Cement or Snow?

So, I went to California for Christmas and it was warm. By warm I mean that it was 75 degrees on Christmas day and we barbecued outside for our Christmas dinner. Ironically enough, it snowed in Dallas. For the first time in like 11 years, there was a white Christmas in the place that I now call my home. At first I thought that it was Texas' version of snow, a misty white liquid that lands on the ground and stays for a whopping 3-4 hours before being whisked away in the light of the sun. But, as I understand it, it was the real deal- snow drifts, shovels, the whole bit. To be honest, I am a little disappointed that I missed it- but it did get me thinking.

People all across the city traipsed through the snow, leaving footprints where their shoes had once been, and within a few short days, the impact that their feet had made on the surrounding area was completely erased. It was as if they had never been there. They had fun, throwing snowballs at each other, diving headfirst into man-made mountains of snow only to have any proof of their snowy existence washed away in the rising heat that Texas was sure to bring back to the scene. And I wondered, for how many of us, myself included, is this indicative of our lives? How many of us go through life leaving footprints we are sure will count for something, only to have difficulty, heat, and tough times wash them away as time progresses? I wonder if the impact that I've been hoping to make is actually being made in a medium that will not count past the pictures I take and stories I am able to tell about "this one time..."

To be honest, it reminds me of the story in Matthew where Jesus likens those who listen to His words and don't put them to practice to those who build their house on sand, and those who do listen and put to practice the things Jesus says to those who build on stone. As the story says, waters crash against the house, and depending on its foundation, the house either stands or collapses. Now, I am sure that the builder of the house wanted his creation to stand as a bastion of architectural success for generations to look upon and be impressed (and yes, this is all extrapolation), and wanted his story to count for something. While I am sure he wanted this to be the case, he chose to build on a location that was not fit to stand against the onslaught of what life and nature would throw at it. And so...it didn't stand. Is the same true of our impact on this life, our footprint?

Are we making tracks in the snow, only to have them washed away when waters come and the temperature rises? Are we seemingly building monuments for ourselves (and ostensibly for God) that won't last past the next rainfall that inevitably comes to all men (and women) in life? Are we doing anything that matters, or simply making tracks so we can take snapshots, look back on our lives and say we remember what it was like to make an impact, all the while wondering if any actual impact was made.

Conversely, cement is that which takes the footprint that you have made and keeps it for all eternity. As the heat comes, instead of melting or buckling under the pressure, it actually solidifies and creates something to look back upon and hold up for the world to see that your impact is more than just in story, but in reality before them. It points to a real experience that people can point to and say, "look what God has done." When the waters come, the cement stays because the impact made is without question.

So, in 2010, as we all push to be different, I find myself asking, "is my footprint built in snow or cement?" What would happen if you asked the same question?

Image sourced from here

The Miracle on the Way

Matthew 9 is an interesting chapter. Jesus is finally home, amongst his people and in his own city. One would think that it would be a joyous return, a triumphal entry of sorts of the son that has gone off and done great things in the world (as they knew it), and has now come back for a time to be amongst His people. But, as far too many of us know, returning home to accomplish things is often exponentially more difficult than attempting to do things elsewhere. It seems as if nothing He does is good enough, and whether He sits with sinners or saints, He is destined to face ridicule for it. It almost seems like this is the type of environment where you pack up and tell everyone, "forget it, I can do nothing for you people." But Jesus didn't. He stayed, and faced further scrutiny, perhaps in the hope that people would get the point, or perhaps to point out a critical lesson to us.

Verse 18 starts the story of the ruler who comes to Jesus and asks that He come to his house to heal his daughter. Without hesitation Jesus gets up, His disciples in tow, and heads to this man's house. One would argue that the reason such haste was taken was because of this man's stature. That he was a man of prominence that Jesus respected as a former resident of this town, but there really isn't enough there to speculate about that (even though I just did). Either way, he isn't the point of this post. What happens next is.

