Category: The Journey

What If? (You Were Meant For Something Less)

This is what I’ve been referring to as “The Dark Blog Post.” It’s introspective, negative, and could scare the underoos off family and friends alike. Be at peace, dearhearts – this is not the final word on the matter. “The Medium Blog Post” will follow, as will “The Light Blog Post.” Journey with me, and don’t get freaked out. We’re ok.

 

“… There was never any other meaning than the obvious one.” – Peter Yarrow, Peter Paul & Mary

What if, in our “find your passion, follow your dreams, look for more, don’t settle for less, live life to the fullest” world, there are those of us who aren’t supposed to do that? What if there are people to whom less will be their more – or even their most? Their world is overflowing with what some of us might call “mundane” or “ordinary.” Work, eat, sleep, serve in church, love family, be faithful. Nothing more. (And for the record, there’s nothing wrong with any of that. For certain people, with certain lives, this is all there is and that’s alright.)

And what if you’ve always been one of those people, but never realized it (or never believed it), so you’ve spent years and years trying to find what your calling is, trying to fill the aching emptiness (or what you think is emptiness) in your lonely life, and trying to find that “something more” or “deeper purpose” that’s out there, when in fact there really isn’t anything else? Not for you, anyway. Read more

You Have To Believe

If you create, at some point you have to actually believe in what you create.

A long while ago, a friend asked me to consider writing a post for a blog. And at first, I was totally thrilled that they would ask me, then besieged with all manner of ideas, then actually began writing three different posts from little idea seeds that had sprouted…

And then the whole thing died a lingering, slo-mo death. Read more

A Lesson From 106

Sunrise over Lake Huron. Magnificent.

As in, Psalm 106…

“They traded the Glory for a cheap piece of sculpture—a grass-chewing bull! They forgot God, their very own Savior, who turned things around in Egypt…”
Psalms 106:20-21 (MSG)

“They worshiped their idols, were caught in the trap of idols. They sacrificed their sons and daughters at the altars of demon gods.”
Psalms 106:36-37 (MSG)

I am ridiculously short-sighted. Read more

Without A Net

I hate it when I have to jump without a net. it doesn’t seem right that a Father who loves me, who takes good care of me, and who promises never to leave me, would ask me to take a flying leap without being able to see where I will land.

I mean, come on? Just jump on out there? I know – I know, You said jump. You told me that where I’m standing is dangerous ground for me, that it’s doing me more harm than good. The longer I stand on this ground, the heavier my feet get, the more my legs lock up, and the harder it is to move, let alone jump.

But there’s nothing in front of me.

Yeah, yeah… Just jump. You’ll catch me.

I CAN’T SEE YOU!

Sorry to shout, but there it is. There’s nothing in front of me but nothing. Meanwhile, I’ve got bills to pay, obligations to meet, deadlines that I’ve left so long that it embarrasses me to even look at them. I have clutter and crap, stuff that’s choking my existence down to nothing, a prison of my own making that i’m powerless to break down – I can’t see past these foot-thick walls, how am I expected to jump past them? Jump… into…

WHAT? There’s nothing there.

My story? I’m ashamed to admit this, but I’ve been behind these walls for so long now, months and months, that I don’t really believe my story anymore. Oh, I know it happened – I mean, look at me? My size shows that it happened. BUT, if it really happened, why have 15 pounds returned (and climbing)? Where’s the joy, the hope, the love? Maybe it was just that – a story. Nice to read, makes a tear come to the eye and a pitter-patter come to the heart, but that’s it. A brief escape, then back to the mundane.

I do remember “My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.” Yes, I do. But chains can be reforged. Hooks can be refastened. Locks work in two directions – open and closed. Maybe the chains were shattered, but lately they feel more like they just got some slack, eased the tension, tricked my mind, and when my guard is down and I’m running away, full-tilt into the sunshine, SNAP! JERK! CHOKE! I’m on my back, gasping for air.

I see. Yes – You’re right. Where I’m standing is very dangerous ground. Fine – SHOW ME where the next step will land. One step – the ledge where my foot will catch, the one rung left on the ladder, anything. We’ve pared back the numbers, we’re working the budget. We’re not doing it perfectly, but we’re getting close. But if I can’t see a way to replace this ground in the numbers, I CAN’T MOVE. Can’t You see that?

“Give us this day, what we need for this day.”

I know – I DO believe that.

