide spectrum of Churches.  The structure of the mass/service, the acceptance of Holy Communion, the rigidity of posture. Sit ramrod-straight in a wooden pew, and keep your eyes and mind focused on the alter before you while a priest or pastor opens a sermon with a crowd-warming joke.  The prayers have that same ramrod-straight posture; the words are spoken in unison, and in ritual.  I took communion.

I did not really like Church.

I attended Mountain View Lutheran Church for many years.  Probably from the time I was around six or seven until I was perhaps fourteen, I would attend with my Grandparents, who are two of my favorite people to ever walk the earth.  Nana and Papa, I call them. Papa was the greatest friend I could ever ask for, and I suppose he was also a man of some faith. He’s gone now, and I think of him every day. Nana is still with us, but is too weak to attend these days.  As far as I know, the Church still remembers her in their prayers. She has been a member since they made their retirement move to Arizona from Palatine, Illinois in the summer of 1987.

Of course, there were aspects that I enjoyed. For a while, Papa worked at the Church, and I even worked there alongside him during two summers. It was mostly cleanup duty; I would vacuum, stack chairs, run pipe for the sprinkler systems, and other sorts of things along those lines. I also enjoyed the togetherness with my Grandparents, meeting their community of friends, and developing a personal relationship with the Church and with Pastors Lyle, Snyder, and Bartsch.

I do not know what Nana believes today, but I do know that while they were active in the Church and community, she and Papa attended Bible study every week. I went with them perhaps fifty times over the course of several years, and there is where I learned much of my foundational scripture.

Pastor Jim Bartsch taught those classes, and his wife Rilla Mae attended.  They were great friends to my Grandparents, and Pastor Jim played a pivotal role in helping me come of age regarding my spirituality. He was tall, perhaps six-foot-two, and his head was trimmed with a few wisps of white hair.  He had a nasal tenor voice, an unyieldingly kind countenance, and an ample gut. He was the first person of religious authority whose teachings made sense to me.  He spoke with clarity, with good humor, and with humility. He welcomed men and women of any age, and any faith, to study with him, and in the decade-plus that I knew him, he never once raised his voice.  I remember a Jewish couple that attended those studies for years.  Lyla was her name, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’m only fairly certain that his was Jerry. (Edit: It was Jerry! And her name was spelled Lila.)

That was my first real experience with a welcoming Church community.  It was half a lifetime ago, but I still remember their faces, their voices, and most of all I remember the salon-style (and I don’t mean hairstyles) discussions of faith.  It was a sharing of ideas, and a discussion of how the scriptures applied to our own lives.

When I started high-school, I attended Church less frequently, then later only sporadically, and then it became rare. I got a job that scheduled me on Sundays, and I used that as an excuse. The Pastors I had grown to know moved on to other callings, or retired, and I used that as an excuse.  The truth, as I admit it to myself now all these years later, is that I probably just didn’t want to go.

College began.  I attended Church a few times, and at a few different places.  Sometimes it was out of curiosity, sometimes out of obligation, and sometimes it was to be with friends. College went by, and I drifted further away from the Church.  It was easy.  Shockingly easy.

A couple years removed from college, I was having a bit of a personal crisis.  Out of despair, I sought refuge in a single prayer.  It was the first time I had prayed in years, and it was also perhaps the first time I had truly prayed.  I don’t really remember the words I spoke, but I remember the need of my heart. I was desperate for an answer to a question I didn’t understand. I begged for something I had no business asking for, and no right to expect.  It was the longest prayer I had ever said.

I have actually, honestly believed in God since the next day, when my answer to that prayer came, defying both my expectations and logic.  It could not have been a coincidence. My prayer was answered.

I think at the time, I considered prayer to be a last resort.  I was closed off to the idea that it could be a part of daily life, and I regret deeply that I have slipped back into that old routine.

I have been closed off to God, to the Word, to the community.  I have been stubborn, I have been embarrassed to be a believer, and I have been proud and elitist.  Today, I’m starting a journal about a journey back home–or perhaps to a home I have never found. It is time for me to approach my relationship with God anew, and with fresh vigor. There has been unrest in my heart, and I find it is time to seek peace. It is a journey that is in some ways short, and in some ways infinite. In the end, I hope I will find rest.

Prayer of today:  Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, today is a day of great thanks-giving.  With gratitude, we ask that you be in our minds and hearts today, and help us to be mindful and present.  Amen.