As Jesus is on His way to this ruler's house, a woman sneaks up behind him and says to herself that, essentially, this is her last hope. She has been struggling with a medical condition for over a decade, and as one can imagine, is about to give up hope. This is it for her and she clearly has put a lot of stock in this man from her home town who seems to have the power to heal, and as we saw earlier- save. So, pushing through the crowd, she reaches out her hand, risking ridicule, and possible pain for the chance to just touch Him. Verse 20 says it like this: "And behold, a woman who had suffered from a discharge of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment." The fringe. The very edge of His garment. She could get no closer than to touch the tips of the outer edge of His clothes. Whether it be because the crowd was too deep, or her shame too great, she couldn't or wouldn't get any closer. She believed in Christ's power to save and heal, but couldn't bring herself to, as so many others had done, push through face Him. She was content to, for whatever reason, stay on the outskirts of Christ's reality and that be enough for her.

Let's start there. For how many of us is this true? How many of us are so ashamed of our pasts that we dare not push into where Christ can see us face to face, and we see Him in all his glory, for fear of what our past and our histories will show about us? How many of us sit and reach for the fringes because the forefront of His love is (in our minds) too terrifying and embarrassing? Surely our issue is so big that it occludes His willingness to reach out His hand. Or surely we would face too much ridicule to allow the possibility of total healing to be completely worth it. But, if this woman is any indication- even on the fringes Christ is aware of our struggles, and pushing past our insecurities and our seeming inadequacies, he pulls us full into view of His face and tells us we're whole. Jesus stopped and looked at the woman. He acknowledged her in full view of everyone and told her that she was "made well."

That brings me to the second point- Jesus' acknowledgment. Jesus was on the way to the house of an important man in His hometown. As stated earlier, it is presumable that this was a man everyone knew and there was some haste in making the way to this home. But He stopped. In the midst of His rush to aid this man of stature and prominence, He took the time to reach out to someone of absolutely no importance and elevate her to a place where everyone could see and acknowledge her. In the midst of pushing towards a miracle that would elevate His ministry, He stopped to speak life and grace to a woman who could do nothing more than stand on the outskirts hoping for a miracle in passing. This was a woman who wasn't bold enough to push to the front of the line. A woman who knew that the man she was reaching out to was important and about important things, and was headed to the house of another important person. This was a woman who saw her place in the world as being at the back of the line with no hope of pushing forward. But God saw her, felt her need and healed her pain. God stopped, stooped down, picked her up and changed her life. But would I?

Would I stop moving forward in the pursuit of my dream or vision to stoop down and help? Would I reach out my hand to someone that could do nothing for me save offer thanks? Would I stop the pursuit of the important to embrace the hurting, or would I be too busy? Would I be so consumed with looking forward that I would ignore the gentle tugging at my heart that bid me look down? Where would my eyes be fixed? Would I look ahead, blind and oblivious to all the hurt around me, or would I find my eyes looking where Jesus did. If prominence set before me, would I be focused on it or the poverty surrounding me?

I saw a man in the cold today and it hurt my heart. He stood on the corner of a major intersection asking for help from strangers. Sure, he may have been gaming the system, he may have been a drug addict, and he may have been lazy and unwilling to get a job. But he may not have been. I could have kept driving and ignored him, my car heater buzzing with a warmth that he would not get to experience. But I didn't. I stopped and looked for a blanket, and finding none, I offered him what little I did have- change from a cup holder. He looked at me and in earnest said, "Thank you sir. My name is David, please keep me in your prayers. What's your name?" Damany. "Damany, you'll be in my prayers tonight as well. God bless." And that day He did. That day, God stooped down and ministered to the lowliest of those who were blind to their situation and undeserving of grace. That day, the prayers of a man were answered and God saved and healed. That day, God answered David's prayers...for me, and I am made better for David stopping, leaning down and ministering grace.

You can't save all, but you can fight to save one. Where's your fight today?

The light that dawned

I used to be homeless. Well, perhaps homeless is a bit of a misnomer; it's more accurate to say I was severely displaced. I am not like the scores of individuals who have found themselves living on the streets due to unforeseen eventualities in their lives. No, I was fortunate enough to have amazing friends who came out of the veritable woodwork to ensure that I had a place to sleep, a meal to eat and a shoulder to lean or cry on as necessary. I have had amazing friends, and they are too numerous to mention, but I will attempt a few. Ben, Ryan, Brad, Nate, Trae, Mr. B, Rocky, Chad, Aisha, Erica, Russell, Stacy, Rennie, Devon, Mommie, Sais, Imani- thank you for not giving up on me and for supporting me even when I didn't deserve it. I am humbled by you.

