All posts by SonWorshiper

Husband, father, worshiper, gamer, writer, singer, pianist, coffee fiend
Scripture commentary, Worship

Evidence All Around

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There’s a line from the song, “Here As In Heaven,” by Elevation Worship, which gets me excited about the Body of Christ coming together to praise Him.

The evidence is all around … that the Spirit of the Lord is here.

We’re in the midst of planning a night of worship for the Protestant chapels on Kadena, and part of what’s on my mind for that is the reminder of what Scripture teaches us about the presence of God.

“Don’t you know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” – 1 Corinthians 3:16

Over the years, I’ve heard many lead worshippers and passionate seekers talk about how we approach God through music and corporate praise in terms of a process of “entering into His presence,” or a hopeful desire that “maybe God will show up in our time of worship.”

“Will You come and fill this place? Can we feel Your presence today?”

They’ll quote verses from Psalms and the Old Testament talking about entering His courts and they’ll refer to the three sections of the Tabernacle as if it’s a picture of gradual stages of worship.

“First we’re in the outer courts, kind of like the congregation meeting up in the sanctuary … then some of us will press in to seek God, and we’ll go deeper, further, into the holy place or the inner courts … but then a few might really pursue God and go into the Most Holy place, where His presence is.”

There’s even a song about it that I recall from the ’80s or ’90s. Take me past the outer courts, into the holy place… take me in to the Holy of Holies.

But we’re not living in the old covenant, where only the select ones can enter the presence of God. Those songs and ideas at least recognized that all of us are welcomed into God’s presence because of Christ, but I feel like they’re still lacking a key understanding of what has changed since we are now in Christ.

You are the Temple of God.

About two decades ago, I decided that this faith in Christ had to be the real thing in my life – not “I grew up in church,” not “I’ve always been a Christian,” not “I’m an American so of course Jesus loves me,” and so on. I rededicated my life to Christ about two decades ago and have stumbled and faltered my way toward Him ever since. One of the sermons I remember from early on in that time was framed around 1 Cor 3:16 and 1 Cor 6:19 which say very similar things.

The Spirit of God is in you.

Why would we be seeking to enter the presence of God, when He became Emmanuel – God With Us – to dwell among us forever? Why would we be striving to work up an emotional moment that we can call “entering the presence of God” when He is already here with us, wherever we go, whatever we’re doing, any time, all the time?

The pastor focused on Paul’s question, “Don’t you know?” It almost seems like a challenge: Hey, don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? Are you not aware of this?

Not a hateful or condescending put-down, but a caring re-emphasis on what matters. Don’t you know about this? This is important. This is crucial. You have to know this.

The Spirit of God dwells in you.

If that’s true, that changes things in worship. (It changes a lot of other things too.)

I don’t have to work up a passionate moment or a goosebumps feeling to know that God is already “here” in the room and in the moment with me. I don’t have to strive to make it through some stages or jump through some religious hoops to where now I somehow earned or deserve to access His presence – He already did all the work in redeeming me and putting His Spirit in me.

We know this is true of the Gospel – we don’t do good to earn Jesus points or secure some kind of hopeful “maybe” for salvation. God saved us through Christ, all our sin forgiven, all our debt paid, all the work done by Him so that “by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Eph 2:8-9)

My pastor years ago reminded us of the truth of what Scripture says (what’s true even when we don’t feel like it or don’t remember it). You are the temple of God. When you wake up in the morning, remember that you’re not asking God to show up sometimes during your day or hoping that maybe He’ll look your way now and then. He is right there, right then, with you always, wherever you go.

The problem isn’t that we need God to show up or that we need to enter His presence. The problem is that we often need to be reminded of what God has said and what He has already done.

He isn’t withholding Himself or limiting Himself, playing keep away or hide and seek with us. Sometimes, we get distracted or caught up in everything else going on, and we’re not staying aware of God’s presence.

We can choose to remind ourselves of this truth, though… just as we must often be reminded of the promises and the goodness of God.

A pastor I heard once preached a basic sermon, but pointed out, “The problem isn’t that we need to hear some new thing, some magic trick that will energize us spiritually or make us always successful. The problem is how easily we forget the basics, and how often we need to remind ourselves of what God says is true… which is nothing new, but something very necessary.”

