Do it.

I am tired of being complacent. I am tired of thinking, "Well, I could make that person feel included. I could really make an effort to do well with this job. I could go out of my way to be kind. I could maintain my joy even when stressed-out. I could give up what I want for what they want. In theory, I could do what I know is right. But it would be hard. I really don't want to right now. I'm too weak."

As the hands and feet of Christ, called to be salt and light, made new, the beloved of the Lord, what am I talking about? Our own weakness is nothing to stop us. We cannot thwart God by being our own, weak selves. So let's not limit ourselves according to our weakness, but according to His strength. Which happens to be limitless. As Oswald Chambers put it in My Utmost for His Highest, "If you have the whine in you, kick it out ruthlessly. It is a positive crime to be weak in God's strength."

"Well, easier said than done." Yeah. I know. I know. And this is an excuse... how? Really, join me in contemplating this saying for a minute. We're admitting that whatever this thing that is "said" is true. Is right. And we aren't saying that it's impossible. We're just saying that doing it is harder than saying it. Clearly. But if it's true and right, and we know it, then why are we waiting to consider the difficulties of it?

(Photo credit.) Jason Bourne wants to know why you don't try as desperately to follow Christ as he tries to... um, not get killed. Yeah. Uh-huh. That's right. Listen to Jason Bourne.

Friends, can you give me one good reason why, completely certain that something is right, one ought to pause and take into account the difficulties of doing that thing, as if the difficulty somehow affected whether or not one was going to do it at all? Does the difficulty of a right action have any say in whether or not we give our all trying to do it? No. Of course not. So why do we act like it does? Why am I always pausing and reconsidering? Why complain about how hard it is? Jesus told us, "In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

The flow-chart is simple. "Is it right? ([No.] Then don't do it.) ([Yes.] Then do it.)" (I'm not talking about the times when the difficulty lies in figuring out which way is right. Such times exist, certainly, but I'm talking about the times when it's clear. When we know.) And if I don't reference how hard the right course might be, that isn't because I don't think it will be hard. It's because I think it's irrelevant.

The thing that I get stuck on most often in trying to do things is not the actual difficulty. It's the perception of it as difficult. I stare at a task, decide that it will be hard, and promptly balk. This is stupid. You decide what's right, cautiously, thoughtfully, and then you do it, even if it kills you.

And why be stingy with our love? Why not be recklessly caring? Why not be endlessly loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, gentle, faithful, and self-controlled? In other words, why not be what we're supposed to be? Why not be like Christ? Because it's hard? True, but that's no reason at all.

Because we can't actually attain to that perfection? Also true. And that too is no reason not to give our all.

Yes, it is hard. And we are wimps. So we'll fail. All. The. Time. But our failure isn't the point any more than our success is the point. And like the football player in Facing the Giants, we'll never know how far we can go unless we stop tracking our progress and forget about how hard it is. Let's not let a fear of failure keep us from giving everything we've got, from trying as hard as possible, shall we? The only real question is whether an action is right or wrong. Once we know that, we basically know what to do. Voices will spring up and tell us that the right thing will be hard, and that we don't want to do it. Why on earth would we listen to them?

It's not about you. It's not about what you can do, and it's certainly not about what you cannot do. So forget about yourself. Forget yourself and run. Run with all you've got for what is right and good and true and beautiful. In other words, for God.

