open my eyes

I'm continually amazed by God's ability to use our failures as a display of His glory.

I have messed up a lot. When I look at my heart and the things that I feel, I am disgusted at how selfish I am. I desire to elevate myself above everyone else and to pursue the things that I want, and I am ashamed of these feelings.

I have hurt others in ways that I wholeheartedly regret. I have said things I wish I could take back. I have felt things that I wouldn't want to anyone to know.

Plain and simply, I am a sinner. I am broken.

I am not proud that I have sinned, but I am proud to say that my God is one of amazing grace and infinite love. He uses sinners like me to showcase His redemptive power.

2 Corinthians 12:9 says, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

I am a sinner. I am broken. But I am continually reminding myself that God has forgiven me.

And despite my flaws, He is using me to bring about His Kingdom. To think that God uses a sinner like me to spread His love, shows me just how praiseworthy He is and just how much power He has.

My sin, in all its ugliness, has helped me open my eyes to just how beautiful forgiveness is.

My prayer is that my heart will be characterized by the same forgiveness I am shown by God. And that this will not stand as an excuse to keep sinning but to invite God to keep changing my heart.

Yeshua

I want to see Your beauty without anything holding me back. I never want to feel like I grasp Your love because that is the moment I know my picture of You is too small. God, I want to see a picture of Your love that causes me to fall on my knees in worship, not one that allows me to understand You.

I think I want to name my son, if I have one, Isaac because it means he laughs. What a joyful name!

Leaving for school last year, one of the things that I missed most about home was just the overall comfort of knowing it so well. The comfort of sleeping in the same bed, of lying on the couch watching SportsCenter, of going down to the basement to grab a frozen pizza and Coke. I missed my friends and family a lot too, but when it came down too it, I missed the little comforts a lot.

Looking back now, one of my greatest fears has come to be the comfort of being home. Now, when I say this, I do NOT mean hanging out with familiar friends, going to places that I haven't been in a while, or being with my family. What I mean is that being home is a place where it is easy to slip into a routine and watch the days go by. It is easy to watch TV, hard to dive into the Bible. It is easy to grow impatient, hard to conduct myself with love and grace. It is easy to tell myself I will do it tomorrow, tell myself I can get it done, hard to rely fully on the Spirit God has put inside of me. Hard to even think I need the Spirit.

One thing I am excited about going to school is being in an environment where I am not always comfortable. I love that it will force me to get my motivations from the Holy Spirit and see the fruits that He produces through me. I love being surrounded by people 24/7 that are pushing me to grow in my relationship with God and holding me accountable to the commitments I make. I love being able to partake in activities that I normally wouldn't really enjoy, but that bring me so much joy after they have been completed.

This blog has been a bit of a jumble, but what I'm essentially saying is that I think comfort is dangerous and needs to handled with care. I want Jesus to be my priority. I want Jesus to be my treasure. If comfort is going to get in the way, I don't want it.

It's ironic how I often think that I don't need the Spirit at home, when really that is where I need Him the most.

(and with this post, Francis Chan's video will no longer automatically start playing when you come to my blog)

The Dark Horse: Joan of Arc, Elliot Smith and Me

Here is a blog post from Jon Foreman's Huffington Post blog. I found it really inspiring and beautiful. I hope you enjoy.

"

My friend Andy and I are eating Grasshoppers on the tour bus talking about our favorite 15th century heroine, one of the darkest horses in all of history: Joan of Arc. It's much less exotic than it sounds. Apparently Grasshoppers are now trademarked by Nabisco; they taste and look and taste a lot like Thin Mints. And to tell you the truth, we don't really know that much about Joan of Arc other than her famous role as "Miss of Arc" in the not-so-critically acclaimed "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure." So like anyone who wants to know the truth, we look to the inter-web. In fact, we go straight to the source of all that is reputable and undeniably true: Wikipedia.

Pretty amazing story, actually. Joan of Arc was a peasant girl who claimed to have had visions from God. She began to hear voices at the age of 12 -- the voices of Saints Michael, Catherine and Margaret -- telling her to drive the English forces out of France. At this point in time, most of northern France was under foreign control. Her village had already been burned down once and the region around hers was surrounded by Burgundy territory.