When we look around our church sanctuary – or the living room of someone’s house where believers are gathered in His Name – then the evidence is right there all around you, hinted at in the myriad faces of the faithful, testifying:

The Spirit of the Lord is here.

Poetry, Writing

Out of Time

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Here’s another poem meant as a spoken word piece.
I know it’s been a while since the last post – one of many factors that inspired this poem. I’ve had a number of blog post ideas that sound great for a moment and then fade into memory, lost in distraction or the more urgent needs of life … but every once in a while I get spurts of writing done.

Tick-tock tick-tock, feeling out of time
Watching the clock, like it might rewind
Thoughts are time-locked, moving in a line
Through a minefield, thinkin’ ‘bout what’s mines

I been livin’ in the past, or I’m fearin’ for the future
Dwellin’ on the last things I said and how they hurt ya
Time is flyin’ fast and they say that means it’s fun
But I’m watchin’ and the hourglass is draining, almost done
Every grain a memory of a place I’ve been before
A little pain when I see important options unexplored
I don’t aim to play “What if?” — waste of time I can’t afford
Need to keep up with “What is” ‘cause with time there’s never more

Shut the door, I don’t mean to be ravin’
Out my mind – All these questions I’m raisin’
Out of time – got these goals but I’m lazy
Shut my eyes – should be set on obtainin’ 
Everything that I said I’d be aiming at
Alarm rings, stay in bed, I be snoozin’ that
New day brings grace instead of what I should get
But I cling to the blanket of my regret

Cold inside, I’m uncomfortable in my head
Try to hide all the dreams that I left for dead
Brush aside all the wreckage from words I said
Full of lies, not only empty promises
Compromise, lookin’ back on the things I did
Idolize all the ones getting after it
Never tried, not enough to create a hit
I despise what I do, and I can’t forget

When I look at the past, I feel out of sequence
When I measure my present, I’m so delinquent
Will I finish the plans and ideas I’m thinkin?
Look at the future for me, there’s no freak win
See, I fail to develop in me any discipline
Good things I do once, I will rarely do again
And that’s a road that only leads to a dead end
But that’s the situation that I have placed myself in

Caught between my regret and what hasn’t happened yet
Between the person that I was and who I’m afraid I’ll be
Worry ‘bout the fantasy, I forget the real me
Lookin’ backwards as I’m walkin’ — How am I supposed to see?
Thinkin’ forwards when I’m dreamin’ all the possibilities
But it’s much more like a nightmare when it finally clicks for me
That the clock is ever tickin’ and the rate is only quickened
And I’m missin’ all the seconds — slip into eternity
And I’m stuck beneath the burden of the knowledge in this wording
Like a lock around the hurtin’ and I lost the only key

Tick-tock tick-tock, feeling out of time
Unwind the clock, gears all start to grind
Thoughts so fleeting, dreams all in decline
Like the twilight swallowing sunshine

Worship

Another in the Fire

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Have you noticed that God has a way of bringing the unexpected message or song you need right at the time you need it?
I recall that when our oldest daughter got married and moved back to the States, that week at the chapel service was the first time I heard and played the Bethel version of “It Is Well.” Even though it felt like the seas of our family life were turbulent and shifting, I had to sing – and recognize – that those waves and wind still know His Name, and that through it all, with my eyes on Him, it would be well with me.

This week, my family sent our son Jon off to Thailand for LifeCompass, a four month missionary internship with Cadence International. It is both awesome and hard to see him go. As parents we worry for his safety; as Christians we praise God for working in and through him; as loved ones we will miss the joy and passion he brings to our home.

Last week at worship team practice, one of our magnificent singers, Rachel, introduced me to a song called “Another in the Fire” by Hillsong United. Jon is taking the words and the scriptures that inspired them with him, and I’m keeping them close to my heart. 
We all have fires and seas in our path. Maybe it’s the difference between who we know we should be and who we are. Maybe it’s a deep grief or frustrating struggle where we never seem to make headway. Maybe the doubts and uncertainties about what’s to come. Maybe it’s all those and more.
Whatever our struggle or challenge, there is Another who was with us, who is with us now, and who will be through it all. We can know that we will never be alone.