Shelter

Watch me fall apart.
I scream it in your face.
I’ll run away from you.
I can dare to be
All that I should fear.
I feel the darkness press
All above, around,
And then below,
As everything drops away.
But surely, though I cringe, I’m free.
I cling to lies, all the lies,
But gravity fails me,
And things I thought so solid
Float along with me,
Foundationless, all.
Pride stands tall
And beats me to show
A strength I do not have.
Screams don’t make a sound
But they hurt my throat,
And bitter is my mind,
And bitter is my soul.
Curling up into a ball
To hide from this whole world
That I’m afraid to love,
Afraid to hate.
Dark and stifling
Is the air,
Too strange
And too familiar all.
A dark shell crushing me.
And then you grab my hand,
And all else blows away
In a shock of light,
Fresh air.
Blinded, fall on my face
On solid ground.
What solid ground?
I don’t know -- yours.
And for all the terror I expect,
All I fear just now
Is the hope I want to feel.
You touch me again.
I tremble, alive,
But I can’t breathe.
You lift up my chin.
Tears flow from my eyes.
Your gentleness terrifies me,
Because I cannot understand it,
And a love that gives so much,
That penetrates such darkness,
Has power above all.
I cannot breathe,
For I cannot fathom
That you are not a lie,
That a thousand years from now,
There’ll be little enough change.
I may abandon you,
But you will bring
Me back again.
My heart is overwhelmed
And shudders and bursts
Trying to feel too much,
Trying to feel the fear
And the safety all at once
Of such a love
That treats the one who spits on it
Like a precious child.
One last struggle,
Still holding my breath.
Then I give up on it all
With a sigh
And collapse
At rest.
For there is no safer
Place to be
Than in the keeping
Of that which is
Most to be feared
And most to be trusted.

Dreams

Sometimes I stand and watch as my dreams die,
These dreams that I have nurtured since their birth,
These hopes I watched grow dim but then revive,
These dreams I’ve feared for often, watched with care.
I see them stabbed, quite suddenly. It’s odd:
It makes no noise, the knife, and I feel numb.
The stabber sometimes stabs with smiling face,
Sometimes in tears. There’s little difference.
The knife’s pulled out. I hope the dream will live.
A hard time now, but soon enough, we’ll fly.
My dream and I shall fly. No knife stops us.
Still fear lurks under all my optimism,
Still hope trusts underneath the most real fears.
My mind says it will take a miracle.
My heart takes that to mean all shall be well.
Miracles can happen. I wait to see one.
And then, just then, the knife goes in again,
And this time I can feel the pain. I scream,
But cannot even hear myself. All noise
Has faded out and I’m left there to cry,
Standing still in a vast expanse of white,
Watching my dream lie on the ground and writhe,
While stabbed, again, again, again, again.
I cannot move, I don’t know what to feel.
It hurts, it hurts! But dreams are not my life.
I’ve hope without them. Truth outshines my dreams.
I feel a fool for hoping, yet I can’t
Just yet give up the hope, cannot let go.
I’d promised in my heart, unwittingly,
That this would be, and till it dies I’ll try
To make it live. I want to run and fight,
To somehow bring it back, to stop the knife,
To heal the wound, make everything all right.
But I am helpless, so I stand and stare,
Half hope, half death, half agony, half numb.
Until it dies. Until it dies. And then,
The white expanse abruptly drops away,
At one last stab that finishes the job,
And I’m left in the world I left before,
And all’s so normal and so hurtful too.
A dull pain throbs within me, deep inside,
And smiles are quite difficult to find,
But I don’t mind. The dream is gone away.
I go about my business and cheer up.
Life’s not so bad. Life’s better than my hopes.
Of course I was a fool to hope for that.
I find it out. I always see it then.
But then another dream is born inside,
And something in me stares at it a moment:
I know that it will hurt. It too shall die.
How long, I wonder, will it take this time
Until I stand and watch it stabbed to death?
How long until it breaks my heart again?
Why must I dream? Why do I never learn?
And then, no explanation, but a voice,
Young, innocent, and hopeful, in my head,
Pipes up and says, “But this time, it will live!”
I don’t know why I listen. Heaven, why?
I turn my face up and I pray, but what?
Shall I pray life or death for this new dream?
I pray at last that all would turn out right,
Whatever that may be. Yet my heart slips.
I feel it promise me that I am right.
I hear it say that I know best this time.
And reason yields that this time it could be
That I have hit upon the perfect dream,
That this dream, this at last just might come true.
Oh, will and reason, why do you not learn?
It doesn’t matter if I’m right or not.
I’m watching the wrong standard; crooked me!
If truth outshines my dreams, then let me run
After the truth, and I’ll outrun my dreams.

How do I love thee?... No, seriously. How?

Turns out, people are different. There is no end to the variety in people. There is no end to the variety in what people want. And each relationship is just as individual as each person.

