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| It has been a long time since I last wrote a xanga entry, and I feel like this one could end up all over the place. One year and three weeks ago my father died and September 21, 2008 feels like a lifetime ago. Losing him was hard for me. I admittedly went to a dark place, a place where I became angry with God and his justice and found it very hard to find refuge in Him. Still, he never let go of me and one year and three weeks later I find myself with a few altered views of him and heaven.
1. I no longer view heaven and hell from an abstract perspective.
Losing my father, who to my knowledge, never reconciled with God, (although I hope with every breath that he did) has made me face the fact that hell is a real place and a place that all of us deserve to go to. We have all stubbornly worshiped our wills and lesser gods. We have all sinned. Facing this fact has also made me better realize the absolute gift of total love that Jesus Christ is. Hell is real, but God's love is even more real. God, seeing my waywardness and stubborn heart, did not give up and turn away from me, but even in the midst of my rebellion, sent his son to die a traitors death in my stead. I know I came to believe in my sinfulness and Christ's sacrifice on my behalf a little over twenty years ago, but the past year and a half has revealed the depth of that sacrifice to me and how Christ's life, death and resurrection is flesh and blood proof of His amazing love.
2. I have reconsidered my view of evangelism.
I have had a love/hate relationship with evangelism for quite a long time. I grew up in a strong evangelistic Southern Baptist church and made my first confession of faith during a revival held at the church. However, some of the methods they used to spread the gospel felt fake to me and I admit that I have had mixed thoughts about evangelism ever since. However, the thoughts that I have had since my father's death have caused me to think a little bit more about my stance on evangelism. Man's road is separated from God without the bridge that is Jesus Christ. Although I think that handing out pamphlets feels awkward and hokey, I can not deny that my master and savior Jesus Christ commands me and my fellow believers to "Go into the world and make disciples" of men. The fact that Jesus instructed us to do this and the realization of man's utter need of Christ's sacrifice makes me think that my previous "tolerance" attitude toward evangelism may have been more cowardice than anything else. Under the guise of being "tolerant" I have kept silent when I should have spoken and under the guise of "tolerance" I have made excuses for people and situations that I knew in my heart were wrong. Jesus himself has said that if I am ashamed of him and his words then he will be ashamed of me before his father in heaven. I can not allow my desires to fit in and be liked by men to take priority over my relationship with Christ and my ultimate desire for men to be saved.
3. I have realized that life is precious and no man is promised another day.
One other thing that I have realized this past year is my own mortality. God does not promise me, does not promise any of us, another breath in the morning. Every day is a gift and every day I breathe I should thank the Lord for the opportunity. God has given me a wonderful husband to love and to be loved by and I cherish those seconds, hours, months that we have been given to be together. God has also given me friends and his word to comfort and confront me. Several times throughout the past year, God's people have sent light into a heart that was still weary of it. However, through this, I think I am beginning to learn how important it is to live my life in view of eternity. Life on this earth are made up of moments of love, moments of connection with the Lord and the ones that he loves. But thanks to Christ, when I am taken home, I will have more than moments of connection. I, in union with those who have chosen to accept his love, will be united with him for eternity. May I never lose sight of this.
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| Some parents share their favorite football teams or recipes with
their children; my father shared his favorite rock band. Through that,
he shared many more things: his fears, his religious struggles, and his
passions. In addition, through U2, he shared the last hours of his life. U2 had been a point of contact between my father and me since I converted to U2 fandom in the summer of 1997. Having mistakenly heard a rumour that my favorite band of that time was opening for U2
in Dallas, Texas, I begged my dad to get us tickets for the concert.
He agreed, on the grounds that it would be my high school graduation
present. So, he searched the classifieds for advertisements and found
two nosebleed seats. Of course, by the time that he found the seats, I
found out that the rumour was false. The Smashing Pumpkins were not opening for U2. Regardless, I had heard that a U2 concert was a great show, so I told my dad to buy the tickets. We went to the show together and a new U2 fan (me) was born. Ever since that summer night in May, my father and I had been U2 fans. We went to U2 concerts together and attended each other's "listening parties" for new albums. We listened to each other relate U2 songs
to political, spiritual and general life struggles and we poked fun (in
good nature of course) at our favorite LV's soundbites and fashion
choices. Our shared fandom brought us together and kept the door open
for communication, even during times when we didn't get along so well.
Our shared fandom endured to the end. This might be why I decided to
use U2's music to say goodbye. He was fighting a losing
battle with pneumonia, brought on by an immune system severely weakened
by Hepatitis C and the nurses told me that although he couldn't talk
anymore, he could still probably hear me. I had already spent half
an hour repeating "I love you daddy and Jesus loves you daddy," and
was starting to get tired of hearing my own voice. Still, I wanted to
let him know how much I loved him and thought that U2 might say it
better than I had. So, during the last hours of my father's life, as
he drifted in and out of consciousness, I shared the U2 that I had on
my mp3 player. I put one headphone in his left ear and one headphone in my ear and played about 20 U2 songs consecutively from Under a Blood Red Sky, U2 Best of 1980, and All That You Can't Leave Behind. As "Gloria" from Under a Blood Red Sky played,
I found myself praying for God's mercy and wondering if the song could
be speaking to him. I found myself thinking about how young and
hopeful he must have been when he first heard "New Years Day" as a
young parent in his late twenties, which was the same age I am now.
