Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The Notion of . . .

Black storm clouds climb upon each other on the not so distant horizon as I stand in the sun listening "Petrified Heart" by Caedmon's Call, still somewhat surprised from Francis Chan's retirement from Cornerstone Church.

He mentioned these clouds, and the rain they would bring. He mentioned the angst that we have for something more, for something better, for something of greater meaning than ourselves to draw us through the storms.

The sun above me disappears behind a billow that does not seem as perilous, it feels mild, enough to still be outside but be prepared for a quick entry into the safety of shelter. Now "Praise You in This Storm" by Casting Crowns rings through the ipod into my ears.

It makes me wonder if my safety & security lie with Him or with the things that He provides. Do I stand on His provision or simply on the fact that He is & He will be glorified? What if He says go . . . would I? What if He says stay . . . do I have to?

"Rain" by Breaking Benjamin now resonates through the earbuds. The temperature dropped since the sun seems hidden, but it is still there - It is, in fact, the reason that I can still see the clouds.

Is it You I want
or just the notion
of A heart to wrap around
so I can find my way around

-"Rain" by Breaking Benjamin

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Untrained Swordsman

A recent conversation hung deeply in the thoughts of a man so steeped in passion and vigor that reality sometimes became clear as a heavy fog on a fall morning. Eyes downcast as he tried to stay visible without being noticed so not to remind his peers of strong words that had of late poured from his lips. Vigilant in heart, trying to discern the words of Man that he had followed for 3 years, a Man whom he truly loved, he stood alone amidst the men who knew him best.

A whisp of wind rustles the leaves, followed by a crack of a dead branch on the ground.

More follow.

Suddenly they are surrounded by armed men, led by one who called himself their brother. The disappointment and dismay instantly retract, pushed aside by a rage bent on establishing his allegiance.

A trained soldier lunges to run a man through or slashes horizontally to decapitate but this fisherman reveals what is effectively a glorified fillet knife and raises it in the moonlight. No one reacts - possibly out of shock but more likely from lack of fear.

This untrained swordsman with his blade held high, swings will all his might downward. The steel glimmers, reflecting the presence light, then melts through the ear of the recipient soldier coming to rest on his shoulder soaking the leather and chain-mail armor in red.

Blades are drawn before the flesh hits ground and calmer heads are not prepared to prevail. The stunned man, only trying to prove his loyalty and protect in the way he thought best stumbles back half his mind saying "Run" and the other half screaming "DO NOT DENY!"

The original accused throws up his hands and yells in a deep raspy voice, "WAIT!" in order to grab attention and stop the impending retaliation. Surprisingly they hold. This man gently takes hold of the lump of blood and flesh on the ground, washes it with water from his cup and approaches the victim.

Movements are slow and deliberate so as not to enrage the already tense situation. The Healer raises hand to the mans head, presses the ear against muscle that pours red and whispers, "I love you" in the flesh He just reattached. He steps back with His arms out, His wrists up and His eyes making contact with any that would dare look at Him.

And they still arrest Him.