Bird in a Box

I may have made a big mistake. I started playing golf, and like any good American, because I started playing golf i felt the need to own a set of golf clubs. So, because Orangeburg is not the epicenter of golf equipment stores, I bought online.
The trash is picked up on Wednesdays in my neighborhood; my golf clubs came on Monday. Because golf clubs come in big boxes, and the trash was already full being it was Monday, I was forced to leave the box on my porch.
On Tuesday a mother wren moved into the golf club box, and by Wednesday morning had laid her eggs. Knowing that the trash dump is no place to hatch bird eggs I felt obligated to not, in effect throw the birds…to the birds. You must know that I grew up outside…with no shoes on my feet, a coon’ skin hat atop my bushy head of hair, and a BB gun in hand. If there’s one thing I have learned about birds it is that if you get your human sent on their eggs the mothers wont take care of them anymore, and you will be running an small egg orphanage in the back of your garage for the next few weeks. So, for the last few weeks there has been a bird in a box on my front porch. That is until today. The box is now vacant, and honestly I’m quite sad. The box is empty and finally ready for the trash truck. Life had taken up residence in that box, at least for a time, and that makes it something much more than just a box.
I hadn’t been able to put my finger in on, but I know now why I have such an issue with the idea that Heaven is about escaping this planet, and from a disembodied spiritual world, watch as the world goes to hell. Its not because this seems in our human minds just, and right, and even Biblical, but the truth is the world is not just a box, its where life happens, and that makes it so much more valuable.
Praise God that the Gospel is not one of escapism, but one of resurrection and renewal and newness, of final victory over death and corruption, of hunger and homelessness, of rape and war, and murder, even over the devil himself and all his demons…Hallelujah…. Praise God that we do not have to adhere to “just a box theology”. He has risen! Indeed!

Forget

Forgetting always seems to be the easy part for me…life drips freely from the space between your fingers no matter how tight you squeeze. Memories fade, names dissapear from my memory, and faces slowly slip backward in my mind. My faith seems to be the same way, I grasp a moment of trimphant enlightment only to find myself learning the same months later. Sin never seems quite so violent as I have to squint to look back to it. If I’m not careful, just moments after prayer it can all seem ludacris and meaningless.

Forgive me again, and haste the day…

Moments

The Dogwoods are in bloom. And again, I have missed it. The birds haven't, it is their wonderful drama of flight and chorus that has drawn my eyes to the dogwood. I am left flustered and wondering. Their must be a moment, an instantaneous second of movement from expectancy to birth, one moment where life burst from the bloom, and the glory is revealed. Still another year has passed and everyone was seated at the table save one.

I wonder why I miss so many of these moments. I suppose it could be my life, too busy, too bored, too blessed. Or I supposed it could be that I am just not conscious of the moment at hand, I'm elsewhere in the future or past, across town or the next room.

The simplest truth is, I miss so many of these moments waiting for them, never satisfied, always seeking, ever expecting. Anni Dillard said it best “Because how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

My prayer is this. "Father that I would live each moment, with the same expectations and energy I have assigned for a lifetime. and that you would bless me with many. Amen"

Another drive...another movement

Driving home from Newport with my best friend Callie after just spending one of the best weekends of my life with the cutest baby in the entire world and the cutest puppy in the entire world, the stage was set for an eruption of my heart all over the canvas of my ideas. The sun was just setting and the blues and oranges of the western sky were becoming more beautiful with each mile. A simple glance to the left and there it was, a single stream of water pouring out of the side of a mountain that had just been cut into for an extension of the interstate lanes. Another glance and I saw smoke rising from the ashes of what appeared be be a small brush pile at the foot of the mountain below. The smoke swirled up and leaned into the rugged mountain, like an old man laboring to his feet, after a long spell of sitting on his rocker. As it ascended the smoke met the horizon in unison with the evening clouds rolling in over the ridge, and I was moved. It was in that moment that I realized that the God we serve is persistent, and patient. He will sit atop the mountain and say, "you can carve roads through my mountains, and I will make waterfalls spring out of them, and you can burn my leaves, and i will use their smoke to draw attention to the clouds. It makes me wonder just how beautifully God will use the burned, carved up, wretched humanity we have all so willingly accepted, and turn it into His bride.

When will I stop worrying so much about who I am influencing and start worrying about who I'm effecting?

Lessons from Trains

I hate making up my bed. I think it is the most pointless act known to mankind. I used to say, "I will do all of the other house work in my home if my wife will just not have me make up the bed!" Lately I've been having company over more often in my apartment so the making of my bed has happened much more frequently. As I made the bed this morning it hit me that, I only have to make up one side of my bed each morning on account that I am a relatively heavy sleeper so I don't squirm much, which leaves one side of my bed relatively untouched.
I think I would like very much to make up my bed each morning, if only I were making up both sides. I know this has nothing to do with trains, but this is just one of the lessons I'm learning in a relationship in which late nights with trains passing by are surpassingly important. =)

The most important thing anyone ever said to me was, "I love you," The second was "No."