What happened to the Lion?

Last evening I heard a message given on Grace. The speaker defined it as "something done with no expectation of getting anything in return." I guess I feel that is part of it, but the way I always viewed it was "receipt of something completely undeserved." Perhaps the combination of both is really what sums it up the best.

It was a good message and caused me to think a bit. It was geared to a more feminine personality (which makes sense, as it was given by a woman to a predominantly female audience), focusing on love, grace, patience, kindness... Not that these are to be understated or that they aren't wonderful and necessary things, but to focus exclusively on this portion of God really causes one to miss the big picture.

It is definitely true, God is love, slow to anger, full of mercy... but He is a Warrior as well! (check Exodus 15:3) In Revelation it describes him as leading His heavenly army, the Lord of Hosts (which is a military term, by the way), wearing a cloak dipped in the blood of his foes! How about the Lion and the Lamb. Why do we completely ignore the Lion for the sake of the Lamb? God is powerful, just, and mighty. Combat, strength, and aggression (yes, He is aggressive) are in His nature and we would do very well to remember as much!

God is the fullness of both masculinity and femininity. He is compassionate, desiring a deep and personal relationship with each of us, but still strong and mighty. We need to remember that the birth of Jesus was not only the physical embodiment of God's love and grace which brings our forgiveness, but also a bold attack into the devil's stronghold by an elite warrior sent from a brilliant and aggressive general! How much does this change the way we pray? The way we think about God?

We can't function with only one part of God. Love and kindess, grace and compassion are often lacking in this world, possibly because the people that manifest them are so routinely run over by the calloused masses who cannot comprehend what love truly is. Similarly, those who only embrace aggression, conflict and battle become so consumed with them their lives fill with hatred and violence. A balance must be found, and we can only find it by remembering that God is both strong and kind, full of grace and power. Mighty to save.

So love your enemies, but remember they're still your enemies.

Stronger

"Stronger"

Performed by Hillsong

From the CD "This is Our God."

Words and Music by Reuben Morgan and Ben Fielding

There is Love

That came for us

Humbled to a sinner's cross

You broke my shame and sinfulness

You rose again, victorious.

Faithfulness none can deny

Through the storm

And through the fire

There is truth that sets me free

Jesus Christ, who lives in me.

You are stronger

You are stronger

Sin is broken

You have saved me

It is written

Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all.

No beginning 

And no end

You're my hope

And my defence

You came to seek and save the lost

You paid it all upon the cross.

You are stronger

You are stronger

Sin is broken

You have saved me

It is written

Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all.

A Knot of Rust

My thoughts are loud in my head again today... as a result I have a generic feeling of discontent, but really have no means by which I can get rid of it.  To put it in fewer words, I don't feel happy and I don't know why.  This is a rather frustrating predicament to be in, as one might guess.  I suppose the silver lining is that by not knowing what is making me unhappy, I have very little to complain about.

I haven't been on the worship team at church for several weeks now.  I believe I was scheduled to be on last Sunday, but I was away with the Marines on the rifle range.  Now, while I love helping to lead worship, I think this break has been good for me.  When I started singing, I was entirely unsure why I had volunteered.  I had limited experience, and the WAM team is so much more talented than I am.  Still, I felt compelled to volunteer.  When it turned out I had auditioned well enough to sing tenor, I was thrilled -- terrified, because I'm not a person who desires to draw attention to myself -- but thrilled because I genuinely love to worship.

As time progressed, I think I lost some of the passion and sincerity that I started out with.  I think I started relying more on my own abilities, which I can assure are not impressive, and stopped giving it all up to God.  To put it simply, I think I stopped worshipping and started singing instead.  I think I had gotten a little burned out due to the frequency with which I was helping lead, and losing sight of the Caller because of the calling is what eventually happened.  (Curtis, I have no idea how you do it.  Just one more reason I have to look up to you.)  

So, I'm on a scheduling break, and I think the timing is perfect.  My life feels very turbulent, and spiritually I feel very tired.  Maybe I need to recharge for a little while.  Its time to remind myself how great and good God is and remember how to really worship passionately, before I should have any thoughts about getting back on the stage, helping lead others in worship. 

My prayer today was very interesting... I had no idea where these words came from until well after I had said them.  My prayer was, "Lord, may I be a knot of rust."  Cryptic, right?  I don't even actually know what a "knot of rust" is, let alone how one would bring that phrase up in common conversation.  Now, here's the thing... rust forms when iron is oxidized due to being exposed to air.  So, under that red, rusty coating is actually a lump of iron, and iron is something that can be molded and shaped into something useful.  Moreover, iron can be used to sharpen something else of iron.  So, I think that's the prayer of my heart today.  I don't need glory, and I admit my shortfalls and inabilities.  I don't want to be the center of attention... to be flashy, or very high-profile.  All I want to be is that knot of rust:  Nothing flashy, yet made of something worthwhile.  I want to become something useful, and then I want to be used to help sharpen and refine others who are of the same quality as myself.  