Scripture commentary, Worship

Potlucks and Feasts

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I had the opportunity to share some thoughts at a couple of recent Chapel services, once in my capacity as the band director introducing the worship songs, and once as a lay-person chosen for the week to share for a few minutes in a “whatever God puts on your heart” style.

Maybe I have a problem with food, but I thought about potlucks–a familiar theme in church settings.

Our praise team has been arranging pot luck dinners before practice for the last two months or so, giving everyone the chance to enjoy a meal together before we work out the details of the songs for Sunday’s service.

One Sunday, we were going to start the service with the old praise chorus, “Trading My Sorrows.” Yes, the one with the most repetitive chorus of all time:

Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lo-ord!
Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lo-ord!
Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lord! Amen!

I thought about how we come to potlucks, and how we draw near to God. As with all potlucks, there’s a little sense of pressure or propriety that drives me to bring something. After all, that’s how it works. Everybody brings a little to share–something good or necessary–and everyone is satisfied with the variety of wonderful contributions. It feels wrong to fill up your plate if you didn’t bring anything.

Well, I just gotta bring *something* to the potluck…

 

That isn’t how we approach Christ.

When we come to church, or when we go to God, sometimes I feel like I’ve got to show up with my best offering, something I’ve worked hard on as a gift, something I can be proud of. After all, it would be wrong to show up empty-handed, nothing to offer, expecting only to receive.

Yet that is the invitation God has made to all of humanity.

If I’m honest with myself (and with what Scripture says about me), I know that all I’m bringing to Christ is a bunch of baggage–burdens, sins, failures, weakness, frustration, and all sorts of other problems.

There’s this wonderful theological concept called “the Glorious Exchange.” We bring all our junk to Christ, and we get all His best.

He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (2 Cor 5:21).

He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities. The punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed (Isa 53:5).

For Christ also died for sins, once for all, the just for the unjust, so that he might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the Spirit (1 Pet 3:18).

There’s a trade that takes place, and we get the better end of the deal.

We are coming to a feast, not a potluck.

Our part is to say, “Yes, Lord!” and show up.

The Kingdom of God isn’t a situation of obligation where each of us makes our finest dish and brings it as the cost of entry. It’s a feast laid out by the generosity of the Father, a lavish display of bounty available to all who respond to the invitation.

When I think about God, I get caught up sometimes thinking that I’ve got to earn His kindness by doing enough to deserve His provision… but that’s not the Gospel.

When we come to the feast of God, we come broken, empty, without merit, without right or demand. We come to behold that glorious exchange in action.

Where I bring all my weakness, He gives strength that is more than sufficient (Php 4:13, 2 Cor 12:9-10)

Where I have lack, He has abundance (Php 4:19, Rom 8:32).

When I am anxious, He gives peace (Isa 26:3, 1Pet 5:7).

For my ashes, He gives beauty. In my sorrow, He gives joy. (Isa 61:3)

He has put out a feast of blessings for those who simply respond to the call, and He is ready to dish out seconds, thirds, and then some to those who ask in faith.

Now we have received not the spirit that is in the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may know the things freely given to us by God. -2nd Corinthians 2:12

When I shared these thoughts as a lay-person, we were about to sing a beautiful song called Spirit of the Living God.

We are meant to know all that God has given us through Christ. When I get this idea of God’s invitation and provision, it changes things for me. It’s not about working up some kind of fervor or working into some kind of favor. I’m not meant to work myself into the ground to show my dedication and prove I deserve some kindness from the angry God looking down at my pathetic plea.

When I think of God’s arms extended in welcome, and the Glorious Exchange, it changes what I’m looking for, what I think I need, what I want, what I even see as available to me. When His Spirit works in me to know what exactly He has done, what all He has taken off my shoulders and out of my hands, and what He has given to replace the trash and mess I didn’t even want anymore, then that makes anything seem possible.

Writing

First Flight Again

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Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of enjoying the wonder and magic of flight once more.

I spent 24 years in the Air Force, 21 of them in active flying positions. My first sortie (that counted) was April 1st, 1997, and it’s been less than a year since my last.

