The Creativity in Captivity

Still reading through Exodus- yes, I know it has been a super duper long time, but I keep getting sidetracked and taking my sweet time.  Today found me in Exodus 37, where the story of the building of the tabernacle is continuing to be recounted.  Every detail and measurement is meticulously accounted for, and the author writes in such a way that you can also hear the sound of the hammer striking and feel the heat of the fire as it purifies the gold.  It really is an amazing lesson in details and beautiful story telling. 

In a recent blog post, I wrote about Bezalel, the man selected by God to be the foreman over one of the most important building projects in history.  This was a man who was the contractor of contractors, with skills ranging from carpentry, to metalworking, to upholstery and tile work.  This guy knew his stuff and was skilled enough to be able to oversee a team of equally talented individuals who were experts in their individual fields.  In verse 1, we see Bezalel working on the ark of the covenant and overlaying it with gold.  A few verses later in chapter 38, we see him working on curtains and creating what I can only imagine were some of the most beautiful the world has ever seen.  This guy seriously seemed to know any and everything about creating the perfect place for the Lord to dwell.  He really seemed to be the right person for the job and there was nothing he couldn't do for the task he had been given.  And then, in the midst of the stories about his skill a thought came to me...where did he learn all this?

Bezalel is a part of a group of refugees- recent nomads who have been displaced from a place and a culture that, though difficult to live in, was all they had known for the entirety of their lives, and the lives of their most readily memorable ancestors.  It would be easy for us to forget that Bezalel didn't get his unquestionable skill from a class or from kind and caring instructors.  No, Bezalel became excellent at his craft at the end of a spear, in the harsh and grueling sun, and with the stares of tyrannical "masters" boring into his back even as their whips dug into his skin.  Bezalel learned his craft while in captivity.

Far too often, I find myself bemoaning my fate when difficult circumstances arise.  I complain about how difficult things are, and regularly complain that I just can't seem to "break free" from whatever is keeping me from the next...something.  But what if my perspective changed?  As difficult as it might be, what if, instead of focusing on the captivity I found myself in, I focused on how God was going to be able to use the lessons learned and the skills developed in that captivity to establish a testimony for Himself that would outlast me and bring His name glory well after I'm gone?  What if, the "trying of our faith that creates patience" is simply so that I don't give up in the midst of turmoil so that God can be made known and people's lives changed when I'm not around to tell the story? Is there a victorious day coming for every circumstance I face?  Absolutely.  But, when I find myself facing that difficulty, and feeling like I am in captivity, it is helpful to remember that in trial I am taught, and when captive I am better able to see the creative work of the Lord in even the smallest of things.

Be encouraged- this season of captivity for you is but a season where God can prove Himself in you, so that you can later show Him to the world.

Pursue.  Original.
~Damany

It's His Deal

Wow, it's been a while since I've written.  I'd love to say I have a good reason...but I don't.  Anywho, let's jump right in.

So, I have a new job.  Yes, it is quite exciting and I am beyond happy/grateful/excited/other positive adjectives that describe extreme joy and a sense of mirth.  This is one of the unique and rare once in a lifetime jobs that seems like it was created specifically for me.  I couldn't have asked for a better company, a better crowd of coworkers, or a better opportunity to do what I love- all of what I love.  In short, it's nothing short of a miracle, and I am extremely grateful to God for opening this door.  But then the doubt set in.

As amazing as this job is, I can't help but finding myself feeling like I'm almost out of my depth.  I mean, this seriously is perfect for me, but yet I still struggle with the idea that I can't do it.  It's silly, I know, but nevertheless that's where I find myself, battling between destiny and doubt and not loving the constant tension.  I know this is a God thing, but I still find myself doubting that I have what it takes to do it.  I know that this doubt is kind of like the parable Jesus talks about in Matthew 13 with the tares and the wheat.  The truth came to me, and this is just the enemy's attempt to choke the life out of the promise with doubts, worries, and concerns.  I know that, but still I feel occasionally incapable of delivering what is expected of me.  But then I remember, it's not my deal.

I've been reading through Exodus for a while now, and this morning I found myself in chapter 31.  To be honest, I skipped past a few chapters that were talking about the construction of the washbasin, and the ephods.  My eyes were starting to cross at all the attention to detail.  The former part of chapter 31 talks about how God has specifically chosen a man to construct the various items of the tabernacle and the accouterments surrounding the tabernacle and has also specifically chosen his assistant.  It actually says,

Then the Lord said to Moses,2 "Look, I have specifically chosen Bezalel son of Uri, grandson of Hur, of the tribe of Judah.3 I have filled him with the Spirit of God, giving him great wisdom, ability, and expertise in all kinds of crafts.4 He is a master craftsman, expert in working with gold, silver, and bronze.5 He is skilled in engraving and mounting gemstones and in carving wood. He is a master at every craft!  6 "And I have personally appointed Oholiab son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan, to be his assistant. Moreover, I have given special skill to all the gifted craftsmen so they can make all the things I have commanded you to make:

I wonder how freaked out Bezalel was when Moses came to him. Did the conversation go something like this?