But…

I mean, I can’t argue with the numbers. I don’t even understand numbers. All I know is that it’s all based on what we’ve got. If we don’t got, it don’t work. It go boom, crash, flop, splat. My job is to make sure it don’t go splat. So I stand on this spot. That keeps it from going splat. Those numbers – $125/wk or 20 hrs @ minimum wage – those are my reality.

No, I didn’t always believe that those were reality. You were real, my story was real, joy was real, the limitless possibilities of being ReBorn – they were real.

But…

I need to work, right? To make things function in THIS world, not let them go splat, right? I mean, You were the one who led me to this ground, right? You called me here, You put me here, You told me to do stuff here…

Which means You’re the one who can call me someplace else. Yeah, yeah, yeah – I get that.

JUST TELL ME WHERE!!

Again, sorry about the shouting. Do You think we’d know that David sometimes yelled at You if CapsLock had been invented back then?

Never mind. You were there.

Yes, I know it’s time to move. I know that I’ve learned what you brought me here to learn, I know that I’m losing a little more of who I am the more I stay here, and I realize that it’s only getting harder the longer I stay put.

But without a place to land, things will go splat. I’LL go splat. I don’t want to go splat. I don’t want things to go splat and splatter all over my beloved.

And hey – did You think about her? She’s happier, more at peace when things don’t go splat. She not only knows the numbers, she understands what they mean. So she gets it – if I jump without a net, without a foothold or a handhold, without someplace to land, I’m not the only one who goes splat. You told me to love her with my whole life, to follow His example in loving the church, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m on this ground to keep her safe.

How can I jump?

Yeah, she DOES know that it’s time to move. She sees me slipping away from what is really real, she sees me digging the chains out of the rubbish and hooking them back up, she sees the frustration and the sadness. And she’s confused – how can someplace that has taught me so much suddenly be someplace I shouldn’t stay anymore. How does someplace You brought me suddenly become a bad place for me to be?

No, I don’t blame the place. The place is the same as it was when I arrived. It’s a decent place, not a cesspool overflowing with evil. It continues to help provide for our needs. And for some, it’s a perfect place for them to be.

So what happened? I learned what I came here to learn? I served in the way You asked me to serve? I went where You said to go, and learned the obedience lesson?

(And failed it immediately, since you have said JUMP, and so far, there’s been a total absence of jumpage.)

All of the above, including the epic fail? Yeah, probably…

So, in answer to Your question, YES we both are suffering with me standing where I am. We’re both confused that the good place You brought me is now not so good for me. We’re both frustrated that we know it’s past time to leave, but we’re both paralyzed… how can I jump without someplace to land? Someplace to make the numbers work and no splat?

How can I jump without a net?

I know – I know. You’ll catch me. I get that.

BUT I CAN’T SEE YOU!!

I know – I know. You can see me.

How can I jump without a net?

