Brilliant Fire

       "John Adams was [...] a great-hearted, persevering man of uncommon ability and force. He had a brilliant mind. He was honest and everyone knew it. emphatically independent by nature, hardworking, frugal--all traits in the New England tradition--he was anything but cold or laconic as supposedly New Englanders were. He could be high-spirited and affectionate, vain, cranky, impetuous, self-absorbed, and fiercely stubborn; passionate, quick to anger, and all-forgiving; generous and entertaining. He was blessed with great courage and good humor, yet subject to spells of despair, and especially when separated from his family or during period of prolonged inactivity" (18-19 John Adams).
    Sometimes it's good to remember that our heroes are human. But I'm finding, more and more, that most heroes--real heroes with perseverance, courage, and humility, yet who create a great change (the last is not necessary to being a hero) have a passionate personality and a great deal of stubbornness. They're people who give and give and give, past the point of sanity sometimes...no, I don't want to be a hero. But I love them, I love them very, very much, and I would love to be able to give to the heroes who give so much of themselves.
     I think that's why I'm not bothered by how much I want to live near heroes and associate often with them--because I don't think most of it is a desire for my own glory, I think, perhaps, possibly, I just want to be near what I love, and give to what I love...and instead I'm withdrawing more and more into myself, pouring most of my limited resources of energy, money, intellect, and time into a quantifiably common-sensical move that is ultimately also a selfish one. I work to pay for grad school to get a degree. My grad school career will benefit, perhaps, in the long run, future students I might have, but I wonder, sometimes, if the sacrifice of me withdrawing is worth it. The honest part of me forces me to acknowledge that I still do some things for Mom, and that I can try in very small, few and far-between ways to make Lorien's and Kayren's life easier...and I pray for many people, with regularity...and I talk to a few of them often...ok, yes, not totally withdrawn, but I struggle with the contrast between what I could be doing, at church and at missions in Des Moines with how much I don't do, now.
    But compare that with what I love, with the people I want to be near...granted, John Adams had a law degree, William Wilberforce was educated, what's his name (I remember him so clearly, but not his name) in Faith Like Potatoes lived his life dedicating so much time to his farm...but even with that, they still managed to change and touch so many people, to effect great changes in the places where they lived.  And I? I just want to go overseas--spend five years here, ten-to-fifteen there, and then five years here...and then come back. Why do I want that? Well, because I want to teach, and I want to see and live in another culture...and yes, I know they need English teachers over there, but aren't my main reasons ultimately selfish?
     I think--no, not I think.
     I want a cause, I want to have the same brilliant fire and passion that lit up their faces mirrored in mine, whether I change something or not--I want something I can give absolutely everything to. I want to be around people where their fire can burn with mine; I want to see the brilliance of selfless passion burning and encouraging and changing things--agape love, which stops at nothing and holds back nothing and acts with wisdom and passion. (Can you tell our sermon this morning was on love? :) Romans 12. And it was very good--love is a choice, based on the biblical definition, for God choses to love people; it is not inspired by anything they do, nothing but his own promises, and that love moves Him to action again and again.) The honest part of me once again reminds me of times, times I've been called a saint (left me flabbergasted, the first time it happened), times I was told how much I'd done for toehrs...times I had changed something. Times when I think perhaps that brilliant, burning, bright fire was in my own heart, and reaching out through my two hands and doing what I could not...but not anymore.
     Now I sit and type on keyboard and take calls and type some more and read Diary of a Madman/Cheering From the Sidelines and wonder what on earth I'm doing, and why...but isn't that choice in the hands of God? Do I believe he led me here? (Yes, I cannot say no to that.) Do I believe he has a purpose for me here? Yes, of that I'm equally certain.
   Then trust Him.
    I will.
    And maybe some of that brilliant, agape fire will take hold here, and I'll see something change for the better, something change from a dark kingdom to God's.
Maybe sometime soon.
("loving a person just the way they are, that's no small thing" Sarah Groves Loving a Person)

Dead to Life

    I don't know.
    I was going to use this blog for two things--creative ideas/thoughts/stories, and times when I was struggling...and it's about time for the latter.
    I'm tired, I'm so tired, but I'm tired of being dead, of automatically responding to deep depression with emotional sedatives. Underneath those I'm fighting myself to feel, to think deeply, to do more than live on the surface, but my conscious mind shudders at how much that would hurt, at how hard that would be--and just letting depression live doesn't deal with the depression, only with the deadness. Especially since I'm self-reflective enough to know when I'm dead, and I can't shut my mind to that knowledge, or the knowledge that we weren't made to be dead, to live life only responding--small responses in thought and heart, in word and deed--to the things that happen to come our way; my mind goes to the "lukewarm" church in Revelation that was so bothersome to the Christ.
    But even more bothersome than that is the deadness I show to God; I do not know how to let Him lead, for how does one "lead" a dead person anywhere? Of course, by that example, I know that God can bring the dead back to life--and can help the once-dead person deal with life given--but what does God do with someone who regularly administers fatal doses of lethargy and apathy? Given my Revelation example, he spits them out.
   Ha. I just went to look them up, and before getting to them I read this (Rev. 2):
I know your works. You have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works complete in the sight of my God.  Remember, then, what you received and heard. Keep it, and repent. If you will not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come against you. Yet you have still a few names in Sardis, people who have not soiled their garments, and they will walk with me in white, for they are worthy.

I guess God gives clear directions. Strengthen what remains? Through prayer, meditation on the works and wonders of God (such as this, His justice and His standard for His own, his inability to tolerate any sin or hypocrisy), through regular devotions...through not soiling my garments with sin, through the blood of Jesus to wash me white.
God help me, I trust you. In Christ, please, amen.

Written on the back of a piece of paper

    I was walking down a dusty road one day (the road was called Life, I believe) when I came a across a metal signpost. The gray post had only one sign, which pointed (rather shakily) into the uncertain distance; written in white, reflective letters was the word "Unsure." I looked down and sitting under the signpost was a girl, who'd been looking in a bewildered way in all directions. Now she stared at me.
    "Hullo," I said. "Who are you?"
    "I don't know," she said. "Who are you?"
    "Why--you're me!" I said in astonishment, for I saw she was.
    "No, I don't think so" said the girl under the signpost. "That is, I know you, but I'm not you."
    I looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"
    "Well, look at you...you're walking along, going somewhere, somewhere important--and you want things, you know."
    "You don't?" I asked, sitting down beside her to get to know her better. She shifted to make room for me.
    "No--that is, I know I want to do things well, but not other than that, I don't want anything. And if you don't know what you want to do, wanting to do it well seems rather silly."
    "But surely if it doesn't matter what you do, you could do a hundred things and do them well!"
    "Oh no no no,"  she said quickly. "You see, I want it to make me happy. Or rather, make others better and happy, which comes down to the same thing, most times." Again she looked in every direction, searching again for something--perhaps something to want.
    "So--how do you know me?" I asked, to break that helpless silence.
    "Why, don't you know?" she said, startled. "You're what I used to be. And I'm what I am."
    I pondered that for a moment. "Do you wonder--I mean--what do you think we'll become?"
    Slowly, a big smile broke out on her face. "That's it," she said. "I wonder what we'll become."