A year and a half ago I found myself unemployed, living in a new city because God told me so and having no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had some money saved, but that was rapidly dwindling, and I had no clue how I was going to get more. I picked up odd jobs, worked at a restaurant and most days found myself spending hours at the library attempting to find a job- any job- that would get me out of the hole I found myself in. To say that I was at my lowest point would be an understatement. To make up for, or rather cover up my sense of inadequacy, I did what I could to self-medicate. I drank, I slept, I cried, I tried desperately to hook up with anyone I could, believing that even if I was only happy or satisfied for a moment, it was better than not at all. Needless to say it didn't work and I found myself more depressed and despondent than when I first began. And then a ray of almost unnoticed light dawned.

Randomly answering an ad on Craigslist for an "event assistant," I found myself sitting in a decently apportioned, albeit small, office in southwest Dallas. I brought my resume, though it was never requested and before I knew it, I was hired. To be honest I really didn't know for what I had been hired, but I somehow knew that it was right. And now, here I sit over a year later as the Director of Impressions and Experiences of that same (or a newer sexier version) company. And I am humbled.

I am humbled to think that somehow my story is still being written, regardless of how hard I seemingly try to f it up. I am humbled to think that there is a God who so intimately knows me that He has been orchestrating seemingly innocuous things to come together for my good and His glory. It is humbling to know that no matter how far I seem to run, the hand of God is always there ready to catch me when I fall, even to my lowest point. I am overwhelmed to the point of tears to think that God, being so rich in mercy, has given to me such wonderful gifts as amazing friends, a family that refuses to turn their back on me, and a girlfriend who is in every way an expression of meritless grace and love. I don't deserve any of it and no matter how hard I try to earn it, try to be good enough for it, I am continually reminded that no, I am not good enough, but God is great. I am a work unfinished and a wretch undone, but God is a savior of all who call upon His name and is ever ready to answer, even if the way He answers is not what we expect. I, quite literally, was lost and, though I am not yet fully found, I am a lot closer to that point than I was yesterday and definitely last year. I can not begin to fathom this love and am unashamed to talk of the hand that reached into shit to pull me out. I am in no way trepidous to tell of the God who saw darkness surrounding me and rushed headlong into it to pull me out into a marvelous light of which I am still in awe. This light that has erased my past, not so that I might forget, but so that I might always remember who it was that brought me out and in so doing, point others out of darkness towards the Son.

The Great Equalizer?

Lately I have been hearing a lot about friends who are overwhelmed with everything going on around them. To be quite frank, I am also in that same boat on a number of different fronts. Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this seeming overwhelmed state is the fact that it seems like in these times of too much stuff going on, and too many responsibilities being expected of us, people are still pulling on you, and still asking you to speak into their lives, offer them counsel and be a good friend. I mean the nerve! Don't they see that I need some alone time?! I'm mostly joking, but the truth is that it's difficult. And of course, it never fails that in moments when selfishness like what I just described pops up, I stumble across some scripture that both encourages and challenges me in a major way about that very thing. So it was for me today.

This morning, I was reading through Matthew, and more specifically Matthew 14. In verse 13, Jesus has just learned about the death of his cousin John (or John the Baptist to those Bible story readers amongst us). Understandably upset and probably a little distraught by the news, Jesus pulls away to be by Himself. Now, it would be spiritual and "Jesus-like" to presume that He pulled away to pray, but I would venture to believe that part of that pulling away was His human side. The side that grieves and knew that John was killed because of what both of them stood for. Jesus was (probably) sad and needed some time to think, process and be human when confronted with the loss of someone He loved. But the crowds would have none of it.

Let's for a second ignore the question of how the crowd knew where to find Jesus and just acknowledge that they did. Here Jesus was, hurt, wounded, and knowing on a number of levels that it was only a matter of time before a similar fate came to Him, and what does the Bible say of Him when He saw the people? "He had compassion on them and healed their sick." So moved was Christ by the plight of those around Him, that even at the expense of His time to grieve, He reached out to them so that they could be whole. It's easy to think that this represents the great lesson in this passage, but I would venture to say that there is still a greater one waiting in the wings.