At the age of 16, Joan snuck through hostile territory disguised as a man. She asked King Charles VII for permission travel alongside the army equipped as a knight. This is all at the age of 16.

A teenage girl leading men into battle is unusual in any time period; for the medieval battlefield, it was scandalous. Nonetheless, France had few options. Charles VII decided to rest his hopes on an illiterate farm girl, who claimed to hear the voice of God. Joan of Arc took her donated sword, armor, horse, banner and entourage to the head of the army. In various battles, she survived a cannonball blast to the helmet, a crossbow wound to the leg and the general disregard of the older commanders, leading the French army to many important victories.

Joan of Arc's story has inspired many throughout the years. Shakespeare, Tchaikovsky and Voltaire all created works about her. Even the skeptical Mark Twain was fascinated by Joan of Arc. He went on to research Joan of Arc's story and write a biography that he thought was one of his best and most important works.

Back in 2010, I'm still on the tour bus knocking off the Thin Mint knock offs. Fifteenth century France feels very far away from our modern pace. The only portrait that Joan of Arc sat for didn't survive, so it's hard to imagine what she looked like. I'm trying to picture a 16-year-old girl talking President Obama into this sort of thing...fairly unlikely.

The story of "Miss of Arc" feels so large in my mind because the obstacles in her path seem so insurmountable. It takes incredible courage and belief to even begin a journey like hers. Her story sounds absurd, fabricated by latte drinking dreamers who have no understanding of the way the real world works. It seems too good to be true. But it is true.

Perhaps her heroism is directly proportionate to the difficulty of her situation. If she were a tall, strong, highly educated nobleman, her story would lose its flavor. If her land had not been overrun by foreign rule, there would be no need for bravery. But her story rests on adversity. She represents the downtrodden victims of the world. The underdogs. The dark horses.

You can't be a hero without adversity. Every knight has his dragon to slay, every Joan of Arc has her Hundred Year War. This is to say, only when something goes against you, are you afforded the opportunity to be a hero. Failure and opposition award us opportunities that success and support cannot. The bigger the obstacle, the bigger the chance to be a hero.

For example, picture Michael Jordan and I playing a pickup game of basketball. The premise is almost as unthinkable as his Disney career:

Michael Jordan: arguably the greatest basketball player of all time
VS.
Me: a scrawny surfer who consistently misses his lay-ups

It's comedy! He has nothing to gain from the encounter. If he wins, it's nothing remarkable. But if I win, this is big news: David has defeated Goliath. The underdog has become the champion. The last place loser is calling the shots.

Yes, this is the comedy you've seen a thousand times, the comedic arc that has inspired Shakespeare, Homer and Napoleon Dynamite. Why? Because we can relate to the loser and we want to see the little guy win. Aristotle agrees. He defined comedy as the actions of "characters of a lower type, not, however, in the full sense of the word bad, the ludicrous being merely a subdivision of the ugly. It consists in some defect or ugliness which is not painful or destructive."

So we're dealing with ridiculous folks here, not villains, but clowns -- these losers who somehow win. According to Aristotle a good comedy ends when the pauper is king and the king is pauper. When the up is down and the down is up. When the clumsy, flimsy knight has defeated the merciless dragon.

I'm trying to picture what our post-modern dragons look like. Who is the enemy of our joy, peace and freedom? Who is the dragon lurking outside of the village gate? Most days, my adversary is the feeling that nothing will change. That helpless feeling that humanity is spinning out of control. I fight the notion that nothing I do will ever make any difference, that love will never be able to make a dent against the horrors of hate, that my life is insignificant, that faith, peace and love have no chance against the forces of violence, hatred and brutality among us.

This dragon of despair burns down all that I hold dear. I begin to sink deeper and deeper into depression and apathy. Why bother? It's a serious question. Why get up? Why make the bed? Why fight for anything at all? Because there is still hope yet! Because the dragon just might have a weakness. Because your heroes are uninformed enough to think they might have a chance. The fat lady hasn't sung. The concrete has not set yet. There is still time. Yes, this planet is wrought with horrors and pain and heartache, but there is beauty still. The dark horses are still running.

I often find beauty in dark places -- even in the dirty, sweaty rock clubs that smell like the past ten years without a mop. You might think that folks who play loud music for a living will look for peace and quiet for their day off, someplace far away from "the office" of rock and roll. But my addiction to music runs deep. A few years back I had the night off in the same town as an Elliot Smith show, so I headed out in the summertime rain to find my way over to the club.