Still, as moving and heart-breaking as the songs off of Under a Blood Red Sky and the Best of were, it was a deep cut off of All that You Can't Leave Behind
that sliced open my rib cage, grabbed my heart and slammed it on the
hospital floor. The song was "In a Little While" and I will never
forget the moment when I sang with choked back tears, "Slow Down my
beating heart...slowly love..slowly love". As the song played, I put
one hand on his chest and one hand on my mine. My heart wouldn't
listen....it kept on pounding. His chest, however was agonizingly
responding to the song. Slowly, slowly...it was slowing down. I
watched his heart rate go down two beats in the space of that song.
Sadly, his heart didn't stop slowing down after the song was
finished. I played the last u2 song on my mp3 player for him on 12:30
P.M. and he breathed for the last time at 2:55 P.M. When the doctor
pronounced him dead, all of the family with exception of myself left
the room. I stayed and sang one last U2 song, "MLK". As I sang,
"sleep tonight and may your dreams be realized" a tear rolled down my
face. With the last note of "so let it rain...rain down on him," I
sang goodbye to my daddy of 29 years, 10 months and 17 days. Dedicated to Steven Kirk McClure RIP 09/21/2008 | | |
| Psalm 27: 8- "My heart has heard you say, "Come and talk with me." And my heart responds, "LORD I am coming"
My God is a lover. He loves you and I with an amorous, rapturous desire. We are his beautiful, spotless spouse who he jealously desires to lavish his love upon. Yet, faced with the lover with spotlight eyes and a grasp so firm that I must tear myself out; I find myself feeling more like Gomer than Solomon's dark browed beauty. My lover is so true, so shining. I weep at his feet with scratched knees and bleeding hands, bearing the wounds of my infidelity. I can scarcely bring myself to look at even his hands, much less his blazing blue orbs. Still, remnants of his words remain lodged in my chest- whispers that say that I am his. I can not forget those promises. I can not forget the afternoons when my lover and I walked through the fields, with shards of sunlight in our eyes, and held each others hand. Those days are real; I tell the tear stroked ground. I am my beloveds and he is mine. Oh Lord, don't leave me now. Do not let me tear my lowly eyes from your beautiful feet. Oh now Lord...I come.
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| Lately I have been struggling with the nature of God. I have been
reading through the Pentateuch and encountering a God that I fear, but
find difficult to Love. This God is so mighty, so glorious and so often
angry and I have been finding it hard to reconcile with the Christ who
ate and drank with sinners and moved the hearts of his disciples
through his acts of mercy and love.
Still, I think I may have come to terms with this...at least a little.
I was reading Job38-42 and realized that I, as a created person of God,
do not have the right to 'evaluate' God's character as his word reveals
it according to my ideas of love and justice. My ways are not his ways
and he is the standard, not my ideas of 'fairness'. He is holy and he
is love. I love him because he loves me and saves me and I worship him
because he fashioned me and the people and created beings that inhabit
this place. God..Forgive me for placing my limits on who you are. Help
me to worship and love you for who you are, not who I want you to be. | | |
| Peace
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27
Last night, I let the world steal my peace from me. I had a rather distressing discussion with a close friend that left me fearful of the world and whether Tim and I could make it. The friend was telling me how stressful their lives were and how they literally lived paycheck to paycheck. It got me thinking about how fragile our situation is...with my husband working and me finishing up a Masters degree. Although I like to think that I don't worry about things like money and survival, the truth is that I do...and sometimes I let my fear transform into idolatry. I want to believe that God will work things out, but the truth is that I sometimes find myself instead worrying about how I can work things out...with or without the Lord's help.
Anyway, last night I laid down with those fears on my heart. I was angry. Angry at the system that has left friends struggling, angry at myself and them for believing the lie that our world tries to feed us, angry at forces that cause some to starve while others to have billions of surplus funds. Still, as is our somewhat nightly ritual, my husband and I said prayers together before we went to sleep. I admit that, at the time, I wasn't really in the mood for praying. In fact, I let my husband close us out in prayer...still, as I muttered agreement for my husband's prayers, I found my fears dissipating. Somehow, the weight I had carried into the bed had lifted as we prayed for others needs. My anger became a mixture of joy and sorrow.
When we finished our group prayer, I continued praying privately. I sought forgiveness for my fear and my greed. I prayed for the things and the people that I had previously only worried about. As I prayed I felt a warmth, a sense of presence...almost like a hug from the Lord himself....and was filled with gratitude for all that Lord has already provided....my Husband, family, friends, home, food, material possessions, joy of life...... May I not close my fist.
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