from death to life

Tomorrow I will stand up in front of a crowd of high school students and tell them that they are loved so much that Jesus rose from the dead for them.

This is the fourth time I've gotten to share the incredible story of the resurrection at the Young Life club I'm a leader at, and each time I have found that the event becomes more and more magical to me.  And it has also felt increasingly real.  In light of everything we know to be true about the world, Jesus rising from the dead makes very little sense.  And at the same time, it allows everything else about the promises of God and of his great love for us to make the most sense in the world.

I haven't posted a poem in awhile, but today I was in a writing mood and I wrote this one thinking about my great joy for the resurrection and for the magic and glory and deep love that goes along with it.

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I have never had coffee

with or shook the hand of

someone who

will have no ending

and when I think

of all the beautiful buildings

I pass sometimes in cities

unfamiliar to me,

where I might dream of someday

making a life

for a short while,

I am reminded that they will fall,

or someone will take a cat of nine tails

and beat them into concrete dust,

splinters of wood,

and start something

new there that will also

fall eventually. 

I have considered often

how little this world

loves me

because of how little it

can stand up to dying,

and of how all these things

will make me miss them

someday,

or of how they will fool

me into a hope

that I can keep them,

and that is something

that always breaks my heart.

And so it sounds

strange to me,

the type of strange like

the colors on a patch

of wildflowers I see along

the highway, and wonder how

they exist there, and why they are

so beautiful,

to comprehend how much

it means you love me

when you didn’t end –

     and how you are like the dust

of my imagined fallen buildings

rising up again,

bearing all our stories

and footsteps

and closed doors

and quiet whispers

which stretch down each dark hallway,

and how you will hang a silent banner

across every arch

and entrance of that building

and it will say

“I love you this much.”  

letting go

In Anne Lamott's book "Grace (Eventually)", Anne describes a moment when she was trying to explain the concept of "letting go"-giving up your worries to God- to a group of 3-5 year old boys.

not the easiest crowd.

She describes it to them brilliantly though; she tells them that the process of letting go is like holding on to a bunch of pens during snack time. "What if, when we go in for our snacks, someone offers us a juice box, and I won't let go of the pens even though I am thirsty?"

I just think that's so insightful and simple - that sometimes we hold onto burdens or fears that we just don't need to keep anymore. Especially in light of the fact that we are thirsty and in need of a Savior, who can satisfy us only when we let go so we can pick up a grace that is sufficient and satisfying.

photoboth sesh with your dog at 10:30 on a monday night

#normal

a reason to love blogs

“There’s something sacred about reading a blog post on someone else’s site. It’s like visiting a friend’s house for a quick meal ’round the breakfast table. It’s personal — you’re in their space, and the environment is uniquely suited for idea exchange and uninterrupted conversation. In many ways, we should be treating our blogs like our breakfast tables. Be welcoming & gracious when you host, and kind & respectful when visiting.” – Trent Walton

(via Shiflett)