I will never forget that night. Elliot Smith's music will always hold an unforgettable place in my heart and yet, this night of music was special for many other reasons. Right before he was set to hit the stage, the thunderstorm must have hit a power-line somewhere nearby. The lights went out, the PA went down and the crowd was left in the black with only only the sound of the rain above. The promoter come out on stage with a bull horn telling everyone to remain calm and wait for the power to return.

Then the unthinkable happened: Elliot Smith (our story's knight in shining armor) came up on stage armed with only an acoustic guitar and a couple candles. No mic, no lights, no amps. The crowd and I yelled out our approval. He motioned for silence and proceeded to play truly acoustic music: guitar and vocal without the aid of any amplification.

After a few songs, he was informed that they had rigged a few things to run off of the emergency power backstage. So, his songs became a little louder. This process continued for a while, growing slowly until suddenly the city power kicked back on: the lights went on, the audience went crazy and he finished his set with full steam.

I think about that night a lot. It was incredible: our hero boldly slaying the dragon of silence and darkness with only six strings and a candle. But the only reason why any of it happened is because something went wrong first. Misfortune created the chance for a moment far more beautiful than a trouble free evening. Opposition created opportunity.

I want Elliot Smith to be a hero; I want Joan of Arc to win; I'm a man who wants to believe. But it's a struggle to find anything to believe in these days. I remember exactly where I was when I heard that Elliot Smith was found dead. I've seen hopes dashed and dreams shot. I've seen good men die young and bad men grow old, fat and rich. Worse yet, I know my own heart and the dark thoughts that live there. The dragons of cancer or poverty seem small next to the demons of despair and hatred, of pride and fear. It paralyzes me if I think about it too long.

Our fears come from real places of pain. Opposition can create opportunity, true. But the opposition can also demolish us. Sometimes the happily ever after does not come for us in this life. Our heroine Joan, was captured and burned at the stake at the age of 19. Such a horrible, unnecessary ending. Charles VII could have offered a ransom. He owed her so much and yet, her king, that she helped to crown, sat idly by while Joan of Arc was captured and tried. It's a brutal end to a story that was going along so well, certainly not what Disney or Michael Jordan are looking for.

And yet, even in her death, Joan of Arc remained true to what she believed. She didn't try simply because she knew she would win, she tried because she knew that what was right: because it's the noble, moral, authentic thing to do.

"If anything could have discouraged her, the state of France in 1429 should have." says historian Kelly DeVries. She had no reason to believe that she could accomplish anything, let alone turn the tide for France and be martyred for her honorable actions. Joan of Arc is a symbol of audacious hope in the face of difficult times.

Yes, I have my dragons to fight. Yes, I have my fears. But I still have breath in my lungs, I still have blood in my veins. I cannot sit idly by. I refuse to just let the village burn. I'd rather side with the illiterate farm girl who hears things than the cynics who hear nothing. I want to see beauty come from the ashes around me. Even if I fail, I will burn at the stake knowing that my fumes supported a good cause. Far better to fail at building a magnificent world than to succeed in monochromatic survival.

So when the voices tell me to quit, to give in, to give up -- I stand my ground. I refuse to be the cynic. It takes one to know one, you see, and I know cynicism far too well. So I raise my voice above the snickering sarcasm within and without and dare to hope.

I'm tired of the Chicken Little curmudgeons smearing the mud of monochrome on all that is radiant. All the star-bellied Sneetches on the beaches. All the crusty-eyed Muppets sitting in the balconies of life, yelling their diversionary insults down. I'm tired of the of the half-empty-glassers ruining what's left of the water. Yes, the glass may be half empty! The water could draining out as we speak! But this is not the time to give up and give in. In fact, all the more reason to try: we have so little water left!

All thee cooler than thou, all you rock-throwing pessimists -- know this: bitterness does not make you bullet-proof. It just poisons what's left. Yes, we have problems. But problems are not the end of the story. In the words of Gary Oliver, "Cadavers don't have problems." With every God-given breath let us remember: those beneath the gravestones would dream to have problems like ours.