The rules make it sound so simple. Not necessarily easy, but simple: "Love your neighbor as yourself." "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." But how? For one thing, not everyone wants to be handled the way I do. If I literally did to everyone what I wanted done to me... well, most people probably wouldn't feel very loved. I like being teased. I like people to be brutally honest while smiling with a hint of amusement. I like people to talk about philosophy and abstract concepts, to wonder with me at goodness. I love to be laughed at. And I know people who would hate most of those things. And then you have more questions. Is it more loving to let people live their lives and learn from their mistakes, or to try and help them learn the easy way? How much do people just need others to have patience, and how much do they need challenges? How much do they need to be borne with, and how much do they need things to make them change.

Tron Legacy is one of my favorite movies. Which is odd, because I know lots of people who think it terrible. But honestly, if I had to give one reason for why I love that movie so much (apart from the fact that it's visually stunning and the soundtrack is amazing), I would cite one line: "Flynn is teaching me about the art of the selfless, about removing oneself from the equation."

The art of the selfless. It's an odd phrase, but it's so accurate. Selflessness isn't only a principle. It's an art. It requires skill. It must be learned. It's takes a certain amount of creativity, imagination to try to discover the best thing to do in each individual case. But yes, the main idea is to take oneself out of the equation. To be constantly willing to sacrifice yourself, your wants, your time, your plans, your hopes, your dreams, your all for the sake of any other human being, like it or not. That, I suppose, is love.

But it gets confusing, because we aren't God. We don't know their souls, we cannot know for certain what is best for people. We can but try. And even if we're right, we cannot control them. We can't fix people.

Sometimes I feel like I'm shooting in the dark. Do they want a hug, or would they prefer to be left alone? Do they need to talk something out, or do they need to just think right now? Would letting them do this on their own do good by strengthening them, or would giving them a helping hand do them even more good by encouraging them? Do they need someone to sympathize, or do they need a fresh, happier perspective to cheer them up? Or, my personal least favorite one to think about: Do they need me right now, or do they just need someone else? And my usual response is simply, Well, I have no clue, so I guess I'll just try something out and see how it goes.

And I suppose that's all we can do. Try to learn. Try to love them in the best way we know. And if we make mistakes, we can learn from them. After all, it's probably fair to say that a longing to be understood is pretty universal. It just irks me to think that there's a certain amount of trial and error involved in loving others. After all, we're dealing with souls here. Our actions can affect people, deeply, and it's rather terrifying that we could go wrong without even meaning to, could hurt someone we mean to love just because we didn't know any better.

We aren't God. But hey, God is, and he knows precisely what each of our friends needs, and He can give it to them with or without our help. He can work through our failures just as well as through our successes. We couldn't impede His plans for them if we tried. And if we seek to do others good, if we love them for His sake and pray to be a blessing, I trust that He will work through us.

And we will learn. I just have to remember that it isn't about me being the perfect helper, the perfect friend. It's about God's goodness, and He will take care of the story itself. It isn't our job to write the story. Our job is simply to be willing to help others whenever we can, to do our utmost to do others good to the best of our ability and knowledge. To pray for them, knowing that only God can truly help them. And to pray that God would teach us the art of the selfless.

Poem by an even more sleep-deprived student

This poem isn't a Spanish paper, same as the previously posted poem wasn't a history paper. And right after I wrote this, I decided that my brain had apparently preceded me to bed, so I might as well follow it. Just so you know the circumstances under which this was written. ;)

"The Selfless"

Fall to my knees,

Scream out the pain,

Aching and aching,

Trying to live.

Giving it all,

Squeezing it dry,

Finding the dregs,

Scraping them out.

Sure that until

Death is decreed

I will be filled

To empty again.

Choosing to live

Only for Him,

Choosing to drown

In what must be done.

Lay it all down,

Give it all up,

Breathe it all out,

Till nothing is left.

And if tears will fall,

Then let them fall down.

They will not stop

What I have resolved.

When my heart asks,

“Is this for me?”

I will say, “No,

But I am for this.”