"Lord, may I be a knot of rust."

Fall is in the Air

Fall is coming... I can feel it in the mornings and I can smell it in the air.  The days aren't as hot, and I find myself wearing sweatshirts and blue jeans to research.  The Packers played a few nights ago in their first preseason game, and I know the college football season kicks off in just a few short weeks.  Its fall again, and I absolutely love it.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what it is that makes me so fond of the fall.  Yes, football is my favorite sport, and I do enjoy the cooler weather (though I am aware it will get warm again tomorrow).  Still, there's just something sp

ecial about this time of year.  The world feels new again... the air crisp and clean, and it seems everyone has a fresh start at things.  Maybe that's just an artifact from numerous years of school, college, and now graduate study, but I still feel there is more hope in the fall, and more willingness to give everything a new chance.

Fall brings a lot of great memories too.  Technically, my birthday is in the fall (though I got a test question wrong in Spanish when I wrote my birth month, November, was in the winter... apparently it only feels like winter in Wisconsin).  More importantly, hunting season is in the fall.  Its not so much that I like the killing, or even that my family needs the meat (we could buy it like most other families), but more that it gave me an opportunity to spend time with my dad and to be outside.  There's nothing quite like walking down a woods road with ones father, with all the leaves turning colors, carrying a break-action shotgun given as a gift by a grandfather.  It didn't even matter if we got -- or even saw -- any birds.  Once we finished the morning hunting, we'd get back to the truck and turn the radio on to listen to the Badger game.  It seems those days, they were just starting to get good as it was the beginning of the Barry Alvarez era.  

Another great memory of the fall is boot camp.  Rather, graduation from boot camp.  That year, my sum experience of the fall was when I was on the rifle range with my platoon at Camp Pendleton.  The first week of rifelry was spent sitting on aluminum bleachers, learning about trajectory, windage, and proper shooting form and technique.  What I remember most vividly was the small tree about 300 yards in the background, and watching it change color each day that week.  That was my fall that year.  Boot camp ended for me on October 29, 2004.  I flew back to Wisconsin that night with my family.  Leaving the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego and watching it disappear as the plane banked towards home was an amazing feeling.  

While I was home on boot leave, I went down to visit my buddy in Madison -- where I would later attend college.  I remember him taking me to my first Badger game ever.  I don't remember who we played or what the score was.  All I remember was that absurd grin that must have crossed my face as the student section spontaneously burst into some hilarious off-colored cheer at the expense of the visiting team.  Its not only me... it happens to everyone the first time they experience historic Camp Randall stadium as the students see it.  Its amazing how fond I have grown of Madison.

September 10, 2006 was when I finished Ironman Wisconsin.  That was a brutal day, and I suspect my pain-induced delirium may be the reason I seem to have so few memories from it.  I remember my roommates threw a house party the night before (thanks again, by the way), and that I was extre

mely nervous as I arrived at the Monona Terrace at 4:00 am to stage my gear and get ready for the event.  I went to the bathroom 5 times in the 45 minutes leading up to the start of the swim, which becomes an even more impressive feat when one considers I was wearing a wet suit.  I got very good at getting that thing off and on in little time.  The year I competed was cold -- highs in the low 60's and rainy -- but we still had the largest group start in Ironman history with over 1700 competitors.  I remember the waves breaking over me as I swam.  I remember freezing in the rain on my bike.  By the time 

I got back to begin the marathon, I seriously considered quitting... then got up, wrapped a safety blanket around my shoulders, and started running.  The first 13.1 miles went pretty easily.  They had the course going throughout much of campus and the capital area, which I was very familiar with.  I ran one block past my ho

use, in fact.  As I wrapped up that first loop, my dad (in cowboy boots and carrying a coffee mug of whiskey & 7-up) ran for a few blocks with me to make sure I was still lucid.  The second loop was less pleasant, but as I rounded the corner by the White Horse Inn and headed down State Street, I knew it was almost over.  Everyone was cheering, and it didn't even matter that I was broken and running on fumes.  I still managed a fast clip down to the finish and was smiling for the pictures.  I didn't remember that we walked home or that my roommate bought me a sub until someone reminded me several weeks later.  I remember crying though, having been overwhelmed with exhaustion and emotion.  Truly an epic moment in my life.

