It's been a long time...

The screen says, December 12, 2014. That can't possibly be right...I double check...I triple check...it's true.That was the last date I published anything on this blog.

I haven't written on this blog for well over a year. During that time, I have done some writing, but nothing here.

I find that particularly surprising (and a bit discouraging) as it was this blog that started me on the journey of writing. It was here that I took the first, tentative, steps toward becoming a published author. I found my voice. I tried out ideas. I received feedback.

I am not sure how much I will be blogging this year. You can have a look and see that I have never been the most consistent blogger. But, today, as I walked the fields, I had the urge to come back to the office and blog.

By the way, when did blog become a verb?

More soon...

A Letter to the World

I am participating in the Open Letter Challenge writing contest organized by Josh Irby. The following letter is my response to An Open Letter to You from the Rest of the World.

Dear World,

I love you!

I really do.

As I sit hear at Heathrow Airport in London, watching you walk by, listening to your languages and the laughter of your children, I'm struck by my love for you. I haven't always felt this way...but I do now.

For years, I was a afraid of you. You hurt me so many times, and I am pretty sure you'll do it again.

But I love you anyway. Not in a dysfunctional Stockholm Syndrome sort of way. Not in a wounded and abused spouse or child kind of way. Just hanging on and allowing myself to be pummeled for your pleasure sort of way.

I love you in a hopeful way.

I love you because I am part of you. You are my family. We are all children of the same Father. Our family has trouble, like every family, but we have to stick together and get through the trials and the tribulations so we can share in the joy and jubilation.

I know I have hurt you too, and I am sorry. I'm sorry I have lashed out at you. I'm sorry I have ignored and neglected you. I'm sorry I haven't been more responsive to your needs, to your cries.

But I have hope for us, for our family; broken and battered as it is, as we are. It doesn't have to be this way. It can be better. We can change. I know this because I have seen it, because I am living it.

I am changing. I am choosing to love even though it is risky. I am choosing to be brave even though I'm frightened. I'm choosing to care even when it hurts. I'm choosing to serve even when it is not seen. I'm choosing to give even when there is no gratitude. I'm choosing to do hard things, even though I really don't feel like it. I'm choosing to invest in my relationship with God, even though it doesn't always make sense.

As I do this, I am coming alive. I am becoming who I really am. I am finding freedom and joy that I thought were only found in fairy tales and legends. I am getting better. I'm getting stronger. And here's the thing...it's better over here!

There is real hope! We can get better!

Come with me. Lets do this thing together. Let's love and serve and care and give, and discover what we were made for.

We'll all be glad we did.

The Voice

I should be working today.

My desk is a mess. It's so bad that I am not even sitting there as I write this. I've moved into the other room. The problem is that I've been working in this room for a few days now, and I've pretty much destroyed this place too.

It tells me something about the state of my soul, when I allow my environment to disintegrate like this. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels like something is brewing, percolating, poking me.

But what? What is it?

I feel creativity rising up in me. I have felt it for weeks, although I haven't named it until this moment.
I now realize that I have been running from it.

But Why?

Because creativity is scary...at least to me. I feel this urge to create, but then I find myself struggling with my voices. The voices of my past, of my experiences, the voices in my head that come against creating. I recently marveled as I read Josh Irby describe these voices. I thought, "How does he know what happens when I try to create?"

It's not that I've been unhappy, or unhealthy. Aside from staying up a little too late and not getting as much sleep as I should, I've been fine. I've been experiencing God, loving my family, and doing my job. But I have also been trying to ignore The Voice.

There are times when The Voice is telling me to do something I don't want to do. I don't want to speak or to write. I don't want to risk. The voices tell me it is all for the best. I should just keep my head down, not aim too high, not venture too far. They are familiar, they comfort and cajole, they are part of me. When this wears thin, they do their best to intimidate and distract, but ultimately The Voice will be heard. The Voice is relentless.