Cynicism cannot save us. I know this first hand. Yes, it might offer us a temporary insulation from the pain of being alive. But the world that disenchantment offers us is closer to the grave than we might have thought. Dull and gray and tasteless -- the tomb of the cynic is built while he is still alive.

I raise my voice to the dark horses -- cry enormous tears, my friends! Suffer enormous defeats! Challenge Michael Jordan to a game. Give him a wink and throw him off guard. Yes, you are the underdog. But your fate does not rest in your circumstance but rather in your shameless expectancy, your cocky conviction, your unblushing expectancy.

My friends, be audacious with your hope. Never believe that the world can't change. Never believe that you can't change. Picture our hero, Joan of Arc, the patron saint of the dark horse -- the 16-year-old, illiterate, cross-dressing, clairvoyant farm girl leading men into battle. Listen to her adolescent voice calling out, "I am not afraid... I was born to do this." "

But He Can

It's been a while since I've had to do laundry. I kind of had to do it in Berlin, but the hostel did it for us so I just had to fold, so I don't count that. It has been a little over two months since school ended, and more than that since I last did laundry. My roommate, Spencer, can probably attest to this the best, but when it comes to doing laundry, I am a snail trying to slide through a vat of molasses in January.

When it comes to putting clothes in and out of the machines, I'm fine. In fact, I would say I'm above average at that part. But then I bring the heaping basket of hot-to-handle clothes into my room and things start to derail. The time to fold clothes has arrived, and I shutter at the sight of wrinkled clothes that simply could not be worn in public, so I begin the arduous task of folding.

To say I am a perfectionist when it comes to folding clothes would be an understatement. I not only make sure every crease is smoothed out, but it often takes me multiple attempts to get the correct fold that pleases me. It usually takes me around an hour to fold the average load of laundry, a number that I wish to improve on. Folding laundry seems like a mountain that I may never be able to conquer, a task so daunting that it will break me down before I am able to reach my goal.

I think when it comes to my relationship with God I try to be a perfectionist as well. With laundry, it's possible for me to be perfect enough to satisfy even my high standards (even though it takes a while). There is a flaw though when it comes to my relationship with God and how I live my life: I can't be perfect. I know, shocker, right?

Going to Berlin this summer, I had expectations to come out of it truly changed, and I 100% think I have changed. While there, I received so much wisdom, stretched myself beyond what I thought possible, and lived in a more Godly way than I had been in the past. But I also thought that, coming home, I would be free from the temptations of sin.

Of course, I knew that I would still be sinful and sin, but I just thought that it would be easier to simply continue living like I was in Berlin. As I settled in and adjusted to being back home, I slowly but surely started to settle back into routine, into my old way of living where I was not spending quiet times in the Word every day, where I would quickly grow impatient with the stress that I had not been expecting, where I pushed to the side the radical love for God which I desired to live my life with, where I stopped relying on the Holy Spirit to make it through my days because, frankly, I didn't think I needed it, and where my pride told me I was better than others and that I could lower my standards for how I glorify God in my everyday life.

I would like to say that, since I have realized all these problems, I faced my failures and finally had the courage to live a life more glorifying to God. But there's another flaw: I can't. I need a Savior. I need a source of courage and boldness to follow through on how God wants me to live my life. I need to realize the redemption I have been given because Jesus Christ not only died for my sins, he also defeated death. I need the Holy Spirit to fill my life with good fruits and not just focus on cutting out the bad ones. I need to realize I am a new creation in Jesus Christ. I can't, but He can.

I can't be perfect.
I tried. and failed.
but He can.

And He did.

But that doesn't mean to go ahead and sin all the more. It just shows me even more, that I can't lead my life into a place pleasing to God. but He can. I need to continue pointing my life to Christ and trusting in Him, knowing that my sins have been forgiven.

Such a simple truth. The most basic truth that I have seemed to know for years. Yet I need continual reminders that it IS truth, and that it is the greatest news. ever.

While I may never conquer the mountain that is living a perfect life, He can. While I will be broken down by my sin and shown just how short I fall, I can be reassured that Jesus has covered my sin.

I can't, but He can.

So while I continue to see the beauty in God's grace and how my life has been redeemed, my prayer is that you, too, will see God's redemption in your life daily, and constantly be aware of God's love.

Follow my journey in Berlin by clicking here!