Fall is, also, when my buddy Pete -- the one who took me to my first Badger game -- proposed to his girlfriend Annie.  She said yes... and I just found out.  It puts a nice exclamation point on my story.  Congrat's Pete, and best of luck Annie!

I guess fall is my season.  I love winter -- snow and skiing truly are joys of mine -- and I like how the world greens back up during the spring.  I even enjoy the deep green colors of summer, and grabbing a cold beer on a really hot day.  But that said, they can't compete with the fall, and like I said, the fall is coming... and I can't wait!

"Haste Thee to help me..."

Its been a while since I've posted, but life gets a person busy.  These past 4 days I've been training with my Marines on the rifle range at Camp LeJeune.  Our company recently got a new First Sergeant, so we're all adjusting to the changes.  Life is considerably less relaxed than it was previously, but it really feels as though in conjunction with our new Commanding Officer, these Marines will help take us in a more constructive direction.  I'm pretty excited about it, but that doesn't mean life has gotten easier for anyone.  (I think the latest I slept throughout the duration of training was 3:45 am... and people wonder why I usually get to research between 7:00 and 7:30.)

Anyhow, the rifle range.  The Marine Corps prides itself on every Marine being a rifleman.  We have the most rigorous course of fire out of any of the four services, and it is not trivial for any Marine.  There are no scopes -- everything is iron sights -- and we hit targets up to 500 yards away, requiring that one accounts for windage and weather conditions.  The course of fire consists of two major parts, known as "Tables."  Table 1 is the known-distance (or KD) course, which is what we shot this past week.  Table 2 is combat marksmanship.  Tables 3 and 4 exist, but they are intermediate and advanced combat marksmanship (which I shot with my old unit, but is not essential for supply or most Marines in general) and are thusly not required for qualification.  

Table 1 consists of five courses of fire over three distances.  First, from 200 yards, fifteen total rounds are fired in the sitting, kneeling, and standing positions (five rounds  at each) in 20 minutes.  Then, the shooter stands and waits for the target to reappear before dropping back to the sitting position and firing 10 rounds in under 1 minute, completing the second course of fire.  The third course of fire is five shots from 300 yards in the sitting position.  Then, dropping from standing to prone to deliver 10 shots in 1 minute.  The fifth and final course of fire is 10 rounds from 500 yards in the prone position.  Each shot is recorded and scored from 2 to 5 points, with more points awarded as one hits closer to the bulls-eye.  Each shooter receives the 50 rounds required to complete the firing for a total of 250 points max.  If one scores from 190 - 210 points, they are a Marksman.  211 - 219 points is a Sharpshooter.  220 - 250 points is an Expert.

Prior to leaving for training, I told my parents I was going to the range.  They said they would pray for me, as they know how important riflery  is to a Marine.  As I began the course of fire, my shots were hitting pretty well, but a few key mistakes found me in a delicate point as I walked to the 500 yard line to begin my final course of fire.  From the crude arithmetic I performed in my head, in order to qualify expert, I needed to hit a bulls-eye almost every time from the 500.  I approached the range with the somber knowledge that in all likelihood, I would be a sharpshooter -- something I was not pleased with.  I conceded that I must not have been as good as I thought I was, and that shooting expert at this point was out of my control.  For me to break 220 would take a small miracle.

As I lay down and assumed my prone position, I remembered my parents saying they would pray for me.  As I obtained good sight alignment and sight picture, focusing on the front sight post and sighted in on the black silhouette of the bulls-eye, I humbled myself and started praing.  "Lord, haste thee to help me..."  I slowly began to squeeze the trigger, felt the recoil of the rifle, and saw the target pulled into the pits to mark the shot.  

Bulls-eye.

I slowly refocus on the target, and prepare for my second shot.  "Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hand for war and my fingers to fight..."  Slow gradual pressure on the trigger... the hammer falls, the round travels downrange and the target drops for marking.

Bulls-eye.

I breathe slowly, methodically, exhaling completely as I gently press the trigger.  "Lord, be my Strong Tower, the Rock in Whom I trust..."

Bulls-eye.

The wind is starting to pick up.  500 yards, 10-15 mph left winds at a half-value... I adjust the rear sight aperture two clicks to the right.  "Bow down the heavens, O Lord.  Touch the mountains and they shall smoke..."

Bulls-eye.

"Oppose those who oppose me, stand against those who stand against me.  Lift up Your spear and buckler, and declare 'I am thy salvation'..."

Bulls-eye.

