His Image

It's so easy to forget to see His image in the faces of people we can't stand.

Those who get on our nerves or offend us, those who bother us, annoy us, or make unreasonable demands on our patience.

How do we remember to see these folks not just as a pain in the rear, but as the focus of a love eternal? That dufus who drives me up the wall is the apple of the eye of a Creator so generous He offers His own Spirit for the asking.

Why can't I see that in real time? Why only after I reflect? Why sometimes not even then?

Why can't I remember that others probably have just as hard a time seeing His image in me?

Groundhog Day

Never seen the movie, but used it today.

Waist-deep in the same fight, with the same two people, repeated on at least an annual basis for most of the past decade, and finally thought to ask them if they had ever seen the movie.

Finally thought to ask why we keep waking up in this same day, over and over.

Finally thought to get out of the accusations and defenses.

Finally thought to ask why there is not enough trust in our relationship to make this argument needless.

Finally thought to make it about us, instead of about who is right.

Will it help?

Only time will tell, for the gap between us is broad.

But even a gap this broad has to be worth trying to bridge. 

If we give up, why should anyone try? 

Lord, get us out of Groundhog Day, and into the business of becoming peacemakers. 

Lord, let us see Your image in the faces of those we fight, and help us love them as You do.

Social Media

Sometimes I'm still proud of these gills I've grown over the last decade, how I've learned to breathe under this water I was so eager to dive into all those years ago.

Sometimes, but not as often as before.

Sometimes, I kinda hate 'em, these gills I wasn't born with.

And just about the time I seriously start to wonder whether these gills are actually bad for me, like maybe I would have been better off without them, like maybe I shouldn't have ever jumped in, I put my head above water and see my sons on dry ground, eager to dive in and join me.

My heart sinks.

No, please...not them.

Yes, they're coming. There's no stopping them now.

I mean, really?

They've been the fodder for how much of my underwater breathing all this time, have observed my constant swimming, and I really think I can keep them out of this water now?

My sons.

My precious boys.

I was there for their births. Fingers, toes, sweet little cries.

No gills.

But those gills are gonna grow on them, too, probably even more impressive than mine.

I wish it didn't have to be so.

Charlottesville

Father,

In all that has disgusted me today, let me see myself.

Forgive me for the times when I have nurtured hatred toward others, created in Your image, for slights large and small, real and imagined.

Forgive me for the times when I have hated people because they were not "one of us".

Forgive me for the times when I have fantasized about violence toward other people.

Forgive me for the times when I have vaguely glossed over my sin and used cowardly equivalences to avoid naming it in its ugly specificity.

I repent!

I demand of myself the same purging of hatred that I want to see in the people I hated today.

Oh, Father, heal our nation. Break our hearts and let us see there is hope only in You.

The Moth & The Bird

To the bird I saw chasing a moth through the air this morning:

Dude! You gave up just a moment too soon. Seriously? There is no way that moth could have eluded you much longer. You were right there. Keep chasing, bird.

To the moth I saw flying for its life away from the bird chasing it this morning:

Wow! Amazing you didn't give up. You kept flying and darting around, without much reason for hope, but determined to create reason for hope. You made it! You lived to fight another day.

Praise!

Oh, Father...

Praise to Your holy name!

Praise for Your lovingkindness.

Praise for Your creation, ongoing.

Praise for Your mercies, new every morning.

Praise for Your perfection, beyond my understanding.

Praise for Your mysteries, hidden from me, making me feel I know You altogether.

Praise for Your Word, teaching me, piercing me, building me.

Praise for Your Son, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Praise for Your passion for every soul, not just mine.

Praise for Your concern for the little things of my life.

Praise for Your power over kings and presidents.

Praise for Your humble entry in the form of a baby.

Praise for Your Spirit's filling of my selfish heart.

Praise for Your artistry on this earth and in my heart.

Praise for Your grace, wholly undeserved.

Praise for Your presence in joy and grief.

Praise for Your fearlessness in the face of any threat.

Praise for Your laughter in the face of my arrogance.

Praise for Your patience with my foolishness.

Praise for Your willingness to absorb my ugliness.

Praise for Your hand molding me as clay.

Praise for Your creation, ongoing.

Praise for Your lovingkindness.

Praise for Your holy name!

Nothing

Oh, King!

What will I place ahead of You?

Nothing.

Not my family, and my joy in their love.

Not my career, with its rewards.

Not my body, with its cravings.

Not my suits, ties, and wing-tip shoes, with their self-importance.

Not my dreams, with their enticements.

Not my intelligence, with its lure of solid ground.

Not my pride, with its poison.

Not my ability to please others, with its quicksand.

Not my past, with its memories.

Not my future, with its hopes.

Not my guilt, with its martyrdom.

Not my anger, with its blade.

Not my speaking ability, with its impressiveness.

Not my humor, with its sarcasm.

Not my judgment, with its self-pleasing accuracy.

Not my vision, with its false credit to me.

Not my money, with its security.

Not my amusements, with their fun.

Not my reputation, so important to me.

Father, Master, Maker, Lord, and Friend:

Not one of these will come before You.

Take hold of my life.

Take it, it is Yours.

I am Yours, Oh King!