Patched Together

Last year as I traveled to and from my family in Arkansas, I devoured a little book called Patched Together by Brennen Manning. Manning, more than any author or speaker has inspired me and shaped my faith. I was privileged to hear him speak on the furious love of God for us in 2006 and his words of faith forever changed me.  I have since read some of his work, mostly non-fiction that deals with aspects of God's love for us, but this book, a piece of fiction was the simplest yet most profound work of Manning's I have yet encountered.

The book was given to me at a conference by a representative from David C. Cook publishing out of Colorado Springs. I shared my testimony of renewed love that stemmed form Manning's work. The story seemed both routine and invigorating for him, I imagine that he meets people everyday touched by Manning's honesty and truth and yet each encounter gives him hope as well. He informed me that Manning was rather ill, almost fully blind and near death even. He promised to give the book if I promised to pray for Brennen. It was an easy promise to make.

The story is autobiographical while still being fiction. We see the life of a man in three stages from childhood to death and the struggles that present themselves but most importantly the impossible victories as well. Not once was I spell-bound by some  fancy prose but always I was enthralled with the rawness of Willie Juan's life and his encounters with the Man of Sorrows. With grace, Manning weaves together a patchwork tapestry of life, love, pain, death, and mercy. Thankfully Manning is still with us and his actual autobiography is coming soon. But in the meantime, I encourage you to find yourself patched together and to join me in my promise to pray for this man.

Amazing Grace, video

Happy Mother's Day

There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it.  ~Chinese Proverb


I am thankful to be alive today. In no small way is my mother most responsible for this miricle. Yes she bore me for 9 months and delivered me, fed me, clothed me, spanked me, and believed in me. But what has held me together the most in the roughest parts of my life has been her unfailing love.


Some of you have heard my story of excess, doubt, and despair. As I wallowed away my life in stupidity, depression engulfed me and dragged me to the brink of death. In May of 2005 I decided to kill myself. Life had run its course and I felt no need to perpetuate my suffering any longer. But in the midst of the great darkness, a light broke in, an unexpected guest in my shame. I remembered a simple fact: my mom loved me. And it was this simple but earth-moving reality that saved me, gave me the strength to choose life and to choose love. 


Ever since, that has been my song, that love conquers all, even death. The love of my mom saved me and I thank God not only for her but for the mothers that loved her enough to teach me that song. So I honor her today and in some small way everyday, because each is a gift from God given through her love, each is a precious reminder that there is something good out there even when everything else testifies against it. And the greatest gift to date is the chance to teach my own daughter to sing. God has given me a woman in my wife who exemplifies all the beauty of my mother, and has proven to be the greatest mother I could ever hope for my own child.

Thank you Michala

Thank you Momma,

Thank you Grandma Mary

Thank you Great Grandmother Grace

Thank you God.

A Prayer of Confession and Cleansing

Abba, on days like these when nothing particularly profound seems to stir within, I thank you that you are still near. The lack of insight is often the consequence of my sin: my ignorance, laziness, and often pure disobedience. Forgive me. Teach to to thirst for You and to hunger for Your words. I want to know the security of Your presence and fear Your absence. I want to run to You and not from You. You know my heart, my fears, and dreams; cleanse me and refine my passions. May I die so that You may live in me. Honor the words of this prayer, not just in me but in all those who read it. Thank You for Your immense grace and over-flowing mercy, O how I need it so. Amen

Covered in Manure

One of my favorite movies scenes occurs near the beginning of Les Miserables. The main character, Jean Valjean, a convict, steals from and attacks the bishop who offered his home to the wandering stranger. When the authorities catch Valjean and bring him back to the bishop, the bishop actually testifies that he gave Valjean everything and insists that he take the silver candlesticks as well. Valjean is undone in this totally unrequested act of forgiveness. In his confusion he looks at the bishop and asks why he is doing this. The bishop responds, "Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil. With this silver, I've bought your soul. I’ve ransomed you from fear and hatred. And now I give you back to God."

In this season of Lent, I have both failed miserably and yet also seen moderate success in my attempts to speak with a good tongue. So much of what I am learning is found not in specific commands but in the everyday language of Jesus as he travels to Jerusalem. Just as Jesus is preparing for the events of the Passion week, I too am preparing. Jesus has taught me the humility and community-creating power of asking questions and being silent, the commonality in which we are to approach our God in prayer, and the freedom found in not boasting. Most of this has been seen in his stories, his parables. These illustrious stories often cause deep reflection and even shock despite their simple garb. One such parable is found in Luke 13:6-9:

Then he told them a story: "A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren't any.He said to his gardener, 'What's going on here? For three years now I've come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?'"The gardener said, 'Let's give it another year. I'll dig around it and fertilize,and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn't, then chop it down.'"

Here Jesus is teaching us to not do something. So much of what Jesus commands involves action and this appeals to us, it feeds our sense of control and power, but here Jesus is teaching us that patience and waiting should define our relationships with those who "waste good ground." A recent book has come out by a prominent pastor that before it even reached publication caused some to decry him a heretic and to bid him farewell from the community of God. Yet despite the validity of these claims, Jesus seems to warn against our swift judgments, even against judgments based on years of observance. We are to not be so swift to chop it down, chop him down, chop each other down. The gardener's response "let it be" is the same Greek word Jesus uses when he himself is chopped down and nailed to a cross, "forgive them." Too often in life we desire the role of judge, jury, and even executioner. We leave little room for God, let alone forgiveness. Perhaps we should heed the gardener's advise and give it a year, spread it with manure. It is hard work, undesirable work, but desperately needed work. In the process we cover each other in manure, in forgiveness. 