Verse 16 starts the recounting of the feeding of the 5000+ who had gathered to hear Jesus speak or have their lives changed by an encounter with Him. So, somehow out of the midst of His pain, Jesus was able to not only have compassion on people to heal, but also to perform what is chronicled as one of the greatest miracles in Biblical history? Is it possible that our weaknesses, our sorrows, our pains and our difficulties are fertile ground for God to do mightier miracles than if we were 100% complete? Is it possible that one of the reasons that we endure hardships and persevere, all while being called upon to minister to those around us is because God is showing us that in those moments we know that we have need of something outside of ourselves? One of Jesus' most talked about miracles happened when He was in despair and still had compassion. What is God wanting to do in our lives and the lives of others through us if we would trust Him to use our sorrow as a place where miracles grow and God's power is seen? Is it possible that sorrow and difficulty are the great equalizers because God reminds us that there is little we have to operate from apart from Him?

I'm not sure what this looks like in daily application, but I encourage your thoughts and ask, where has God ministered to others in your life when you found yourself weakened?

Live Passionately. Pursue. Original.

Above the Noise Find Joy

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of traveling home to NY and working with my sister, Imani as she produced and managed a concert in the middle of downtown Manhattan. To say that it was an amazing time would be to do it an injustice. It was absolutely epic. So much happened on that trip that I haven't really had a chance to process, but I know that I am forever changed by the experience. Many thanks to Imani and the whole crew that helped pull it together.

But this isn't what this particular post is about. It's about the journey to get to New York.

My flight left ridiculously early from DFW and when I arrived to the airport, beleaguered and bleary eyed, I joined the throngs of people snaking their way through what was an unusually long line in security for such an early morning. After making it through the mildly humiliating experience that is TSA, I found myself with about a half hour to kill before my flight. I walked rather leisurely towards my gate after stopping to get an overpriced breakfast bagel from somewhere that wasn't nearly worth the price. As I continued the walk to the gate, I noticed a guy off in one of the full service restaurants that wasn't open yet. He was Jewish. Now that may seem as if it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the story, but trust me- it does. As I continued to walk, I noticed that he was preparing for his morning prayers. He had his yarmulke, his Tzitzit, his tallit, and all of the other elements that clearly identify him as a member of his faith. He knelt down for prayer, completely oblivious of those around him and completely lost in his devotion. To be honest, I thought little of it and kept walking.

A little ways down was another slightly abandoned restaurant, and there, yet again, was a gentleman performing the same ritual I had just seen a few doors down. These two guys had probably never met, but here they were in one of the busiest airports in the world, united by a faith in a God who required their obedience- and obey they did. Neither of these two cared a lick about the fact that I was watching them. Neither of them noticed my slightly awestruck and dumbfounded gazes in their direction, and neither cared even a little bit about whether or not I approved of their actions. They were lost in reverential worship and devotion to their God and my presence there mattered about as much to them and their devotion as the fly that perched itself on the wall next to me.

All of their devotion got me to thinking- am I that devoted? Do I care as little for what people think of me as they do- to the point that I will carry out my devotion with little to no regard for how I may be viewed by those around me? Am I concerned more about what my God requires and asks of me than what my peers approve of for me that I will follow him at the expense of social acceptance? Or am I such a slave to culture that I care more about what the created thinks than I do the one who is the creator and gave them the capacity to think to begin with? To be honest, this isn't one of those pondering and deeply introspective posts. The answer is abundantly and shamingly clear...I care more about you.

I care what you think. I am concerned with your opinions of me. I hide my faith behind clever witticisms and attempts to be accepted. I say I love Christ but my willingness to talk about Him leaves that highly doubtful. They say that you talk about those you love- and Him, I don't. Why? Because you are apparently of greater importance to me than the savior of my soul and of greater value than the greatest treasure. More than that, I care so little for your life that I am willing to let you live a life that is empty and devoid of meaning, as you pursue things that fade as life passes and decay with time. I laugh at your jokes about lifestyles that leave you waking up empty, searching desperately for the next thing to fill the hole. I console you as you tell me of one empty relationship that ended as we both knew it would, but don't counsel you to stay away when the next one presents itself. More than that, I have been with you in those stories. I have sat by you and joined in the emptiness, waking up knowing there is more and knowing what that more is. I have pursued the fleeting in lieu of the fantastic and made you to believe that this is all there is. But there's more, and I've always known it- even if I've never told you.