M: "hey dude, I have a job for you"

B: "Yeah, what's up?"

M: "You're pretty well known for having some talent when it comes to building stuff, so there's a building project I need you and Oholiab to work on."

B: "Yeah, no problem, whatcha got?"

M: "Well, we're building a temple for God so we can worship Him while we're out here in the wilderness. It pretty much needs to be perfect and God gave me some exact dimensions and schematics to get it done. It's kind of a big deal and will be remembered for generations. You down? Oh yeah, and God specifically requested you."

B: (swallowing hard and with a panicked look on his face) "He did?"

M: "Yeah"

B: (stammering) "Um, Mo, I don't know if I can do this. I mean YHWH seriously requested me? That's kind of a big deal. I mean, I've just built some stuff as a slave in Egypt, not sure if building a home for the most high God is really in my skillset."

M: "Yeah, but God requested you, so...thanks I'll send you the plans tomorrow."

As silly as that seems to me now as I write it, if I'm honest, how different is my response to God in this? I know this is something to which God has called me, and yet I push back as if it is possible for me to fail so long as I stay submitted. It's His deal and I just have to accept the fact that He has given me the special skill necessary to make all the things He has commanded." It's not my skill that does it, it's merely a gift of skill that got loaned to me for a little bit. I'm just a steward, the responsibility to see it flourish is on the guy that owns the land. Sometimes I forget that.

God of the Moments

I saw God last night.

Last night, I had an evening to myself- no shows, nothing to do, and basically just an opportunity to relax. I cooked dinner, read a book, and essentially had one of the most relaxing nights I have had in quite some time. In short- it was amazing. As I was waiting for the food that I was cooking to thaw, I decided to go for a walk. So, I grabbed Lola's (the dog) leash, and we set out for an exploration of the neighborhood. We had no agenda, no real time limit and no real way of knowing what was going to come of the night. I just knew it was a gorgeous night and I wanted to be a part of it.

I had never really taken a stroll through my neighborhood before. I'd gone on a few runs, but the houses and people whizzed by my eyes in a blurry and pain laden (I hate to run) medley of homogenized home ownership while I focused so intently on the task at hand- getting the run finished as quickly as possible. I had never taken the time to stroll and embrace the neighborhood that last night afforded me. It really is quite interesting the differences you see when you take the time to actually see. In the interests of being a cliche writer and poet, I saw beautiful colors on display in front yards, and heard dogs small and great barking at our passing. I saw quirky welcome mats and "He is Risen" signs, saw dinner being delivered and tables being set, saw children playing football, and families riding bikes. I saw life happening- and it was there that I saw God.

I had an interesting conversation with a friend of mine last night. They were caught in a place we all find ourselves far too often, a place of frustration. This friend knows that there is a plan and a purpose for her life, but is frustratingly trying to sort out just what that plan and purpose is. All the familiar questions get asked- "where am I going," "what do these gifts mean," "am I making the right decisions," and on and on they go. Ultimately though, these questions can be boiled down to one question- "do YOU really have a plan that I'm a part of, and why can't I know what it is?" My friend was facing a crisis, not of faith, but of trust. They didn't know how to express their lack of trust and would never admit to it, being from a strong Christian family, but nevertheless there it stood, staring them in the face like the blinking "do not walk" signs I confronted on my journey through my neighborhood. And in that, my friend was missing God, the God I was able to see last night.

I'm talking about the God of the moments. The God I saw was the one who finds himself glorified on balmy spring nights where the wind carries the fragrance of grill smoke and cut grass, and the air holds the melodies of laughter and memories made. The God I saw was the one who takes great pleasure in fathers making last minute grocery store runs while mothers and children set the table, takes immense joy in large glasses of wine raised in celebration of stories told that bring people closer together, and whose praises are heard as children discover the joy of a lawn beneath their feet. This God I am speaking about is the one who bids us to enjoy the moments that make up our dream, and not become so focused on "finishing the run" that we lose sight on the neighbors and conversations, the laughter and sweet fragrances, the aromas and sounds that make every moment through which we pass rich with the very presence of God.