Sure, sitting in the back of a modified air refueler isn’t as fancy as the thrills and joys fighter jocks experience on the daily.

But it’s still breathtaking to look out at the skies and the sunrise across the ocean, or sunset over the mountains.

Civilian airliners are a little more polished and comfortable than the military aircraft I’m used to, but the view out the window is much the same. I jotted down my thoughts by hand in my journal while we climbed:

Sunset over the Pacific, sometime after leaving Japan

First time flying after retiring from the Air Force. It’s such a thrill to watch the ground fall away, to see the massive buildings become tiny, like toys or models on a wide train set.
When the wisps of clouds slide past the window, obscuring the view now and then until it all goes white or grey… and then you rise into the vast expanse of blue, with a rippling, puffy blanket of cloud spread beneath you.
The plane banks, and impossibly you find yourself staring straight down at the earth far below; you feel like you could fall forever, but somehow you stay aloft. The engines whine and rumble, and you feel the thrust vibrating through the seat, through the floor, through the whole strange structure that has just thrown off gravity’s shackles and leapt into the sun’s embrace.
Higher and higher you climb as the ground changes from a detailed diorama of life seen from afar to a pastiche of blended colors. The ocean looks ruffled but solid, a widespread pool of dried glue, firm and unyielding. The clouds that once seemed distant but tangible are now revealed to be ethereal mists, like the memory of the place you left behind, and the expectations for where you are now headed.

More multi-layered Pacific clouds
Poetry, Writing

Forty-Two

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Happy birthday to me! (Belated, of course… everyone knows how proactive I am about posting in a timely manner here.)

I wrote a bit of poetry in my fake-NF style of rhythmic verse, contemplating the significance of yet another solar orbit in the books.

Forty Two, that’s what’s new,

another birthday to-do

Another year goin’ through the same old-same old, it’s true

That the life that I’ve been livin’ isn’t different or new

And the difference that I’m wishin’ for seems farther from view

 

Forty years in the desert and I’m still wandering

Like the disobedient children and I’m still wondering

If the gods that I have fashioned out of gold and the bling

Are any better than the One whose voice I hear thundering

Telling me bout everything that I’m unwilling to see

Telling me to drop the thing that is burdening me

All the weight and all the pressure when I can’t even breathe

‘Cause I’m hoarding all my treasure in this life that I lead

Making everything I do about the comfort I seek

Using everyone around me for whatever I need

So the focus of my life is centered all about me

Maybe that’s the reason why it’s so dissatisfying

Because it’s not what I’m about at least in words that I speak

And the conflict ‘tween my words and actions makes me feel weak

‘Cause I know that I’m not reachin’ for the top of the peak

Man, I’m lucky if I take a step toward somethin’ unique

 

Nah, I’m carried with the flow along the path that is wide

And no matter how I try to reach the other side

It still feels like I’m strugglin’ to keep it alive

When I’m slippin’ on my sin and then I’m starting to slide

Askin’ why I’m givin’ in and why I haven’t tried

To restrain myself and focus more with all of my might

And to lay ahold of all the goals I dream when I write

All the things I say I want to do that’s passin’ me by

And another year around the sun, man, time really flies

And the list of what I haven’t done keeps growin’ in size

 

So I write another poem full of verses and lies

How this time I gotta change and finally realize

All the effort it’ll take to take ahold of the prize

Sure, I’m gonna make a difference, now it’s time to arise

And to run with some endurance while I’m fixin’ my eyes

On the Author and the Finisher of what I describe

As the source of all the strength in me that keeps me alive

But if faith ain’t got some works then it’ll never survive

And by definition work is hard so I gotta strive

To stop shirkin’ every burden, leaving efforts deprived

Of the power and the diligence that they need to thrive

 

So I write all of this down in hopes that maybe I’ll see

That the only one to blame is who I don’t want to be

And I’m starin’ in the mirror and he’s lookin’ at me

Sayin’ “Hey, let’s make a bet, tell me if you agree

That you’re not quite ready yet to make the changes you need

So don’t waste my time with stuff that you don’t even believe

Don’t act like you’ve got what it takes to take down me

Let’s just put a pin in this ‘til you turn forty three.”