Why

Today I read a blog post by Jon Acuff about asking Why when posting something on a blog or Twitter or Facebook. Why am I posting this? Is it for selfish motivations or because I feel that I will be impacting the reader in ways outside of myself.

I hope that my blog is not a tool for self-gratification, and instead, one where I can share my thoughts on life, or whatever I am thinking about, that I feel are genuinely insightful and motivating.

I don't know if I will ever be able to have pure motivations for anything I do (even this post), but I really really think this is important to consider and ask yourself, not only on social networks, but even in everyday talk.

I think this is also something that I am bad at.

Christianity is often viewed as a selfish religion. One that is about gaining riches in heaven for ourselves. Using our own personal salvation as motivation to do good deeds, even sharing our faith with others can be seen as having selfish motivations.

Our motivations are viewed as selfish.

I think a lot of times, too, I act selfishly towards God, as if I deserve to have things or I deserve to always be happy. Sometimes it's as if everything in the world revolves around me. My faith becomes me, me, me, and not HIM, HIM, HIM. But I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve God's grace, God's mercy.

I act selfishly towards God.

But fortunately, we have a God of love and never ending grace, a God who loves us so much that He sent His Son to die on the cross so that my sins would be forgiven. When I think about that, and then I think about how I sometimes view God, I get mad.

You see for some people, sure Christianity is selfish. They do good deeds in order to gain God's approval and go up to heaven. That's not how I want to live though.

I want my motivation to be LOVE. I have a God who gave up His Son for me, I have a God who has put so many blessings in to my life, a God who wants me to advance His Kingdom and spread His love.

I want love to ooze out of my every pore, love for Him, love for others.

I want unconditional, no-strings-attached love to saturate everything I do.

And not a selfish love. Love because it is the least I can do in return for the infinite love I have been given. Love because an unworthy, broken, far-from-perfect, good-for-nothing sinner like me was shown a beautiful, saving, and redeeming love that can never be replicated.

I don't want it to be me, me, me. I want it to be HIM, HIM, HIM.

What story are you telling? from Rhetorik Creative on Vimeo.

http://www.amazon.com/Million-Miles-Thousand-Years-Learned/dp/1400202981/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1276717752&sr=1-1

Peace

He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He refreshes my soul.

Psalm 23:2-3

I'm just imagining right now what it would be like to be lying down in a wide open green pasture. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun beating down on my face so that I can barely open my eyes. I can hear the sound of the nearby stream tranquilly carving its way through the grassland. It is just God and I. I feel so close, so intimate, so refreshed. Nothing else is on my mind, nothing else is taking my attention. How peaceful. How calming. How restoring. How beautiful.

I am surrounded by an amazing group of guys, and for that I am so thankful to God

"I would like to suggest that the best parts of our human nature can be seen in sacrifice or surrender. A mother sacrificing her time for her child, a teacher devoting her afternoons to help students off-the-clock. These are truly our most incredible moments as a species: moments of unmerited kindness. Goodness. Virtue. Nobility. Grace. Morality. These are the truly remarkable moments."

-Jon Foreman

In Matthew, Jesus teaches us that the most important commandment is to love God with all our heart, all our mind, and all our soul. The second most is loving our neighbor as ourselves. I believe that when Jesus calls us to love others, he calls us to be radical in the way that we sacrifice our own wants and needs for others, the way that we surrender our own wants and needs to God. It is in these moments, these moments of self-sacrifice, that we are conveying the love that God showed us when he sent His son to die on the cross for us. It is in these moments that we show the grace that God showers on us. It is in these moments that we truly love.

I want to live my life where I am truly loving others and where I am truly loving God. Of course, I am nowhere near where I want to be, but imagine the environment that a truly loving community would foster. We live in a world, in a country, that can be extremely focused on the self and moving the self to the top. For many, their worlds revolve around success, fame, accomplishments. But what is a more powerful story: a man who becomes rich, or a man who sacrifices his time to volunteer in Haiti for people that have next to nothing. A man who works hard to reach the top of the social totem pole, or a man who works hard to put others before him and show God's grace, God's redemption, God's love.

Now I'm not really one to talk because most times I fail at this. I can be one of the most self-centered people I know. But I want transformation. I want God to transform me into someone that loves. Someone that truly loves.