The Light Went Out of Her Eyes…

Beka had a very fun weekend… she went to doggie day care and got to play with other dogs, including her new “boyfriend,” Ace, a puppy near her age who became her #1 playmate.
And boy, was she worn out. She slept and slept and slept Sunday night after we brought her home. I’ve never seen her that zonked out, other than her brand new puppy stage or after her little operation – Beka 2.IT
Monday morning, back to “normal” – get dressed, gather stuff for the day ahead, then utter the words, “Beka, it’s time to go bye-bye…” 
And the light goes out of her eyes. She lays down in her (my) chair, and has to be majorly bribed to go into her crate for the day. After a couple days of freedom, playing, hanging out with others of her kind, and being worn out from the sheer joy of it all, “normal” slams the door and throws away the key.
Vicki thinks she’s just still tuckered out from her weekend of fun. I hope and pray that’s the case, but I fear… I don’t know what I’d do if I saw the light go out of Beka’s eyes permanently, leaving her shuffling through the days, losing the joy and adventure she felt so keenly this weekend.
And I fear for me too…
I fear that the light has gone out of my eyes. That I’ve lost the joy and adventure of the past two years, shuffling through the days as “normal” slams the door and throws away the key.
Upon what do I base these depressing thoughts?
– I’ve gained 10 pounds.
– I’ve made junk food one of my major food groups. Now, anybody can go on junk food binges, but when I do, it throws up a HUGE red flag that I’m medicating with food.
– I’m consuming a staggering amount of carbs, which has the double bonus of packing on weight AND making me miserable on the “other end.” In fact, Vicki has said she can’t understand why I keep doing this to myself, when I know the discomfort it’ll produce as an aftermath.
I don’t know either.
– I work someplace where any of the aforementioned carbs or junk food is available without blinking an eye. Want to medicate with food? I work at the food addict’s crack house.
(The above does not in ANY way say anything about the fine, fine establishment where I spend my days walking around trying to find my way and do something good in the process. It’s my issues here, not the place I am…)
– I haven’t been on my trike since the first week of August, I haven’t been to Tai Chi in a year, and, by my reckoning, I haven’t posted anything to this blog in a couple of months which means I haven’t been writing, which means my mental plumbing is backed up so bad that Mr. Roto Rooter is saying, “Dude – I’m not touching that…”
– I’ve stopped believing and living my own story. The stones stand forgotten, neglected, ignored. Life is now a series of go here, do this, go there, do that, sleep, repeat. The discipline of mindfulness, the habit of awareness, the practices and routines that my new life requires have been left behind. Every day brings me a little closer to the life I thought was gone for good.
The old dead corpse still hangs around my neck, it reaches out to move my hands, to shape my actions, to cloud my vision – 
To take the light out of my eyes.
Ever notice how not all of the Psalms are happy-happy-praise-praise-praise? Ever read the stuff from David’s “Blue Period?” (which nobody has ever called it, for the record…) Well, I’m in my blue period, I guess. And I haven’t gotten to the place where I’m lifting up my eyes, I’m not looking to the hills, I’m not realizing where my help comes from. I’m just trying to get from this place to that place, to do this thing and then that thing. 
Steve, the mental hamster, has stuck me in his wheel, and it’s going round and round. 
For Beka, I will fight and move and strive to make sure that we find ways to keep the light in her eyes, to give her the joy and adventure that her little puppy heart so needs.
For myself? I don’t know…

Clearing the Mental Plumbing (“Steve, get the PLUNGER!”)