BlogBattle, Writing

Midnight Chase

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This is a flash-fiction entry based on the word, “Flower,” for Rachael Ritchey’s BlogBattle. Every month, she picks a word as the theme for which a number of us write some kind of short story. For many months now, my entries have been the serialized mishaps of a bumbling macho man explorer in the 1930s and the knowledgeable “sidekick” who actually gets things done. 

The Adventures of Grant McSwain

Daring Explorer of Dangerous Environs and Fearless Discoverer of Fang-Filled Dungeons

…accompanied as always by his hapless assistant, Teagan O’Daire, the Ginger of Galway

(992 words)

Grant threw his massive form from the cliffside and ran across the mossy bricks of the ziggurat with no loss of momentum. “I’m telling you, Teag,” he called over his shoulder, “the treasure is within reach.”

Crouched under the leafy branches near the ledge, Teagan hissed at her companion and listened to the nocturnal song of the Peruvian jungle. Were those voices in the distance? Could the Kaiser’s thugs be closer than before? Or had she imagined those lantern lights among the trees after sundown?

Grant paused, peering in the darkness. At least the oaf whispered this time. “Are you coming?”

Even though Grant made the leap without injury, Teagan still checked the distance before springing across the gap. Her boots clung to the stone well, despite the overgrowth, and she jogged along the structure’s heights toward Grant. “I’m coming, but I think I’m not the only one.”

Grant surveyed the jungle, though he had no chance of spotting anything through the thick foliage. “Those Germans after us again?”

“Not us so much as the treasure.”

“Coming through the river valley, unless I miss my guess.” He chuckled and gave a dismissive shrug. “They might find the entrance to the ziggurat, but they won’t be able to move all the rubble we left.”

Teagan’s eyes narrowed despite the dim moonlight. “About that… was dynamiting the entry hall really necessary?”

“I wasn’t sure a trap would stop them, so I figured an obstacle might.”

Teagan laid a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Laugh all you want. But if they learn to exploit Ixthacan relics or, God forbid, unlock the secret of these portal chambers, their militaristic ambitions in Europe could stretch across the globe in an instant.”

He flashed a devilish grin. “Let ‘em come. Maybe FDR will finally get our boys in the mix.” He hustled to the other side of the Ixthacan temple, where some previous explorer or tribesman had stretched a flimsy rope ladder like a bridge to the opposite cliff. Grant tested the thick ropes with his weight, shaking the cords to see how much they might withstand before trusting it fully.

Teagan eyed the ropes with suspicion and mounting fear. “Are you certain no one has found this ritual site before? Maybe someone already claimed whatever this ruin has to offer.”

“I doubt it,” Grant said as he took a step. The rope bridge swayed and dipped under his bulk but held him aloft. “This feels flimsy, Teag,” he added, his knuckles white as he gripped the cords. “We should go one at a time.”

Teagan crossed her arms and shuffled her feet as Grant inched his way across the gap. “What next,” she wondered, recalling the winding path that led them to the temple. A rickety flight skimming the treetops from Caracas, then a showdown in a seedy cantina with guerrilla rebels, followed by rafting through crocodile-infested waters, and finally trudging through treacherous jungles full of pythons, all with enemies nipping at their heels.

“Some anniversary,” she muttered. They had set out three years to the day since their first excursion, and only a month since Grant had professed his love. Seeing him suspended over the chasm between the cliff and the ziggurat, Teagan felt an all-too familiar mix of adoration and frustration.

Grant strained as he worked his way across. “Talk to me, Teag,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tell me something useless about the Ixthacans and the ceremonies.”

Teagan bristled, then recognized the touch of panic in Grant’s voice. He wasn’t mocking her studious nature or detailed note-taking. He needed a distraction.

The thought of pythons sparked a memory, a legend surrounding the ritual site. “Locals claimed spirits would come from the heavens at night to bless the Ixthacan chieftains. Beings of snake-like appearance, much like the Naga of Buddhist and Hindu mythology.”

Grant grunted an acknowledgment.

