The Woodland Wanderer

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The wanderer is always earnest
He scans the forest with his eye
The cares of home bestir no tempest
But like a flock of blue birds fly.
–
His mouth is still: no smile nor frown
For such are worn in human play
But here, where neither home nor town
Is seen, the trees their calm convey.
–
His arms sway soundless, slow and sure
The wake is made through brush and thorn
A beaten heart is rendered pure
Of the riddling greed in which ’twas born.
 –
The power of silence sculpts his soul
Ignoring the “piffles” of muted feet
Like an Ent he roams o’er hills that roll
As life within seeks life to meet.
 –
All this the wand’rer knows full well
And journeys on, but to what end?
His tales no man will ever tell
Unless he takes with him a friend
 –
A friend to share the load he bears
To turn his face from bark to beam
To draw his heart with human cares
And lead him to the mountain stream
 –
The sparkling brook that brings him home
Where fears are stilled and hurts can mend
To this the wand’rer at last will come
When he has found a staying friend.

God’s Restorative Word~ Psalm 19:7

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So, last Friday, I didn’t start off my day reading God’s Word. The result was not pretty. I ran around all day trying to do stuff, and it be futile, and trying to plan stuff and it falling through, praying to thank Him and things not getting better.

When I finally got home, I dove into God’s Word, desperate to find Him, and get back to Him. Just one verse,and my flesh was just retching, like a man encased in darkness, who is confronted by a bright light he cannot bear at first. One verse at a time, He restored me. This is what I saw as I wrote in prayer to Him:

Your Word is like a steady diet of meat and potatoes;
You spoon-feed me, and my body convulses as light is tasted again.
O the dark shadows that lick my heart with black flames
Meets a tiny brilliant spark as white as a snowdrop.
And are cast back to their tiny black foothold
Of hurts un-relinquished by my God-hating nature.
The snow drop soothes and bathes my soul
The tears that flow are purified with salt
The embers kindle a bright new flame afresh
And I laugh to thank God for His Good word to me.

Seek His face, and the shadows will be driven away, and the dross will be purged, and the dirtiness cleansed. Seek His face!

From with Him

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I sit here in the real: a couch beneath me, my socks are damp from the morning dew. The rustling of my mother moving past, and the quiet of my father on hold on the phone across from me.

I see in stillness what the eyes cannot see. I wish not to move lest I disturb it. I just read a book about the book of Genesis, and I can see the perspective of the author of that book and how it is correct in places, and not deep enough in others. But am I the judge?

People read the different books of the Bible all the time. The more one reads it, the more one sees through the letters on the page into the story beneath it. And the story is more clearly seen not only in terms of historical accuracy, but also worshipfully correct, celebratory interpretation of the historical events from with Him.

I had to get up to blow my nose. I am such a human. How grateful I am to be a human. What does it mean to be a human? If we take humanity as a whole as a clue, it appears it means to generally desire what is good, but to mess up and fail all the time. If we use humanity as a whole to help us interpret the scriptures that say, “All have sinned and fall short of God’s glory.” (Romans 3:23) We may say, “Everyone is no good.” But if we interpret humanity through the lens of who God is, then we see humanity as He sees them: as bearing His image and His likeness. This is why He loves them, because His goodness is what makes humanity valuable. This is only seen from with Him.

I journal. It has helped me go deep into the heart of who I am, as a sort of “Soul Mirror” which I use to talk with Him about what I see. It is through my journaling that I have been able to honestly see how utterly corrupt I am– How inexcusably unworthy of being the judge of good and evil. As I have broken down all the childish follies which grow up in my heart like weeds every day, I have seen in the light of His word, the things that are of Him. But I can only see them from with Him.

Humans today scrutinize God, with an intention to pass judgment on Him. And why not? The church has been passing judgment on people emphasizing God’s wrath on sin, and our otherness from Him. (My Dad just playfully passed a trashcan between my face and the screen as I wrote this. It is like that when we speak of God in such an unloving fashion. It obscures the glorious magnanimity of His face with the garbage of misinterpretation from our own failures.) If only we could see Him. See his face. What would He look like? Would we see someone in the likeness of our own corrupted vision? Is there a way we can see Him better?