In the end, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being weak and failing to speak up where voices could be heard above the din of life's cacophony. I am sorry for not being a friend enough to say that there's more and to offer you the opportunity to drink deeply from a limitless well that won't leave you empty as dreams litter your floor like the bottles we've discarded. I want to be better, and so I'll try. Please forgive my bumbling attempts to speak to you of life, and know that this isn't about judgment, but rather life offered freely. This is not about pleasure suppressed, but rather joy revealed. Let us pursue it together. Let's start now.

Pursue. Original.

At this moment

At this moment, lives are being destroyed and I don't care.

As I sit comfortably encased in my air conditioned haven, the lives of
those I've not yet and may never meet are being ripped apart by an
evil I've not been willing to confront. On the other side of the
world, and the other side of the city live those for whom my "basics"
are luxuries. As I sit furiously typing away on a device no bigger
than my hand, the heart of a savior is broken as he watches those for
whom he died destroyed by those who would choose to play god. And I
sit and do nothing.

As I ponder deeply and pontificate endlessly about that which must
change, there are those who slowly descend into the reality and the
knowledge that change, for them, will never come; and as my eyes blur
with the tears of pains for that which I've never experienced while my
heart breaks for someone I've yet to meet I realize- I don't care. I
mean clearly that's true. How else would it be possible to continue
daily in this knowledge and not seek change? How else could I rail
against the sub-luxury standards of my life while others live in the
sub-human conditions of theirs? How could I stand (ok, lay) here and
not be moved by what I know about this moment?

I don't know what any of this means beyond a broken heart, but I at
least know that much. I know that living in a world fractured by sin
is the reason the fight exists, but I also know that the fight can
only be won if we engage beyond our phosphourescent screens and lofty
ideals. Life only comes when you are willing to run into the midst of
death and say that enough is enough; when you are willing to stand
between the living and the dead and speak life. I've never been one
for missions. I don't know why. Perhaps some innate sense of
northeastern American entitlement left me believing that it wasn't my
job. But now I ask, "why not?" Why can't I be the one who decides that
for the 2, 5, 20, or 1,000 I can reach and change I will? Is all I do
the answer? No. But I, when choosing to engage, am part of a solution
that needs me. If we are the hands and feet of God and change, what
happens if I refuse to do my job? What happens if I don't bring my
gifts to the table and ask for them to be used? What happens if I do
nothing.

Better yet, what happens if I start right now?

--
Sent from my mobile device

Pursue. Original.
-Damany

Money Matters...

One of my biggest struggles throughout the course of my life has been in the area of finances. Namely in my ability to control my own. I could come up with all sorts of excuses or reasons that have led me to my current financial state, but the reality is that I have just never really tried to get a handle on my finances. I have always lived (at least partially) in the mentality that, if I worked hard enough, I would become rich and then money wouldn't be an issue. Is that a silly way of looking at things? Absolutely, but it's nevertheless true.

Several people, including one ex-girlfriend, have prompted me over the years to get help in this area, but I was stubborn and committed to figuring it out myself. The irony is that I knew all along that I wasn't going to get it on my own, considering that no other area of struggle in my life has ever been conquered by myself, but nevertheless I plodded along...and ended up in further trouble than I had previously found myself. Now, don't get me wrong, there have been some strides, but by and large I find myself today in the same place I was years ago, with no discipline or direction in the area of financial accountability. This morning I finally decided to do something about it. I called someone I have never met to ask them to help with one of the more personal (and embarrassment inducing) areas of my life.

Crown Financial is a Christian organization designed to help people get a handle on their finances and set up a financial accountability structure within which they can operate and thrive. I was told about it once by an ex of mine, but I never called, never researched, never did anything with the information really. I just continued to wallow in the same level of financial inadequacy that I had for quite some time...until today. I finally called the financial counselor that the organization had recommended to me, and let me tell you- it was about as difficult as anything I've ever done. It was as difficult as starting step studies and getting into recovery at church, as hard as admitting to a group of guys that I struggle with things, as gut-wrenching as being willing to be open and honest and engage community. This was difficult. But I believe it will be good. I have no idea yet what this process will look like, only that it too is a part of the development that I am undergoing in an ever increasing desire to be complete. It is a part of the process of living with unveiled face and reflecting the glory of God to the world, and of being the fragrance of God in the Earth. This next step for me is as important as any I've previously undertaken and I am looking forward to it, even if the process frightens me just a bit.