Yes, there is something to which we are called. Yes, we have unique giftings and abilities which will enable us to be a part of a dynamic story that's been unfolding over time. Yes there will always be a frustration that comes from not fully knowing now what our then will consist of. But, I must learn, as my friend must as well, that my life is not comprised of a series of days strung together in the direction of a purpose, but as I heard someone say, a series of todays, each with their own purposes and victories and each with their own stories. It is so easy to focus on how the larger story unfolds, and to think that this chapter in our lives is but that- a chapter. But what if this is more than a chapter? What if this is a story unto itself? What if embracing and wholly being a part of this moment is in fact a telling of a tale that would make even Aesop take note? And what if, in the telling of and living in our story, we were able to see God as He wants to be seen right now, in this moment?

"Seek the Lord while you can find him.
Call on him now while he is near."
-Isaiah 55:6 (NLT)

Shadows and light

Last night, my girlfriend looked at me, pierced through me and spoke straight to my heart. In ways that challenged and chastised me, she spoke out of a love that only comes from a relationship with Christ and an ability to hear His voice. It was both scary and amazing. Scary because it again proves that God can absolutely use whomever he wants to speak truth whenever he wants, and amazing because it shows a love that is completely incomprehensible. Her expression of love got me thinking about how Christ continually manifests himself in my life.

The past few weeks have been exceptionally rough for me, and I have been fighting through varying waves of depression. Now, don't worry, nothing drastic is on the horizon for me as far as my response to this sense of depression, but it's definitely been there, hovering just above me and keeping me from being wholly effective in much of anything that I do. So, as I always have done in the past, I sought escapes from the reality of the dark life I felt I was experiencing. I sought alternative realities to the one I was living daily, knowing these were false hopes, but wanting, needing, the escape, even if just for an hour or two. As it always does, it proved unfruitful and only served to drive a wedge between God and I as I was running away from Him as opposed to heading towards Him.

Throughout the course of this time, God has again and again reached out His hand through His people to speak life to me, and in the most unlikely of ways. A friend with whom I seldom talk about the issues of my life called me out of the blue to speak a very specific prophetic word to me about my situation, good friends call and text for no reason, messages at church are seemingly targeted directly towards me, and on and on the list goes- God is after my heart and if I am able to step back for a moment, I see how beautiful that pursuit is. I see how masterfully God is orchestrating encounter after encounter so that I will know that I am not alone. I see how seemingly meaningless words suddenly take on a level of comfort that they otherwise would not have had. I see how love is being proved tangible in my life. Though this is one of my "dark nights of the soul," I still see how God is very evidently at work in everything, not in the way that things are necessarily and immediately getting better, but in the way that in the midst of the night God is there as a guiding light. It's like Psalm 119 says, that Jesus "is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path." It's not that the sky is suddenly illumined and all vestiges of darkness flee, but rather that, in the midst of the darkness, in the midst of that which would cause me to stumble, fall, and feel pain, God is there ensuring that I have just enough light to not give up, just enough to know that there is a hope of further light because of the glimmer that I now see.

My brother recently said something extremely profound to me. In talking about Psalm 23, he commented on the passage in verse 4 where the psalmist writes that even in the valley of the shadow of death, he will not be afraid. Anyone that has been involved in Christianity for any length of time has undoubtedly heard this scripture, and what is all too often focused on is that death is nothing to be afraid of because the overarching theme is that God's got your back. But I think there's another underlying message in that scripture- that of the shadow. Dictionary.com defines shadow as "a dark figure or image cast on the ground or some surface by a body intercepting light." And in that is God's bigger promise in the passage. This shadow of death can only exist because death, in all its powerlessness can only show itself evident in this valley because it has intercepted light. John 9:5 says that Christ is the "light of the world," so any shade of darkness, any shadow, can only exist because He allows it. Shadows are only places where the light is not yet bright enough to fully dispel the darkness- so it is true of my life. These shadows that sometimes seem so frightening because I feel as if I am living in them, are really nothing more than harbingers of Christ not yet fully revealed in a situation in my life. God's constant responses in love through friends, and sermons, sunrises and scripture are His attempts to remind me that the light in whatever area of my life seems darkest is more than just on its way, it is already there and providing hope of a brighter day when shadows cease and light dawns full upon my heart. The dark night of the soul is indicative of, not an end, but rather a beginning that has yet to, and is in the process of emerging.

Yeah, this is how I process- I write. Thanks for walking through the journey with me and for always listening to and reading the musings of a man who continues to wrestle with grace and purpose.

image sourced from fineartamerica.com

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