A good old-fashioned but new-fangled head clearing – that’s the ticket. That’s what’s required here. The ol’ mental plunger, to clear up the cerebral backup. Psychic laxative to unblock the brain…
Um…
…blockage?
Anyway…
That’s where I is at today. Right here, right now. The normal flow of thought and feelings, the usual accumulation of crap and waste, the unrecognizable, the unmentionable, the decayed and decomposing, it’s all mushed up into a clog and resists all attempts to get things moving along.
Or, maybe this picture will induce less squirming – consider the Neti Pot.
(yeah, like that’s gonna reduce the squirm factor…)
The Neti Pot, in case you didn’t recognize the name and already ran screaming from the room, is the cute little pot that one fills with warm (but not hot, body temperature is best) water infused with salt (using their specially mixed and prepared salt – trust me, it’s better that way)…
And then pour it through your head. In one nostril and out the other. Use about half of it, then repeat on the other side.
Mmmmm. Lasting freshness.
My Beloved won’t even remain in the same part of the house if I’m rocking the Neti Pot. And she takes Ezzie with her, lest the dog investigate the goings on.
But the dumb thing works. Really well.
I’m such an addict, I’ve progressed to the next level. (kind of like moving up from a gateway drug into the hard stuff – from fluffy Starbucks drinks to REAL coffee at Biggby. Sorry – my bias is showing…)
I use the Sinus Rinse, baby. What’s the difference? Two words – squeeze bottle.
No, you really don’t want to know. Really. But my sinuses are so clean, you could eat off…
(That didn’t come off quite as awesomely as I imagined it. Forget you heard that. I blame video games, Hollywood, and reality TV. And politicians. And oil companies. And unemployed web designers.)
(Not the latter, actually. There aren’t any unemployed web designers. Not that I’ve heard of. And of course, I’ve heard of everything. )
(Ha ha. It is to chuckle. It is to laugh. It is to snort, if you’re Niecelet #1 and the timing is right.)
So, the head cleansing seems to be going well thus far, eh? Look at all the sludge I’ve already shoveled, in only 388 words and climbing.
The reason for this backlog was a major shift in routine for a week. Getting in a little employment for a few days, making for a nice addition to the OlsonEconomy, but totally changing my routine and going from zero to sixty in way too little time for this fifty-three year old dude.
Yet I pulled it off. I got where I was supposed to be, on time, did the work along with the long hours, kept most other things from crashing to the ground, and came out the other end not needing an oxygen tank and physical therapy. I came out just dandy, thanks.
Not to say that some things didn’t get neglected – the kitchen suffered. Cooking became “grab what isn’t fuzzy or can be consumed with little or no prep and have at it.” Ezri was asked to contribute to the general upheaval, and she, in her patient canine way, did. She put up with a shifted schedule, irregular mealtimes and the time change to boot, and still wags her tail mightily when we come home. I love that doggie.
And we survived. One car, one trike, two schedules, and one fast week. And I’m gonna do it again next week, not getting killed in the process.
But the area that needs the most repair is my head – my mental healing and recovery. A crazy week can lead to mental shutdown for me, and that’s never good. I lose track of the mindfulness I have to bring to each day, each hour, each moment. The awareness I must maintain to live, not just survive. When my head shuts down, all the progress I’ve made in the last two years shuts down too.
I don’t mean that I revert to EvilCal, pre-weight loss and pre-psychointervention. I don’t go ape crazy, diving into despair and decadent dishes in unequal measure. I don’t do carb therapy, grabbing whatever snacks and sugars my heart desires. Because honestly, although I did snack on some contraband here and there, I didn’t desire unlimited quantities of it, nor did I use it to self-medicate.
(Actually, my #1 craving these days seems to be chicken from Cousin’s Tasty Chicken. I blame video games, Hollywood, and reality TV. And I suspect that the gang at Cousin’s adds something to the frying oil that creates a chemical dependency – you must have more or you perish. Oh, and the CIA uses that to control your mind. Yup. The truth is out.)
So it seems that in a high pressure week, the things I’ve tried to convert into habits have taken root and are growing. I stick (mostly) to my new life and avoid my “normal” stress reactions.
Yay me!
But the mental logjam is harder to navigate and eliminate. It takes time – long moments, stress and pressure absent, where my slow, mindful approach to each day allows the things below the surface to come up, be recognized, and be swept away.
I’m tempted to say “normal” people make this sort of shift much easier than I do. They take the changes in stride, accommodating them into the structure of life, and keep everything moving forward in fine shape.
But I suspect that this picture of how “normal” people handle the stresses and changes of a busy life is not accurate. I’ve never been “normal,” so I don’t have any first hand information to compare it to, but in thinking about the frail, flawed creatures we are, I would imagine that we all find ways to roll and dodge and move in unusual weeks that are decidedly un-“normal.” We each find ways to keep our balance – some good, some not so good, some that others would look at and think, “Man, I had no idea they were so messed up!” And some that work for nobody else but us.
I’d guess that some things get dropped in everyone’s high-stress weeks, and that the lives of those we see around us aren’t nearly as perfect as we would imagine them to be. Dirty dishes are left, clothes are unhung, underwear resides on the floor, dust gathers, science experiments create themselves in ‘fridges, laundry becomes self-ambulatory, and we look around at our less-than-perfect surroundings and wonder how others do this, keep up this pace while their world stays pretty, pristine, perfect…
And “normal.”
Mental logjams come up, stresses get shelved because “I just can’t deal with this right now,” personal time is a joke, and relationships are strained for a bit.
I guess what matters most is what happens when the pressure is released. What we do in “recovery mode” – when we have a moment to catch up on the dishes, set the laundry free from its grimy bonds, throw out the pizza boxes or chicken bones, and get something out of the freezer with a good chance that it’ll actually get made into something lovely before it turns into a science experiment.
And to clear the mental logjam. To reconnect the strained relationships. To find the balance again. To listen, to think, to feel and to imagine, instead of just respond, respond, respond.
Maybe the key to moving gracefully in and out of “crunch time” is remembering “recovery time” – that we have to make the time to come back from the edge, and know that if we don’t mindfully plan that time, our minds and bodies will find a way to TAKE that time, in appropriate or inappropriate ways.
Sabbath – it’s not just for Sunday anymore.
We need to remember that nobody is “normal.” We all find our way in and out of action packed weeks in ways that are unique to ourselves. Nobody does it the same, nobody does it perfectly, and most everybody imagines that others do it better than they do. And most of us leave underwear on the floor from time to time.
The key is, after the pressure lifts, pick it back up. Put it in the hamper or the chute. Smile, bless the Lord for the ability to rise to a challenge, and eagerly anticipate that we’ll handle the next one a little more gracefully.
And maybe pick up some new underwear, just for emergencies. And a Neti Pot. Trust me – you’ll love it.
Thanks Lord, for helping to clear the way. Thanks that every time I step into a busy week, You’re already at the week’s end, waiting for me. I simply have to look for You when things settle. Help me to gracefully, mindfully shift from busy to calm, from stress to peace, from movement to stillness. And help me to look ahead enough to remember that for every fast-moving week, there needs to be a calm harbor for a rest afterward.