The Voice invites me to be who He made me to be. The Voice invites me to create, and forces my creativity to the surface, the creative expressive part of me that He is redeeming, the best parts of me, the parts of me that are my own true voice. The Voice pushes and prods, making a way for me to approach the Throne of Grace and to take what I find there and to speak it, sing it, dance it, write it, to communicate it to the world.

Today, The Voice used a video by Dave Grohl (a video not for the faint of heart, but perfect for this old punk rocker) to remind me that my voice matters. To remind me that in choosing to create and express my voice there is freedom and power. The video itself felt like a distraction. But I was drawn to it, and couldn't stay away. In hindsight, I see that He was leading me to a voice that I would resonate with. Profane, but honest and insightful, He used Dave's voice to call forth my own.

So today I choose again to create and write, no matter what the critics think or the market will buy. The joy is in the journey not the response of the spectators. The victory is in the creating. But the greater victory is in harkening again to The Voice and enjoying the fellowship of the Spirit in this previously walled off area of my heart.

Why do you do what you do?

I have received two emails recently that have puzzled me, and that is a good thing. The confusion forces me to engage with the questions they raise. Essentially, two trusted friends have asked me why I am writing. Both have observed that I am not going to get famous or make any money writing what I do as I do. (Particularly because I have designated that all royalties go directly to charity.) At the core, their the question was, "Why bother writing?"

It is a fair question. Particularly when I look at the sales of the last book, which have not gone through the roof. When two trusted people ask you the same question, it is worth a good think.

As I have pondered this , I have come to this conclusion: I write because God has asked me to write. Several years ago God broke into my life and specifically encouraged me to write. As a part of a spiritual retreat, I asked Him, "What do you want me to prioritize in this next season of ministry?" And much to my surprise He answered me. I have found it dangerous to ask God questions! More than once I have been surprised when He has spoken up and answered what I had intended to be a rhetorical question in my prayer times.

Unfortunately, He did not tell me what to write, nor did He promise me that anyone would read what I write. He simply told me to make writing a part of what I do. I spent the next 4 years doing everything except writing. I argued with Him, telling Him that it was pretentious of me to write. After all...who am I to write? I'm no John Piper, Dallas Willard, or C.S. Lewis. I told Him that I didn't have time to write, I was too busy doing other things for the Kingdom. I filled my schedule with people and projects and steadfastly refused to write. Eventually, I started to write little things and that was how this blog got started.

However, I found that I could not encourage others to move forward in their relationship with God while steadfastly refusing to follow His direction in my own life. My fears and insecurities did not go away, but I finally chose to stop resisting and procrastinating. I did not know what was going to come out when I sat down and actually started writing. I still had no direction from on High. But, as I started writing, the book Pursuit of a Thirsty Fool took shape. It was during the process of writing and re-writing that the opportunity for publishing suddenly emerged, and that was how I "accidentally" became a published author.

I do not know that the next book will see the light of day. I know that the process of writing the last one, and this one, has propelled me into the arms of God. This process has forced me to face my own weakness, fears, and insecurities. I have grown and changed in the process of creating.  God has used this process to draw me closer to Himself. God is re-creating me as I create.

I believe it is my job to write the best book I can. I work hard, I offer it as a gift to my King, and I trust that He will use it as He sees fit. If He uses it to impact one or a million, is up to Him. I like the way that Keith Green said it, "You do your best and pray that it's blessed, and He'll take care of the rest."


I don't write to be famous. I don't write to make money. I don't write to have an impact. I don't write because I think I have something profound to say. I write because I believe it is part of the work that God has prepared in advance for me to do. (Eph. 2:10)

Why do you do what you do?

Skylarks and Writing

Yesterday I took a long walk through the fields. I spent some of the time praying for people I love and some of it laughing at my dog and her ridiculous enjoyment of her romp.

It was a gusty blustery day. The wind came howling off the water, up and over the cliffs. Sea spray was whisked off the waves and strewn across the meadows near the edge. It was a wild and wonderful day to be out in nature. I was even more alone than usual as most people had sense enough to stay indoors, but I loved it. Drinking in the wildness and the power, I was reminded that this is but a pale reminder of the power of God.