Dad just walked up to me and said, “You’ll discover this later, but I bought a rope, in case you want to use the rope for projects in the future.” Then he gave me two thumbs up and said, “I have set you up for success.” I smiled and thanked him, and now I think, hasn’t God done that for us? Has He not since the creation given us everything good? Hasn’t He been pleased to give us good things? I immediately think, “What about all the terrible things that have happened in my life? How can a good God give me that?” Then I continue to think from with Him, and I humbly admit that I don’t understand it all. I just have fully trusted and become convinced that He is good, and that I am not yet aware of just how good He is, because I don’t want to know.

It’s a pervasive problem of being human because we are corrupt sinners. We don’t really want God to be a God who is bigger, greater, more perfect than we can perceive. We also don’t want the “God” who has been interpreted to us by people who claim to know him, but are really painting a picture of God in their own wounded image. This is what we want: we want to be our own arbiter of good and evil. We want to make God in our own image. This is so unworthy of God that He is just to condemn, and punish sin with death, because it takes what is good and perverts it and twists it to its own destruction.

We try to be our own “god.” It’s how we read the Bible; it’s how we pray; it’s how we live this crazy thing called real life. It’s utterly foolish. It is not possible to know God from this standpoint. How absurd! It’s like the pottery saying to the potter, “Look! I don’t have hands, therefore, the Potter must not have hands.” I don’t think this is what Isaiah was talking about in His reference, but the point is still the same. We have a Potter who is beyond us, and has been pleased to fashion us after His likeness. It is the serpent, the enemy who has sown these bad, corrupt, fake, fruitless seeds that have mixed in with God’s goodness.

When I am with Him, I see things. (My Mom just came up to the lamp by the couch and replaced the bulb that had blown out. It is shining now.) And when I see them, I love Him. But it is because I love Him that I see them. And because I love Him, I do what pleases Him. And when I do what pleases Him, I see that He is good, and his reasons for what He commands are perfect and powerful. He is with me, and I don’t see that unless I am with Him. I cannot see Him unless I am with Him. I will not be with Him, unless I can find Him. And He hides from the proud, but with the humble, He is intimate. Why? *smile*

Like a father who wants his children to grow up to take after him, so God the Father is inviting you to grow up to be like Him. This is why Paul wrote to the Ephesians, “Be imitators of God as dearly beloved children.” It is simple. There are an infinite number of ways to do life wrong, just like there are infinite numbers stretching both ways from “0.” But there is one way, one place where all of life comes to a whole. And it is Jesus Christ. All else is seen, done, and known rightly from with Him. And in this world, He is not stationary.

Simplifying the Gospel via Chiasm

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Hebrew poetry often uses a device called a chiasm. It’s where the items are structured A B B’ A’ being mirrored around a central point. Example:

His mighty hand has saved us.
We are redeemed by His marvelous power!

A: His mighty hand
B: Salvation
B’ Redemption
A’ His marvelous power

Interpretation: the beginning end and middle are emphasized. God’s salvation is here coupled with the idea of redemption. So God’s Salvation is a saving act. And the way that we are redemptively saved is by the mighty and powerful work of God.

I have a chiasm for the Gospel that I wrote last night after talking with my Grandmother, who I ask for prayer that she would come to understand the Gospel is not about earning salvation, but accepting God’s free gift He gave through Jesus Christ.

This is a simple chiasm of the Gospel.

God made us
We revolted
God loved us
And sent Jesus.
Whoever trusts Him
And repents
By serving Him
Will be saved.

It can also be put in this modified Chiastic form. A B C D C’ B’ A’ = E

And sent Jesus

         God loved us—|-Whoever trusts Him

              We revolted————–|————————-And repents

          God made us———————–|—————————-By Serving Him

Will be saved.