Thanks for the adventure – looking forward to the next one!

Wax On, Wax Off…

“Uuuuuuup! Doooooooooooowwwn!” … “Uuuuuuuuup! Dooooooooooowwwnn!” … “Uuuuuuuuuuup! Dooooooooooowwwnn!”
– Mr. Miyagi, The Karate Kid
Did you know it’s possible to actually change your brain? The real, physical, grey and grody pulpy mass thingie? Yup – so I’m told by persons who actually know stuff.
When you change a behavior, replacing an old habit or reaction with something new, you actually build a new path in the ol’ noggin.
Were you to install a skylight in your skull (which I don’t think is wise, just for the record), you’d see little road construction vehicles, driven by little guys in yellow vests, with other little guys in yellow vests drinking coffee and holding little STOP/SLOW signs, ticking off other little guys in little vehicles who are already 20 minutes late for that important meeting with Steve the Mental Hamster, and it’s the third time being late this month, and there are rumors of staff reductions, and nobody wants to be transferred “downstairs,” doing the kinds of work that make everyone cringe when watching Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe reruns.
Or am I the only one who imagines this sort of activity? Perhaps I watched Tron or Tron: Legacy one too many times?
** by the way, just kidding about the whole “yellow vests, standing around drinking coffee.” Just about anybody on a road construction crew could whip my tuckus with one Thermos tied behind their back. **
But it’s not easy, building those neural pathways. The old stuff doesn’t want to go away just because I see something new and shiny that I’d really like to do. Nope. This here groove is deep, this here groove is wide, it’s served us well for nigh unto 52 years, and we sees no reason that it ought to be changed. Nope. Nosir. Nope.
It’s only by showing up, doing the new, keeping after it, telling the Internal County Commission that we’re a’comin’ through, come heck or high water, and doing this day after day that we finally make something new.
And even then, if we don’t keep after it, the new doesn’t stick.
Take Tai Chi, for example…
I took my first Tai Chi class a year ago January, and immediately fell in love. I had wanted to pursue it for years, but never ever thought I’d be able to. It was a huge dream come true, and I found that I deeply love it. Tai Chi does amazing things for both body and mind – it teaches my new body how to move, increases my flexibility, keeps me balanced, and reminds me that some dreams do come true.
So why haven’t I been to class in a couple of months? Why haven’t I at least been watching my instruction DVD and practicing? Or doing the part of the form that I do remember?
Because the new habits, the new pathways are easily killed. It starts with something simple – entering December, holiday rush, no time to practice, so I’ll just lay Tai Chi aside and catch up with it in January. January comes, and I’m still recovering from the holidays. No time to practice, so I’ll go next week. Or the following week. Or the other following week. Maybe next month. If I had time to practice, then I’d feel ready to go back. Or a place to practice – there’s just not enough room anywhere in the house with all this crap… um, stuff. And after all, I’d just be wasting my teacher’s time, and holding back the rest of our class. No – I’ll get back to it when I’m ready…
The Internal County Commission laughs, pours another round of coffee, and gets back to paper shuffling. The “new guy” hangs his head and wanders out of town. The new desires die, the old wins. And change never happens.
Or riding my trike…
If you know me at all, you know that my recumbent trike, Big Blue (and my Rover before it), is an essential part of my world. Riding is my prime replacement behavior for food addiction, and much of the wondrous transformation I’ve been through has been accomplished on three wheels, by God’s grace. I ride bike trails, I ride city streets, I dream of doing the Dalmac ride from Lansing to Mackinaw, and of doing my first century. (100 miles in one ride) The Lakeshore trail in Chicago still awaits (36 miles of amazing – it was on last year’s list, but time and finances killed it, so it’s high on this year’s list), as does riding in Holland and Grand Haven. Yeah, I’m a little obsessed with riding my trike.
So why so often when it’s beautiful and sunny, do I find reasons not to be out? Even on some of those amazing sunny, snow-free and unseasonably warm days we’ve had in this bizarre winter of 2012, you can find me flattening my fanny on a chair in the living room instead of toning my fanny on the trike. (Yeah, it’s cold, but I like riding in the cold, so no excuse there. Take today for example – sunny, no snow, it’s February, and a nippy 34 degrees outside. Yet I’m out riding. Like I said, I do like riding in the cold. Cold AND sunny? Oh heavens, yes!)