Nine shots.  Nine bulls-eyes.  One round in the chamber and 2 minutes remaining in the course of fire.  My non-firing hand is numb from the position I am laying in and the midday sun is causing sweat to drip into my eyes.  The sling keeper is pressing painfully into my wrist and rubbing my arm raw.  My vision blurs, then refocuses as I stare downrange at the target.  It has all come down to this one final shot.  I pull the buttstock of the rifle tight to my shoulder and begin to sight in, trying to focus on the fundamentals rather than the importance of this last round.  I center the front sight post in the rear sight aperture and align the pair to the center mast of the silhouette.  I focus on the front sight post, making it clear.  I breathe out and apply gentle pressure to the trigger as the sweat pours into my eyes.  "God... thank You.  To You be the Glory."

The round goes off.  I feel the recoil of the rifle slam through my body as the cartridge ejects and I hear the bolt lock to the rear.  The smell the gunpowder wafts in the air as the target drops for scoring.

I wait, eager... but terrified.

The target reappears, slowly revealing the strike of the round the the corresponding score...

Bulls-eye.

God, Thank You.  I could not have done this by my own power.  To You be the glory.  -Amen.

Hey! Its getting loud in here...

Yesterday was a brutal day for me.  Start to finish it seemed everything was painful.  The only way I can describe it is that the day was very "loud" in my head... which makes no sense.  Everything seemed overwhelming and I didn't have anywhere to turn for solace.  It felt as though the world was spinning at top speed and completely out of control.  I was a wreck.

My blog post from yesterday I think reflects this.  Its forever long and I don't think it ever really gets to any point.  Still, it helped silence the loudest thoughts and maybe that was all I was looking to do.  I felt some better after writing it, but it wasn't the comprehensive panacea I might have hoped it to be.

I think part of the driving force here is just the precipitous point my life has arrived at.  Looking in on it, one would believe my life is all together and nicely organized.  I have a job which, though not making me rich, does pay enough for me to live comfortably.  Intellectually I am challenged, and I have hobbies I enjoy to keep me distracted.  However, I feel incredibly uncomfortable in my comfort.  The days seem too routine and I wonder if I'm actually accomplishing anything.  It is as if I am sitting on top of a pillar, with the ominous knowledge that my next step will take me right over the edge and to whatever waits below.  

From talking with my mom yesterday, it sounds like my brother and sister are in similar circumstances.  Morgan has been granted citizenship in Australia (and is double-checking to ensure she won't lose U.S. citizenship if she accepts it), but she doesn't know where her life is leading her over there.  Jackson has moved home until late October, broke and without work.  He seems to physically drift as much as I do mentally.  I can tell this weighs heavily on my mom.  I feel bad for her... somehow I have the impression she thinks this is her fault.  She said she has been praying what she wanted for us, but that she was convicted to simply give us over to God.  I know how difficult that is for one's own life, but I can only speculate the difficulty that would present for a parent who loves their children.

It seems there is no real closure to the above.  Lives still go on and I write this from the perspective of a new day, and with each day comes renewed hope -- the confident expectation that something good is going to happen.  And so, as with so many things in the past, I will continue to wait with confidence for whatever good God is working in these circumstances.  

I'll let you know how it goes.

Torn Out from my Chest Today

I know its still early, but its been an interesting day for me.  Introspective and painful might be the better way to phrase it.  Every so often I find myself in this frame of mind, but usually it happens when it is late and I am very tired.  The solution is really quite easy at that point... but as it is just the beginning of the day and I am well rested, I can tell I'm in for a battle.

Its amazing how confusing little things can become and I can't help but wonder how much of what I'm experiencing is Satan's attempts to steal, kill, and destroy.  In complete honesty, I don't know why I feel the way I do right now, and so  I don't expect anyone else to understand, let alone sympathize.  That said, I need to get some of this off my chest while the thoughts are in my head and maintaining some form of clarity.  A disclaimer, though:  if there are any newHopers who read this, well... you'll be able to know exactly who I'm talking about even if I change the names, so I'll just use them.

I serve on the Worship Arts Ministry team at my church, singing as a tenor.  Something you should know about me, is that I do not particularly like being the center of attention.  I'm not bothered by public speaking or being in front of people, but that doesn't mean I seek out opportunities to be there.  When I auditioned for the WAM team, I knew it was God working in my life.  He put me there on purpose, because its not really something I would have done if left to my own direction.  I never sang in any choir, nor do I consider myself particularly good.  I simply enjoy singing and I love to worship.  When I was taken on as a tenor (apparently I can harmonize), I was completely ecstatic... not to mention terrified.  I'm not sure I actually sang at all my first week on stage and I remember being more tense than ever before in my life.  I was probably not the best person to help others engage in worship, but I was willing.  With time, I found myself relaxing more and singing with more confidence.  Often times, I would be on WAM every other week (we rotate different teams through every week with each team serving approximately once every month) due to not having enough tenors.  I loved it.  