Half-baked poetry of a sleep-deprived student

This is not a history paper. It ought to be, because that's what I was supposed to be writing when I wrote this instead. Ahem. And by the way, I'm not entirely sure what this poem is talking about, so if you don't either, please feel no shock.

"Dark Days"


I cry.
I find there is no light.
I fall out from this flight.
And all that’s left of me
Is what you could not see.
Can’t let the broken souls
Come rushing through your eyes.
Can’t let the brokenness
Come take away your life.
There’s pain in all that’s best.
There’s war for all that’s right.
Don’t let it slip away.
Don’t fall into the night.

Sorrow for the heart of man.

My English class this semester is chock full of tragedies. Murders, suicides, people who mess everything up and never take responsibility or understand that they're looking for the wrong things in the wrong places. The gamut of sorrowful happenings and tragic people.

In class this morning, someone said that they had felt rather detached from a certain character's death because this character had brought her trouble upon herself. It was her fault. She was to blame. And her death, which was her own doing, was so gruesome that my classmate felt distanced from her.

I almost laughed out loud at that. The night before, I had been cringing and feeling sick at that very character's death. I felt for that woman. After I finished the book, I was so cut up about it that a friend noticed and gave me a hug to comfort me. I needed it.

Different reactions much?

So I started asking around. It seems to be the general consensus that one is more to be pitied if one's pain is not one's own doing. That those who create their own suffering thereby lose the right to sympathy, in a sense.

I stared at all my friends when they explained this. I cocked my head at them. No comprendo.

Maybe there is a certain sort of sympathy, a sort of brotherly compassion that springs up from a knowledge that someone isn't to blame for what they're suffering. Maybe there is also a general grief at a world that could be so unjust. I get that. But quite frankly, I can't dig up as much sorrow for a situation like that. No matter how much pain someone is in, if they handle it nobly, I will be glad.

I focus on motives a lot. Obviously. And perhaps there are times when I go overboard. Times when I lack sympathy because, ultimately, I know someone's heart is in the right place. No matter their earthly circumstances, I know that such a person's soul is not being harmed, but rather strengthened by their pain. What's to grieve over in that? "For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps." I Peter 2:19-21.

The real sorrow hits me when someone is wrong, and when someone is hurting his/her own soul. When people are blind, and when they dig themselves into holes and then feel the consequences they should have foreseen from the start, that is when I'm sorry. That's what hits me hardest. The ones who are to blame. The ones who run and run in the wrong direction until finally they find themselves in a place they never wanted. They are the ones who merit my pity. Because after all, pity is earned not by the merit of goodness, but by the merit of being in a hard place. The ones who are wrong are in a much harder place than the ones who are right. "And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." Matthew 10:28.

The noble sufferers may hit me in a different way, an admiring, "how beautiful" way, but they don't deserve any pity from me. They're doing just fine. They've earned my respect instead of my grief. The true tragedy is found in the ones who are completely lost, the broken, despicable ones who ruin their own lives. When they suffer for it, they deserve it, and the fact that they would deserve such terrible things is what makes me so sad.

If I hear that a friend has been in a car accident, I want to know if it was their fault, and if it is, I will feel far worse about it than if it were someone else's. I'm far more grieved at suicide than at murder. I'd rather hear a friend had died than that a friend had ruined his/her life. I'm understanding more and more that I'm weird in this. Perhaps this view needs a bit of tweaking. But I don't believe it's wrong. God loved us when we were yet sinners. He came to save not the righteous, but the sinners. His compassion seems to have been strongest for those who had dug themselves the deepest graves. He wept over Jerusalem, not because she didn't deserve the pain that was coming to her, but because salvation had been offered to her, and she had refused it.

So what am I saying? I'm not sure. I suppose I'm asking for opinions. I'm asking if I'm right. And if I am right, then I'm calling for a greater compassion for those who break themselves. After all, we're no better than they are. Not because of who we are, but because of who God is, we've received mercy and grace. Can we not extend the same to them? Of course they deserve what they're getting. We deserve hell, and we're mighty glad to have a God who doesn't give us what we deserve.