The old fights constantly, trying to keep the status quo. It resists change at all costs, even at the cost of harm to the whole body and mind. It rebels, it resists, it never willingly jumps in and participates, and it’s what the phrase “kicking and screaming” is all about.
Ok, that phrase is actually about a ticked toddler, but in many ways our ingrained nature is a toddler, and a dang spoiled one at that.
Now, these examples are physical pursuits. But don’t think the world of the mind is any easier…
How about the simple practice of spending time in God’s word every day? In my world, ‘simple’ means turning on the iPod, playing the Daily Audio Bible, mindfully listening, and allowing the Word to speak to me. No page turning, no deciding where to read next – just show up and listen.
So why is it a test of my resolve every day to get it done? To keep up with it, and go through the whole Bible in a year, setting aside time in my day every day to hear God’s Word and to allow it to penetrate my heart and mind? Why do I have to possess an iron-clad determination to just show up?
How about writing? I get to sit at Biggby (or another coffeehouse du jour, although my heart belongs to the East Beltline Biggby), ponder deep thoughts, and see where the words take me. It’s a blessing, a luxury, and although it is essential to my mental recovery, it’s still extravagant.
But to do it faithfully, I have to make it an iron-clad resolution. No excuses, no weaseling out of it, just make it happen.
Audio editing? I’ve got a backlog of projects that I need to have done weeks ago. Not hard, just time. I get to go sit somewhere, listening to audio books, editing, sipping a coffee or an iced tea. And yet, I drag my heels. Why?
Because the Internal County Commission doesn’t like change, doesn’t like anything outside of the comfortable, the small, the dumb. It likes the life of living in the recliner, immobile at 480 pounds, because then one has an excuse to not have to think, to not have to work, to not have to make things happen. Just sit here, make this chair your world, only do what you can reach from your pudgy perch, and don’t strain. After all, you don’t have the energy to do anything else. A deep, wide groove that has been my only choice for so many years, I don’t remember any other choices.
Oh yes, the Commission did indeed get the memo that there have been major changes. The pounds have dropped, new things are being learned, and the big blue recliner was tossed in the garbage. Doesn’t matter – as long as there’s a chair in the living room, and a table, and some yarn, and some snacks, and a DVD remote, and a game controller, and a semi-darkened house, and a dog to keep me company, well, things can stay just as they are – just as wonderful, just as safe, just as subversive, soul-robbing, mind-numbing, hope-crushing, body-wasting… just as they always were.
And as they have been for more years than I can remember.
How easy was it for Daniel to learn karate in “The Karate Kid?” Hours upon hours of one or two motions… “Wax on, wax off.” “Paint da fence – up! Down!” “Sand da floor.” “Side to side.” Hours and hours, one or two motions at a time, same motion, same angle, same breathing…
Until the day that Daniel loses it, blows a fuse, and discovers what Mr. Miyagi has been up to all along. When all the repetition and focus add up to what was really being learned.
I need to be learning the small motions – “iPod on! Ears open!” “Hiney at Biggby! iPad on! Type on keyboard!” “Trike out! Ride on!” “Chair bad! Moving good!” “Lazy brain off! Audio editing on!”
“Oh, and tell the Internal County Commission to go stuff it someplace. There’s been a coup, and the new regime is taking over.”
Ah, the continuing war of the old and the new. At least I’m not unique – it’s a struggle as old as the history of people, and well-documented in the Bible. The old nature doesn’t go without a fight, never gives in, and requires constant work to keep in check. The new, with all its wonders and freedom, is frail and fleeting, can vanish without notice, and is in constant danger of assault from the old. Unless we defend it, it will lose the war.
The hope is this – in Christ, we are given the strength, the hope and the tools we need to wage this war. Our armor is provided, the strength to swing the sword is promised, and we have a shield and refuge to run to and hide in. So we can get back in there, pick up where we left off, and continue the battle.
The end of the Book tells us that the outcome is already decided – we win. Now all we have to do is show up, fight, and keep going.
Thanks, Father, that you provide what is needed for this day, every day. Help me to put on the armor, to take up the sword and to fight. Give me the sight to see the darkness of the old nature, the strength to defy it and the hope of the new. Thanks for proving Yourself faithful again and again and again, all along this amazing journey. For this is a war, but it’s also an adventure. Help me see both the wonder and the warfare, keeping my eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith.
Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off…