I rarely pause and sit on days like this, but as I came to a place that was partially sheltered from the wind, I decided to sit and take it all in. I found a springy bit of turf and long grass and settled into a little hollow. As I did, I noticed bird song wafting through the air. Over the din of wind and waves, a beautiful song sailing along. A single song from the throat of a creature I couldn't see. I could tell is was coming from far above me. I strained my eyes to find the source.

It took me a bit of searching to locate the tiny bird high in the sky. A single tiny bird struggling to gain altitude and singing his heart out. It was a skylark. He had ventured up into the sky on a violently windy day to sing his song in the hope that a female might be wooed by the beauty of his song and join him in the nest he had made in the meadow below. I watched for nearly 10 minutes as his song varied and changed, repeating themes. All the while his little body was being battered and flung about by the wind; his wings beating furiously, his song unwavering.

Then, suddenly, he dropped from the sky as if he had been shot. He dropped straight down probably 100 meters. Just above the ground his free fall morphed into an elegant swoop and with a flutter, he was gone; back into the nest he had created. His song stilled, his exhaustion complete.

I sat silently marvelling at the scene I hat witnessed. Wondering... Was I the only one who heard his song?  It seemed like a lot of fruitless effort. Such hard work, for what return? He utterly spent himself flinging his song into the universe, pouring all his effort into its creation, only to drop exhausted to the earth.

As I lay there in the grass pondering this, I felt the gentle call to self-reflection and conversation with the Father. I realized that my writing is much like the skylark. I have laboured long and hard to create, to express the song within me. I have striven to put my heart on a page and have flung it into the world, inviting others to learn from my lessons to profit from my pain. I am hopeful that it is not in vain, but in the end, I drop exhausted from the effort and wondering if any have heard my song.

What makes the skylark sing? What makes me write? He is compelled by instinct; an instinct placed within him by the all loving Father. I am compelled by the love of God and something in me cries out to be expressed in words. I believe that this too has been placed there by the Father. And so, he sings and I write all to the glory of God; not knowing what comes next, only playing our role as best we know how.

Words and Meaning

I like words.

I like the way they capture ideas and convey imagination. I have always been fascinated with words and communication. Communication is such a mystery. How is it that the thoughts and intentions of a human soul can find expression in words, spoken and written, and be transmitted to another soul? It amazes me not that there are misunderstandings, but rather that there is any real understanding at all. With the wild diversity in humanity, I am surprised that any real communication, real understanding, ever happens.

I am also intrigued by the way that words can fail us. Words alone, on the screen or the printed page for example, are stripped of their intonation and delivery. They say that only 5 percent of verbal communication is the actual words spoken. The other 95% is the simultaneous non-verbal communication. With the written word, we are left without the visual cues and cultural modifiers that make the intent more transparent. Written words are more open to interpretation and misinterpretation. This raises serious issues for writers as well as those of us who value the written word, or Word.

As a word lover, I have another issue that has been bothering me lately. Words can also take on different meaning over time. Words or phrases can mean one thing to us at a particular time in our lives, and can mean something entirely different to us in a different context. For example, the word "submission". For some this word brings a shudder and dark overtones of subjugation and coercion, for others it might take on sweet overtones of love and proper humility. The way that we read and experience a word varies wildly based on our own experiences of life and the memories we associate with the word.

One word that has taken on particular importance for me is "relationship". I have come to understand that we are inherently relational beings, and this is am important aspect of the image of God in us. God is inherently relational. It is impossible to talk about the Triune God without implicitly acknowledging the relationship at the center of the Godhead. God is three and one. These three personalities are now and have always been in relationship with one another. He created us in Their image. 

