Dry Bones Dancing

"Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my meditation. Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King, and my God: for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up." Psalm 5:1-3

Since the book of Psalms was originally a collection of songs, it's no surprise to me that so many of them have been set to music and used as praise, worship and prayer songs in modern times. The three verses I quoted above make up a song that I grew up singing in my father's church, and I woke up with the refrain repeating in my mind this morning.

I feel the weight on my emotions, and I know that my soul is crying out, but I'm not exactly sure in what way. I can't put it into words, not even to myself. But while I don't know exactly what the prayer of my heart is this morning, I know that at its root is please get this boulder off of me. I feel pinned beneath a a weight that I can not budge. My spirit weighs heavy against me.

But I know that God does not make too hard of terms with those who seek him. That doesn't mean that times won't be hard. For me, it means that my contract with my Creator does not have terms and conditions that I can not fulfill. I do not have to figure out how to remove the weight from my heart. I do not have to muster up the strength to pull myself out from underneath it or push it off me. I do not have to perform at some unattainable level of perfection in order to find relief.

My part of the agreement is simply this, heavy heart or light, I surrender to Him. When everything is going my way and when nothing is, I walk in what He has called me and taught me to the best of my ability and trust Him to give me the grace and strength to complete the journey. My part is to cry out to Him when I weary and let Him carry the burden. Jesus tells me to come to Him when I am weary and heavy laden and that when I do that, He will make my burden light. That means that I will have access to His strength to do whatever it is I need to do. I know that I can cast my cares on Him, for He cares for me.

It is so wonderful to be reminded that God loves and cares for me. I need that more than ever when the circumstances of my life would testify to the opposite. But circumstances are not my God nor my truth. There was a time when feeling such a weight on my soul and mourning the loss of my own dreams and desires I would react in self-pity and seek oblivion. Today, I know that if I lose a dream of my own, that God will replace it with Him dream for me, which is infinitely better and more satisfying. To surrender to His dream for me can even simply prepare me to better handle the fulfillment of my own dream later on down the road. If there's one thing I have learned, I know that death, even of dreams, is not the end of the story with God. He has proven able to revive old, dry bones into living beings able to dance for the world to see.

So I cry out to my Daddy, listen to my words, and when I don't have the words, understand and listen to my heavy sighs. Listen to my cries for help, for I know that you are my help, and I know that I am powerless to help myself. That's why I run to You. I know my Creator is holy and perfect and will not associate with evil, but though I myself am still evil in part, I rely on Your great mercy to allow me to come to You and fellowship with You. I can enter Your house, though I have done nothing to earn that right. I will come in to Your presence with reverence because I know that I didn't do anything to deserve to be there. Lead and guide me Lord. I need Your direction because my mind is my enemy and it deceives me and taunts me to go toward my own destruction. Banish those strongholds within my mind that refuse to surrender to You and Your will for me, because I know that the thoughts which would lead me from You or cause me to run from You are an open grave waiting to be filled. "(verse 11) But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you." Yes, let me find my safety in You, and may that safety bring gladness to my heart to replace the fear and heaviness. For I am sure that You bless those who seek You in earnest and surround them with Your favor as with a shield. When I seek You I am protected from the pain and fear of calamity, if not from calamity itself. If I am to be destroyed, then let it be done in such a way that my destruction and or reconstruction shows others Your power and willingness to deliver. Like dry bones dancing in the desert, let it be obvious that any life in me is because of and from You. God, I offer myself to You — to build with me and to do with me as You will (that includes working how and where You want me to work, to help those You would have me help, and to give up any part of me that You need me to let go of). Relieve me of the bondage of self (and the need to protect my own dreams and desires), that I may better do Your will. Take away my difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of Your Power, Your Love, and Your Way of life (and how much better Your power, love and way of life is than anything I could have on my own). May I do Your will always! My Creator, I am now willing that You should have all of me, good and bad, dreams and fears. I pray that You now remove from me every single defect of character, every habit of thought, every selfish desire, which stands in the way of my usefulness to You and my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here to do what You would have me do. Fill these dry bones with Your quickening water that I might dance for Your glory and be a living testimony of Your deliverance.

Traction

Today is my wife's birthday and the day we make our monthly trip to the lake. The night we truly became a couple, I took her to one of my most special places, and we return there every month. It's a special tradition that I treasure.