“Prior to our discoveries with the portals,” Teagan added, “I found the similarities fascinating, given that the Ixthacans and Buddhists lived on opposite sides of the world. Scholars assume Chinese seafarers spread the stories across the Pacific. After all, certain rare flora from the Orient also flourish here, and—”

“Made it,” Grant said, tossing her a rope. He acted unfazed by the brush with danger. “Tie this around your waist, and I’ll hang onto it just in case you slip.”

In short order, Teagan joined Grant on the far side. Had it seemed easier for her because of her comparatively light weight? Was Grant hiding some injury, as he often did?

“Which way?” he asked, checking the stars. Unexpected urgency filled his voice. Had he suddenly believed her concerns?

“It’s supposed to be northwest. We’re very close.”

He crouched and tromped through the brush in the direction she indicated. Teagan watched in confusion, then followed, inspecting plants as she passed. Someone had been this way recently.

Before she could warn Grant, they burst into a wide clearing, surrounded by thick trees with forked limbs reaching into the sky. Large reddish bulbs grew in the joints where branches of tree trunk met. A weathered stone with faded runes marked the Ixthacan site, though much of the jungle’s growth had been cleared away.

“You’ve already been here,” Teagan gasped.

Grant nodded and hushed her. “Last night. Just watch.”

As one, the bulbs spread with lazy movements under the stars, thin red leaves stretching into a sunburst around two rings of ivory petals circling the pistils clustered in the center. While Teagan stood in awe, a dozen blooms of silver-white opened in the moonlight.

Grant slipped his arms around her. “Your treasure, my dear. One of the rarest flowers in the world. Queens of the night for my queen.” He gave her a peck and whispered, “Happy anniversary.”

“What about the Germans following us?”

“Oh, them?” He laughed. “Just some guys I paid off in the market. I knew you wouldn’t have half as much fun if you weren’t being chased.”

Night-blooming cereus.jpg by Aswin KP from Wikimedia Commons. Used under Creative Commons license.
Worship

Not Yet

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Your promise still stands,

Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness.

I’m still in Your hands.

This is my confidence:

You’ve never failed me yet.

Elevation Worship has a song called “Do It Again” that is high on the CCLI and music app charts for the genre. It’s a strong tune with a driving beat and a lot of room to rock out with the worship band, yet the song also has a heartfelt, universally relatable theme, somewhat like a prayer:

God, this bad situation hasn’t changed yet, but I’m trusting You while I’m in the middle of it.

My wife and I both love the song, and I worked it into a testimony at church, relating a particular instance of God’s goodness to my family in the midst of a crisis (which I’ll share in another post).

However, my wife is not at all a fan of one word in the song: yet.

“God hasn’t failed us at all,” she explains, “and He’s not going to. We may not always get the answers we want, but God doesn’t let us down… and that word ‘yet’ makes it sound like maybe He might.”

I agree.

And yet…

To me, there’s this humanity, this frailty revealed in that wording. There’s a weakness that lurks in the lyrics just like it lurks in my heart, where even though I belt out that “This is my confidence: You’ve never failed me,” a little choked up voice adds a “yet” with a quiver or whimper.

Doubt whispers that maybe this is the one time. This is the exception. “Yeah, God came through before, but how sure are you?”

Maybe what I thought God was going to do isn’t what He has planned. Maybe the storm isn’t going to miraculously clear up and the waves aren’t going to suddenly fall into calm. Maybe He’s not going to say, “Peace, be still” this time.

I do have a testimony to share about how God met me and my family at a point of desperation and need. I have plenty of evidence of His goodness expressed through others and through sudden changes in our circumstances.

But I also see some dark clouds of the unknown looming over me, and the horizon is dimmed by billowing storms of delayed answers to prayers. It feels like as soon as one batch of questions and concerns are resolved, they tag new ones into the ring.

I apologize as I’m vaguebooking a bit here (we’re not on Facebook, so, blankblogging? blurposting?) mainly because I don’t even know all the questions or details of some of what’s on my mind.

One of the memory verses I am reviewing this week is Isaiah 41:10. It feels more appropriate than I would like.

“’Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭41:10‬ ‭NASB‬‬

I also relate all too well to the man who–in response to the assurance that with God, all things are possible–cried out, “Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24).