Several weeks back, while I was still training at Camp LeJeune with the Marines, it was my turn to serve on the WAM team.  Again, myself and another tenor had been rotating every other week due to low numbers.  Josh, the other tenor, is particularly good.  I don't know his singing history, but I know he is comfortable on stage, sings with confidence, and does a really outstanding job.  I aspire to be more like him in those respects.  Usually, we will have rehearsal for a few hours one of the days prior to Sunday so the band is up to speed with the music and so the vocalists have the opportunity to learn the music on their own.  However, that week Curtis, the worship arts pastor, cancelled the practice and had us show up a little earlier on Sunday instead.  I think he maybe thought we were more familiar with the pieces than we truly were, or didn't realize we would struggle as much as we did.  To exacerbate this situation, we were short 2 other vocalists that week, meaning it was myself, Curtis, and an alto on stage.  

To say I was tense and nervous for the first service (we do three services) is a bit of an understatement.  In hindsight, I think the only time I was more uncomfortable and sang worse was my first time.  However, as the day wore on I felt myself growing increasingly confident and more comfortable, and by the end of the third service I felt as though I had done okay.

The following week, I received an e-mail from Curtis encouraging me to relax on stage and really try to worship.  Raise my hands, take my eyes off the monitor, and really worship.  I know there was no malice in his sending it, but for whatever reason, I felt as though I had been punched in the gut.

All I wanted to do was scream about how I had been working hard, trying to relax on stage, had been doing better on previous Sundays, and had even gotten better as the services progressed.  I wanted him to know how hard I work both in and out of church, how I was entirely uncomfortable with the songs he chose (none of which I had ever sang before), and how we only had a few minutes prior to the services starting to practice -- the majority of which were spent working on the band and fixing sound issues.  I wanted him to know how frustrated and hurt I felt... maybe even feel... because of that e-mail.  I wanted to tell him how his e-mail was completely unfair and that he had been misinformed.  But I can't.

I sent an e-mail back to him thanking him for his guidance and promising I would work harder at it.  Its true.  There are few people who I respect more than Pastor Curtis and his patience and guidance with me are priceless.  I think that may be why it hurts so much.  We seek to get respect from those whom we respect... and this one just kind of cut my legs out from under me.

Last week Josh was the tenor for WAM.  He was on again today as well.  Both weeks were set lists with songs I was comfortable with and truly enjoy singing.  Next week I was scheduled, but I won't be around due to training with the Marines.  I think the time I am scheduled after that is Labor Day weekend when I am going back to Wisconsin to visit my family.  I have no idea when, or even if, I'll get to sing on WAM again.

Now, while all that mess took a long time to tell, its really only part of what's aggravating me.  I look at this rift I feel forming within me, and it is all I can do to not be childish and petty.  Worship is by no means about me, but how can I truly worship when its all I can do not to think about how I feel snubbed and unappreciated?  Perhaps most frustrating of all is that I can clearly see how Satan is trying to use this situation to destroy something good.  Really, it shouldn't be this big of a deal... but to me it really is.

It seems in general my life is unsettled.  I don't know where I'm going or if the direction I'm traveling is the right one.  It seems whenever someone else has success, pride rears its ugly head, and once again I am battling.  Whenever someone else gets recognized for their accomplishments, I have to fight not to be angry or jealous, because not only do I want it to have been me, but often I feel that it should have been me.  Some days I feel angry with people for no good reason... they left dishes in the sink at home or didn't clean up their bench in lab.  Maybe they were driving too slowly... or too quickly.  I know how dumb it is, but I can feel it just pulsing through my body and it is all I can do to not say or do something that will be hurtful or destructive.  I find myself biting my tongue a lot --- even when they haven't done anything wrong!

God grows us through challenges and struggles.  I have every confidence that this point in my life is just another time God is shaping me into the person He wants me to be.  Growth is painful though, as is any change, and I really don't like it at this moment.  While I have faith that everything will be taken care of, that all needs will be met, that God works everything for good, and that I will ultimately get to where I am meant to be, that doesn't mean I am particularly pleased with where I am right now.  I feel alone, having isolated myself from all of my friends lest I find them making me angry for no reason, and wonder if this is me withdrawing of my own accord, God bringing me into solitude so He can work on me, or something darker and more sinister that I haven't managed to fully resolve.

So while all of the above is not important in the grand scheme of things and these battles are of little consequence, the macrocosmic view reveals there is no clear picture of what I am to become or how long it will take, and he uncertainty of everything may be the biggest frustration of them all.