On the way home, I hit a pot hole in the road that shook us a little, and Leah said, "There's a pot hole there." I said, "I know. I found it." Normally, that would have been the end of the incident, but I realized something a few seconds later. As we entered the turn in the road just past the pot hole, I noticed that it was the same spot in the road that I fishtailed all over the road and nearly wrecked during the ice storm a couple of months ago. I have no doubt that the pot hole I hit tonight was the same one that sent us sliding before.

So, what was the difference between tonight and the afternoon a couple of months ago? Ice. Tonight I had good traction and dry ground. Last time, the road was slick and covered in ice, and when we hit the pot hole I lost control of the vehicle. The similarity with this and sobriety entered my thoughts as I safely exited the turn and continued on down the road.

I have a daily reprieve contingent upon the maintanence of my spiritual condition. I don't have to beware of triggers or worry about where I can and can't go. When I am spiritually fit, it's like driving on a dry highway. I have plenty of traction to maneuver, and life's pot holes don't cause a serious problem. But when I am not spiritually fit and try to live as though I am it's like driving on an icy road as if it were not icy. I may go along fine for miles without a problem, but sooner or later I will find a curve that is too sharp or a pot hole I didn't expect. Then, the lack of traction causes me to loose all control and my life becomes a series of fishtailing actions to attempt to recover. The question stops being if I'll wreck and becomes how bad is the wreck going to be.

Maintaining my relationship with God is like making sure I have the traction of a dry highway under the vehicle of my life. I can go faster, be and feel safer, and not be afraid that something bad might happen at any second. When I feel that my relationship is not right, it's like the roads being badly iced over. I slow down, don't go anywhere I don't have to, and warm my roads with the sunlight of the Spirit to melt the ice and renew my relationship with God. The most dangerous times are when I don't realize that I have let my relationship dwindle, when I don't realize that there's still ice on the road and drive like there's not any. That's when I end up going to fast for the conditions and the pot holes send me sliding.

Tonight I am grateful that the pot hole barely registered. We didn't come close to leaving our lane, much less wrecking. But I am even more grateful for the object lesson that reminded me to check my road to recovery for ice, even in the summer. I can't let my heart grow cold towards God. I must maintain my relationship, for it is in relationship with Him that I find safety to travel, as well as peace, joy and love that gives me reason to live and spills out into the rest of my life and gives me all the other blessings I enjoy that make life worth living. Blessings like being able to enjoy celebrating Leah's birthday with her and having a special trip to the lake, because I don't spoil those moments by obsessing over alcohol or drugs, or worse, by using them. Thank you God for keeping my road to recovery free from ice and safe to travel, and especially thank you for my companions I get to travel with.

Taking The Time

Some might say that I have wasted this day. I would call it quite productive, although not in material ways. What seems to have become a "Spiritual Day" started as a long break. A new film on the Netflix watch it now catalog caught my eye. I thought I'd watch the first 10 minutes or so of it to see if it was worth exploring with my wife.

This is not a film review, so I will not discuss predictability versus beautiful camera work. The film, One Week, caught me from the start. I could not stop and wait. I sent my helper off, mainly because I knew he wouldn't shut up about Joshua Jackson the whole movie if I let him stay, and closed shop for about an hour and a half.

The movie is a bucket list type thing with the main character taking a motorcycle cross-country trip after learning he has terminal cancer. Filled with all the expected philosophy and spirituality you'd expect, the film tells this story well. It did so well, in fact, that as the credits rolled I thought on the message of the film and put myself mentally in the place where the question could be asked of me, if you knew you only had one week to live, what would you do? Perhaps the more important question might be what would you change about yourself, about your life?

There was a time might answer would be filled with places to see and things to do, and, yes, riding the world's largest wooden and the largest metal roller coasters have both been on and checked off such a list. There was also a time when the answer would have been get as high and drunk as I could get for whatever time remained. Today, when I imagined the idea of myself in that situation of a week to live, I received a blessing.

I saw myself in several different situations, laughing and mourning. First, this is significant, because I never really imagined myself mourning my own death before. The idea of my death has more often than not brought with it the idea of a feeling of relief, not mourning. Today, I am thankful that I have a life worth mourning.

In every scenario I saw, I was sober. I don't care if these are silly post-philosophical movie daydreams, they are the daydreams of an addict. For me to not once have thought about taking some of the remaining time to get good and wasted did not appear. That is a miracle, even just in not fantasizing about using.