Interestingly enough, in both of these examples, the one being forgiven has done little if nothing at all to deserve it. The tree is barren and, if a tree could be such a thing, unrepentant. Jesus prays for us all as our horrible choices and voices were responsible for his death. It is our very ignorance of our error that gives the cause to Jesus' pronouncement of grace, "forgive them, for they know not what they do." 

Perhaps it is not the ones I encounter day-to-day that need forgiveness so much as it is me. I am precise in my judgments on another, quick to tell anyone who will listen of the wrongs I have been wrought. What if I had the audacity, the patience, the grace to keep my mouth shut or better yet, to pronounce forgiveness. What if I was just as quick to tell the listening ear of my forgiveness, not in a boasting way but in a sincere and vulnerable way.

"I forgive you."

And in the midst of these simple words perhaps lives will change. Forgiveness not only frees the offender from the burden of his debt but also the victim from the burden of his own debt, hatred and pain. Forgiveness brings healing in a way no drug could hope to duplicate. Jean Valjean leaves that Bishop's presence a new man, given to God. He changes the lives of those around him sacrificing much for not only the noble but prostitutes and their daughters and ultimately it is his unceasing capacity for grace that breaks the hardest heart of all. Jesus looks out from his bloody brow and whispers a prayer that will and has changed us all. The one who will himself wipe away all of our tears, cries himself not for his pain but for our's. He is ever patient with us and is quick to tell anyone who will listen: "I forgive you, now go and do likewise."

Sounds good to me.

Providence in Pavlov's

Broken glass, spilt beer, and cigarette butts
fill the field of my vision.
My gaze is upon 
the tread-upon.

Some may have a lofty eye
yet mine sighs a lonely "why?"

Peering down on the scarred tile
undeserving of even that home.

Lost, dead, blind, alone
these adjectives are mine, I own.
Inadequete, devoid, these words lack the fill,
they lack the fullness of my emptiness, my seal.

How did I ever get so far?
How did I find my home in Pavlovs Bar?

Everywhere I look I see illusion,

my heart overcome with confusion.
Is today tommarow?

Yesteryear now?
Is up down?

Horse cow?

I feel like truth was once a friend of mine.
In the playground of my youth, it's beauty I'd find.
Innocent and alive, no sense of worry,
caught up in an my own life story.

Then...
Providence arrives.
And by Grace alone, 
my soul survives.

Sent as an angel with beer in tow,
came and gave ear to my groans of woe.
This word and that word, it really didn't matter,
just a taste of concern, even a smatter.

Okay truth, 
here I come.
See ya lies,
I'm done.
Maybe truth is in this bar,
maybe truth is in a home afar.

I partake on my Exodus, seemingly aware that I'm alone,
Yet my flight is guided by the Chief Cornerstone.
Unknowing of my Divine Guide,
until later when I have died.

Amazing Grace how sweet the sound,
I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Melodious, haunting, and yet inviting I find the hymn,
the words come alive as does my heart so dim.

Then my past I must face.
And I feel unworthy of even dirty grace.

Broken

Awoken!

Tear upon tear, wash away each fear,
Grace upon Grace, gives my soul a face.

Words fail me
My God avails me...

Amazing Grace

Photo from Philip Yancey's What's So Amazing about Grace? Visual Edition

Should

Anyone else ready to give up all their resolutions?

The date is only January 13th and I am already making excuses for my shortcomings. I should not be surprised, this cycle of broken promises is far from new, but each time almost hurts worst than all the previous errors because my failures compound together to form one large witness against me. But for some weird reason, I keep trying, feeble as my efforts may be.

I simply adore Brennen Manning and he knows a thing or two about broken promises. A recovering alcoholic priest (you guess which part he's recovering from), Brennen has fallen off the wagon hard in his life, only to find some morsel of courage large enough to enable him to find his way back on. This morsel he calls "grace." I had the honor to listen to Brennen share his testimony of grace a few years ago and, by God, it changed my life. One quip that stands out to me and I find hard to shake is Brennen's suggestion that we not "should" on ourselves (say it aloud for the full-effect). In essence, throughout our lives we burden ourselves with a list of shoulds, such as, "I should eat 10 servings of vegetables a day," which instead of producing model nutrition creates a sense of worthlessness. I should listen to Brennen more.

This is not to say that we do not create and go after goals, but that we do so not out of obligation but in a joyful play-dance as the beloved of our Father. I know that that last sentence has a hidden "should" in there, because even as I write these words, a sinking feeling develops in my gut that knows how little of what I do is a "joyful play-dance" (whatever that is) but a forced exercise of my duty. And yet, there is a morsel of joy inherent every time I get back up, a sense of grace that even though I have again fallen, I have also again felt a love so amazing that dare not try to explain it.

So, we get back up, joyless as it may seem, because a hope beyond all hope has come to us and made a promise that will never be broken. We get back up, because although there may be little hope in it, we know there is no hope in staying down. We get back up, not because we "should," but because we can.

We get back up.