Interpretation:

God made us–God is good and created everything good. We human beings were made in His image and likeness to represent Him in ruling the earth, and to worship Him and love Him. (Genesis 1:1-2:3)

We revolted— But the Evil One tempted us to become our own god, and to serve ourselves, so we have all disobeyed God and sought to rule our own life on this earth, instead of submitting to Him.(Genesis 2:4-4:26)

God loved us— God was loyal to us and made up his mind to redeem all that was redeemable because we are His creatures, and His offspring captive and blinded by the Evil One. (The whole Old Testament)

And sent Jesus–So God sent His only begotten Son, sending Himself, as a human being like us, and he was tempted as we were, but did not fail, and was crucified, and the third day was raised to life. (The Gospels)

Whoever trusts Him— Whoever looks to Jesus to be his substitution and with the whole heart cries out to God for Him to save him, because he accepts the truth that God loves him. (The Gospels and Epistles)

And repents— And he who gives up his rebellion against God, and ceases to be his own ruler, his own god, and instead claims Jesus as his Lord, and decides to submit wholly to Him. (The Gospels and Epistles)

By serving Him–And out of Love for Him, worship’s him, and lives to honor Him by doing the good works which he was originally created to do: to rule as a citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven. (The Gospels and Epistles)

Will be saved— When wrath comes upon the disobedient, this one will be found in right relationship with God, because He knows Him, He has trusted Him, and He has done His Will. (The whole New Testament)

Two Woodcarvers: A Fairy Tale

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Once there were two woodcarvers who lived in a magical forest. In this magical forest, the trees were of a very special kind of wood: when they were crafted correctly, they came to life, with the exact characteristics of the woodcarver who made them. Now, one woodcarver was a very careless woodcarver, and he found a patch of many trees, and he chopped them all down, and he dragged the tallest one away through the bushes, thorns, and briars; and by the time he had gotten his timber to his house, the log had been scratched, battered, and bruised. He split the logs, and set about to make his carving: a little puppet designed after himself. He cut out the torso, the limbs, the head, and he sanded out all the rough places, and set it up in his shop on a stage. The doll came to life, and stood on its feet. But the dummy did not take long before he too had an ax in his wooden hand, and started hacking away carelessly at every wooden thing in sight like the table and then the chair! The woodcarver grew very angry and hated his creation the more he destroyed everything he made. Finally, this woodcarver took his creation, and thrust him into the fire, where the doll shriveled up and became embers. He looked around and saw nothing but destruction and he was very unhappy.

The other woodcarver was not like this one. He walked through the forest eye-ing each tree. He took his time, and picked not the tallest, nor the stoutest, but the one that would be the most suitable. He finally found it, and took great care as his ax struck the tree near the ground—being very careful not to harm any of the other living things around him. Once he had felled the tree, he looked at it with eyes full of care, and lay down a blanket, and wrapped the wood around in it, so it wouldn’t be harmed by the bushes, thorns, and briars. Carefully, and painstakingly, he brought it back to his shop, where he set it up, and began his carving: a doll designed after himself. He split the logs, he cut out the torso, the limbs, the head, and he sanded out all the rough places, and set up his creation on the stage. Just as before, the doll came to life and stood on its feet. But did this dummy take an ax and start destroying everything in sight? No. Instead, he stared at his maker with wooden eyes full of care, and he took the blanket his master had wrapped him in, and wrapped it around his maker’s shoulders. And the woodcarver loved his creation, and they worked together to make more of them. And the maker was very happy.

The Grey Room

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I am nobody. Life is hollow shell around me. An eggshell with no fluid around a solid embryo. The walls of my room are a prison. My body is listless of the soul that moves it. And yet, here I am.

The grey walls around me aren’t pretty. Cracks in the concrete made long ago, seem to belong there. I fill the spaces of the cracks with toys and clothes so the bitter cold does not reach me, but the heat of my own body is not enough to comfort my existence here. The window offers a white tunnel to make the ugliness of my situation more obvious. I pull my knees up close to my heart, and the dampening fog cast from my lips first warms my kneecaps, then chills them. I rock my back off and on a hard wall, and grow careless of the cold stone as I soothe myself, the way my mother never did. Do mothers do this? I bet mine is pretty.

What is happiness? A dream I had last night was warm. I played in the loving afternoon sun outside. The children all played nicely and laughed. I just woke up and it was cold. Can I go back to sleep now?