The funny thing is that if you asked me yesterday how content I am, I'd have said very. But that is both true and false. In the areas that I am content, I have never been more so. I have so many blessings and my life has enough content that the vast majority of my imaginary scenarios are things I do regularly. Most included time with my Creator and time with my wife. That I have either of these two relationships today is a miracle that could only be made possible by the first of those two. I am truly thankful.

I'm not trying to get sappy or have a Hallmark moment. I just had a reminder of how in the relative short time of a couple of years I have gone from a life no one would want and few would call worth living to a life worth not only living, but of mourning. Today I would have no need to run anywhere to find what was missing in my life upon hearing news of my nearing end. The simple reason for this is that I am not missing anything, nothing of import. Sure, finances suck. But as noble as it might be to feel like making a mad dash to raise money to pay your bills before you die, I'm just not that noble. No, the things worth looking for at that moment, I have every day,

No man is promised tomorrow, but today I don't have to live the first day of the rest of my life in or searching for oblivion, and I don't ever have to be subjected the daydreaming fantasies of it. It always feels great to feel and see reminders that the promises do come true. I may never feel more content and at peace than I do when I get a deep revelation about how much contentment and peace truly is in my life. I appreciate these swellings of thankfulness for the blessings in my life to remind me to never for a moment taking them for granted, because if I take the things worth living for for granted they may fade and I never want to lose them.

Today I will spend some extra time with my Creator, give the help a break, and then spend some time with my wife (I can't wait to watch and explore this film with her, but I really am looking forward to Wasteland tonight too....ah such conflict...too many movies, too little time.), and what I am most thankful for right now is that if I knew this was my last week, then my current plans for the day would still be on my need and want to do list. It is good to have days where you can feel that way. It is good to have a day where God can just minister to your soul. May prayer us that everyone who reads this have such experiences in their life.

One Picture Is Never Enough

When photography first hit the scene it somewhat told the truth, but it didn't take long for that to change. At first, portrait photographers traveled to locations and photographed people as they were, as they lived, at their homes or places of business. What you saw was what you got. There was no after camera touchups, no way to really lie. Then photographers began providing clothing, so that customers and subjects could look their best. A man who could never afford a suit suddenly was able to be immortalized dressed to the nines. Women whose best outfit was made from gingham passed down images of themselves in beautiful gowns to their children. A few generations later, their ancestors would lose a part of their grandmothers truth and her story, to them, would include her in that dress, and little else was known about her life. Soon, photographers had artists paint backdrops to enhance the photographs even more. Airbrushed dyes and paints were used to soften, hide blemishes, create an instant diet, whiten teeth, etc. By the time I was having school pictures taken in elementary school, even they were a misrepresentation. My mother bought photos of me to give to family of her son at school if an outfit he'd never wear to school if it wasn't picture day. My hair would be combed and white rained into static place. The result was an image that supposedly said who I was, but in truth I never looked like that except for perhaps the first five minutes of the trip to church on Sunday mornings. That illusion could never last long in real life, but photographs, could last forever. During family portraits with Olan Mills, backdrops told the viewer that I was standing in a beautiful field at sunset, while in truth I was miserably waiting my turn, trying not to move enough to mess up my hair or clothes, in a hotel room. Today we have digital backdrops, and with a few clicks of a computer button a subject can be made blemish free and placed in a location they have never even seen.

From the first baby steps of photojournalism, pictures stumbled away from the truth. Photographers wanting to show the glory of war or inspire those back home to support the troops, took photographs of happy victors, smiling young men, dances and games and clean, ordered army life. Those who wanted to see the fighting end showed crying men, fearful faces, horrible wounds and twisted corpses. Neither photographed was faked. Both lied. There has never been a photograph taken on purpose that did not have at least some editorializing from the photographer to make the subject look better, or worse, or to emphasize whatever the photographer believed to be the statement or message of the scene.

In many ways, photographers are like politicians. We lie for a living. Even when a photograph tells the truth, it's an accident, or a half truth at best. It wasn't always as bad as it is today, but photography has always been the most believable kind of lie. A photograph is a sentence taken out of a book, made to stand alone and then tell a chapter of the story. That's why they say that a picture is worth a thousand words.

But it's not. Because a single photograph can never be like Paul Harvey. It never tells the rest of the story, or the whole story for that matter. The story is manipulated by the photographer who chooses by what is included or excluded in the framing of the shot and the lighting and exposure what the viewer will and will not see. Angles and poses are chosen to convey a message. See how happy I am? See what a loving family we are? See how I good I look? See what I want you to see? Isn't my mask pretty? Nevermind we fought the whole way here, my teenager is just waiting for this moment to be over so she can bolt and go be with her friends or anywhere but home, and I never, ever look this good, especially when I look in the mirror. Or maybe this is a true representation of how good I can look, but it surely doesn't express the other side of the coin.