Surely He helps us in times like this. Great is His faithfulness, and His promises still stand. He’s never failed me…

Yet.

Worship

Happy ??th Birthday to my wife

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My lovely wife just celebrated a birthday in the midst of what’s probably the biggest transition we’ve ever experienced as a couple.

She has been a rock of stability for our family and a wonderful blessing to me in so many ways.

While we go through these changes, there have been some surprise obstacles and hurdles, but there are also some glorious moments of joy, blessing, and rest.

Someone I know, who is going through far more complicated and troubling circumstances than I ever have, expressed his heart this way (I’m paraphrasing):

Yes, all this trouble is a lot to handle and I feel overwhelmed at times. But God has been too good, too present, and too gracious for me to stay in that place.

That’s definitely how I’m feeling. Here’s how my wife is doing:

Reflections
General

Flowers Wither

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Like many couples, my wife and I have discussed the value of flowers as a gift to express love.

Of course, a good arrangement is beautiful, and it’s culturally customary, and if you do some research, you can communicate a lot of great sentiments with the flower selection and color choice.

But they’re expensive, and they die quickly, and also they’re expensive, and then they’re useless and dead.

I’m not biased at all. These are objective facts. (/sarcasm)

My wife’s Facebook post of her gift, with an added sparkly filter.

As we headed toward my retirement ceremony, I thought about what I had seen couples do during their celebrations. Usually the active duty spouse gives the other spouse a floral arrangement or some similar token of thanks for all the support that makes being married while working in the military possible.

I certainly wanted to express my gratitude for all my wife has done and continues to do. People often ask, “Does your wife work?” And it’s like, “Yes, of course she does. She deals with four children every day while I’m sitting in my office or on a jet. She handles the whole household while I go off for months to fly missions somewhere else in the world. On top of maintaining and managing a home, she homeschools the kids – because she wants to, not because I’ve ever asked. I can go to work and focus on my job because I know I don’t have to worry about what the boys are up to, or what’s happening at home.”

For over twenty years of marriage, she has stuck with me through all the ups and downs and sideways corkscrews of life. When everything goes pear-shaped or when we’re flying above the storms, she is there, supporting and encouraging no matter what.

But flowers. They’re just going to wither. They’re going in the trash a week or two later. What’s the point?

At first, Jami and I thought about using something like the platinum-covered rose I bought her. Something that says, “Yes, flowers, but actually one that will last.”

Because, hey, eternal love and “not wasting money” and all that obviously super-romantic thought put into this expression of thanks (more sarcasm, I hope you could tell).

Later, Jami said, “You know, maybe it’s selfish, but I think I want some flowers. Is that wrong?” This is my wife, who is worried that after twenty plus years as a military spouse, it’s not right or perhaps too much for her to get the spotlight and a simple bouquet of roses and carnations.

“Of course I can get you flowers. This is your celebration too.” That’s what I think I said.

“God, I hope they’re not TOO expensive,” or something similar, is what I’m ashamed to admit I thought.

It wasn’t until I was standing in the room with chairs arranged and people filing in for the ceremony that my slow and stupid brain finally clicked into gear and understood.

Yes, flowers wither. Yes, they’re temporary. You can’t buy one and have it last, expressing forever the sentiment when it was given.

But that’s how our love works. It’s not an “I said ‘I love you’ when we got married, dear” kind of thing.

Love is expressed in the day-to-day decisions, the small sacrifices and acts of service, all the little things we so quickly forget which add up to a confidence and certainty that wow, this person really does like me.

Plenty of military marriages don’t make it. I’m not judging or assuming anything about them, but I know that my wife kept choosing, day after day, to show her love for me through consistent decisions and deeds that proved her commitment.

That’s all any of us can do to build a real relationship — keep doing the small things, the messy jobs, the hard decisions, the stuff we easily ignore in favor of something flashy or showy.

Love is expressed day by day. At any point, the relationship can wither and die if left unattended, if not nurtured, if not refreshed.

Maybe flowers that wither are exactly the right kind of way to say, “I love you.” Maybe I needed that reminder that saying it once with a big gift isn’t the same as saying it every day with small but meaningful acts of service and devotion.