A Goodnight Kiss: a Gospel Story

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– – There was a little girl of 5 years old. Her parents took her to church very week. One day in Sunday School, she learned about Jesus blessing the children. That night when she went to bd, she said her prayers the way she always did, and this time she prayed, “Jesus, could you kiss me goodnight?” And she got in bed, and she’d stay up all night waiting for Jesus to kiss her on the cheek, while she listened to her Mommy and Daddy arguing in the other room. The goodnight kiss didn’t come. But she kept asking him every night before she went to bed.
– – Then, one night while her parents were arguing and the little girl was lying in bed awake by her open window, she grabbed her ears and prayed again that same prayer, “Jesus, please kiss me goodnight.” And then as she drifted almost to sleep, she closed her eyes, and felt a breeze blow through the window and brush against her cheek. She sat up, and looked but she didn’t see anyone, but she felt in her heart that she had been kissed goodnight by Jesus.
– – The next morning, the girl skipped into the kitchen where her Mommy and Daddy were eating breakfast, and they noticed that their daughter was more cheery than usual. So her Mommy asked, “Good morning! You look chipper this morning. Did you sleep well last night?” The girl nodded with a grin, “M hm. Jesus kissed me goodnight.” And she skipped off into the next room to play.
– – How do you think the parents reacted when they heard this? They were very sorry that they had been fighting, and had not kissed their daughter goodnight. And every night from that day on, every night both of them came in to tuck in their daughter and kissed her good night.

And that is what the Gospel is all about.

True Repentance vs. Forgiving Yourself

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After a weekend at Seminary learning about the gospel in the book of Romans, I was sitting in Sunday School at my church. I noticed my fellow singer in praise team sitting nearby, and Jesus laid it on my heart to pray for her. During Sunday School class about letting go of the past, I understood the following and wrote it down in my journal. I shared it in Sunday School class, and she asked me for a copy of it, because she felt like it was for her. Then she gave that copy to a friend and asked me for another copy so I decided to post it here:

Why is it so hard to forgive myself? Because I’m not letting go of my own being the Judge. I’m beating myself up because I am the one deciding, “This is bad, therefore I will assign my own punishment.” This is foreign to the true repentance of Righteousness. The true repentance of righteousness is releasing your own judgment of right and wrong by which you determine how right or how wrong you are. And once you have released your own standard of right and wrong, that silence is next filled with the terrifying, uncontrollable reality of God’s Righteousness– the true standard of right and wrong. And in looking at the Righteousness of God, we see our sin, and we confess it, and He forgives us, and we are deeply and truly forgiven, because we have a voice of “You are forgiven” from the Father, and not yourself.

So the question is not, forgiving yourself. You don’t have the right to forgive yourself!

The Branch

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The Branch
By Luke Ferguson
Written July 18, 2007

Deep in a forest there stood a great tree
With roots down deep in the earth of green;
And out of the tree grew branches with leaves
Each branch had a purpose apart from the tree.

The longer the branch stayed on the deep-rooted tree
The greener it got and the stronger it seemed.
As thicker, and longer, and stronger it grew
The branch had a purpose, its deep heart knew.

One day to this tree a woodsman came
Seeking some wood to light his flame:
Branches thick, and long, and strong
Whose purpose was to him to belong.

He sought the wood, and saw the branch
On the tree deeply rooted in green.
With ax in hand, he did not blanch.
And separated wood form life of tree.

“A fire log, full of sap.
Hard to ignite, but slow to burn.”
Off he walked with the wood on his back.
To the tree the log would not return.

The tree kept growing, making more.
The woodsman lit the fires of war.
The chosen branch fulfilled his life
And ended consumed in glorious light.

River Run

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River Run
The Psalm of a Volcano

A river runs from me,
And where the river runs, I am also;
For I am the river run,
And the river run is a part of me.

A river runs in me;
It is a river running upward,
For I am he who lets the river run,
And the river runs down all over me.

A river runs to me
From an immeasurable Ocean of rivers to run:
He is the One who caused me to let this river run—
O God, let Your river run through me!