And that's OK for portraiture. Those lies didn't start with photography. Painters spent hours and hours on portraits that only vaguely represented the truth of who the subject was. And like I've heard in recovery from time to time, fake it till you make it kind of applies here. It's not so much a lie as an attempt to capture an image of who we aspire to be. There's nothing wrong with putting my best foot forward, or, to keep with the metaphor I've chosen, to present my best image.

However, I can not allow myself to remember that it's not the truth, or at least not the whole truth. It doesn't tell the whole story. I can not take one image, one day, one week, month, year or decade from my life, or anyone else's for that matter, and tell the whole truth about a life.

I am a forty year old man who runs his own business. I am married to a woman I love totally and completely, and I want no one but her. I do not drink or do drugs. I do not steal, and I am honest. I am slow to wrath, patient, abhor violence, and whenever possible I live in peace with my fellow humans, even if that means having to walk away from things some believe worth fighting for. I am often a servant and helper today. And as I think on what I just typed, I think it's not a bad resume, but it's not the whole truth. Anyone who only sees those things about me is missing part of the whole that is important, because they are also missing the miracle that made it happen, the truth that I am not the above because of anything I have or could do on my own. It's a God thing. The biggest miracle I have ever seen made it possible for me to write the above self description and be telling the truth, even if only a half truth.

The rest of the story is I am an alcoholic and a drug addict who has consumed enough of both that he should be dead. I am lazy, and with the exception of photojournalism, I never held a job for more than a year before quitting out of anger, boredom or laziness and having to find something else. I was 37 years old before I ever had a monogamous relationship. I had relationships that were supposed to be monogamous, but I was never faithful for long enough to make them work. This is a huge part of the reason why the wife I love today is my second wife. I am divorced. I am a man who loves family and is extremely family oriented, yet the whole truth is that I have moved through the lives of families, especially my own, like a tornado, leaving sorrow and destruction in my wake. I am a felon. I was and have done a lot of things that are not pretty. Some are downright evil. If I were a Hebrew 3000 years ago I would have been stoned to death long before I reached the age of twenty. But like the positive, this is also not the truth, at least not the whole truth.

The truth is that I have done good things in my life, even during my days of bondage, and I have done bad things, even during my recovery. I am not, and have never been, totally evil and worthless, even though I have believed those about myself and felt that way. And at the same time, I am not, and never will be on this side of heaven, a saint. Today, I am more the man God wants me to be than I have ever been. Tomorrow, I want to be even more so. But the man I am today is not a mask, or a photograph that I can present to the world and say, see, this is who I am. It is not the whole picture. I have to remember the man pre-miracle, Dalyn BC. Because it is the whole the picture, rotten and diseased tree recovered and bearing fruit that tells the story of my life. It is that story which can show others who are now or will be living where I was how to escape. It is the whole story that needs to be told so that I never allow myself to feel superior to another human being because of the mistakes they have made or because of how they deal with the pain and misery in their own life. But I also do not have to let those who only see an image from my past destroy me. I can be sad that they can't see the whole truth, because if they could they might find they way of escape for themselves, not just the escape from alcohol and or drug addiction, but escape from the hell and misery of living without understanding how much God truly loves them and desires relationship with them. It must make the angels weep to see someone in such bondage encounter another who has the key to freedom and reject it because of an image that is only half true, or less. It must break the heart of God.

I am finally coming to understand, really understand at the depths of my heart, why I do not need to regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. This morning, I am grateful for the first time that no matter how much progress I make, no matter how much better I get, I will never be able to erase the record of my past. I am thankful today for my scarlet A. My past proves the power of God greater than any story about seas splitting in half to provide escape for slaves. It emphasizes an image that today's slaves can see, if they will only look. No, a photograph can not tell the whole truth, but two can. I can not hold on to the image of my present picture without the image of my past and tell the truth. And if I do not tell the truth I can not help free the slaves. Thank you Father for reminding me that while Paul served you, even 2000 years later we first learned about Saul, the legalist, self-righteous, murderer. Saul completes the story, shows the miracle and helps me to see that I can have what Paul had....relationship with you, regardless of where and what I have been before.