In John we are told that the Word became flesh. One of the three eternally existent personalities that make up the Godhead took on human flesh and lived a human life. The Word, the idea behind all ideas, emptied Himself of His divine power and humbled Himself. This is a profound mystery. But this mystery makes the possiblity of a real relationship with God possible. God understands humanity because He has literally walked a mile in our shoes. He bridged the divide between us. His commitment to broaden the circle of relationship beyond the Trinity, to invite us in to the eternal kind of life, went to this unthinkable extent. 

We still struggle with words to describe this reality, even those of us who have tasted and seen that God is good. T.S. Elliot said that words, "crack and sometimes break, under the burden, under the tension, slip, slide, perish, decay with imprecision." But there is a meaning that is deeper than the words. A Word that is deeper than the meanings. 

It's all about me

It is funny how easy it is for me to slip into a narcissistic perspective.  I all too easily become consumed with myself and lose my grasp on reality.  The more I focus on my fears and failures, or even my victories and virtues, the more warped my perspective becomes.

The fact is that the story of my life is a small part of a much grander story.  God is writing an epic story filled with love and hate, faithfulness and betrayal, a great adventure.  I have a part in the story, as we all do, but when I start thinking that it's all about me, I have lost the plot.  I make too much of myself.  I make to much of my gifts, my reputation, my sin, my insignificance, and my importance.  None of these things are the central truths of reality.  God alone stands at the center.  He is the hero of the story, not me.  He has written me into the story and I am valuable because He made me and loves me, but that doesn't make the story about me.

As I wrote my last post, I was wallowing in self-pity.  I was focusing only on myself and my experience.  Then, a surprising thing happened.  Someone reminded me that what I need to do is to make much of God, to focus on Him.  I cannot worry about the critics or the price that I might pay for obedience.  I must only draw near to God, and  do what He would have me do.  I wonder if great things are only possible when undertaken with self-forgetfulness?  Great battles are not won without sacrifice and there will be scars to bear.  If I trust that God really is working everything out for my good as well as the good of the Kingdom, then I can walk whatever path He lays before me.

I am so quick to forget!  I need to be reminded of the gospel.  I need to be reminded that it is all about God.  I need to be reminded that while I am a unique and valued child of the King, I am only one of many valued children.  He has a role for me to play, a part for me to fulfill, work for me to do.  I must do my part for the Kingdom to advance and for the King to get the glory that is due to His Name.  He'll take care of the rest, and as I lose myself in Him and the work He has for me to do, I become who I was created to be.

Fear and Writing

I am afraid.  I am afraid to write honestly about my experience of God.  I am afraid to share my doubts and misgivings as well as my certainties.  I am afraid to share about my sinful past, and my besetting sins that are with me even now.  I am afraid that if I really write, really share who I am, if I commit it to the page, then I will be judged, ridiculed and mocked. 

I don’t think that my fears are unfounded as it doesn’t take too much poking around on the internet to find a raft of websites that mock and defame any number of ministers and ministries.  It is not that I am afraid of being wrong.  I know that I’m wrong a lot of the time and that even some things that I once was confident about, I now shudder to think that I espoused.  I am sure that I am wrong and I am open to correction.  I don’t want to be wrong, I don’t like it, but it seems I can’t help it.  I think the only way to become less wrong is to be honest about who you are and what you think, so that others can speak into your life.  I want to be able to search for truth without being shouted at too much, and without being mocked.  I don’t mind confessing my ignorance if I can receive knowledge in return rather than disdain. 

So, I hesitate.  I procrastinate.  I believe that God has asked me to write, but I will do anything other than that.  I will do research.  I will adjust the layout of my blog.  I will update and reboot my computer.  I will do just about anything other than lay myself bare before the reading world. 

The irony of all this is that virtually no one is reading what I write anyway.

My First Blog Entry

For years now I have been reading about blogging and have enjoyed other's blogs. I have never taken the time to start my own...until now.

For the last couple of years I have also been wanting to do more writing. I have done a few small projects, articles and stuff, but have not been writing consistently. I am hoping that having a blog may help me to be a little more consistent in developing this discipline. We'll see...