short revivals

My first day of 2006 wearing shorts. I found only one pair on the floor of my closet, forgotten and rumpled from the winter.

I always feel a little younger when I wear shorts and a tee shirt.

There's something distinctly refreshing about sleeping with a window open, and waking up to a slight breeze and the sounds of traffic.

When I leapt out of my econ exam this morning at 10:15, the air was so nice I wanted to shout.

If this day were a song, all the static in the world could not keep me from shaking my head and tapping my feet.

life is...

I don't know how to describe it. I know what I sense and feel. Like tonight, how I sat in a restaurant listening to a jazz quartet: the way the bass and keys and drums and vocals blended together in something whole and full and satisfying. But the singer had a forced smile. I sat with three people I care about--my cousins Phillip and Adam and my friend Kristen--and saw how we were not just bodies in the same place but memories and futures. None of it has ever been guaranteed, and yet here it was. I was thankful. My friend Cory played bass in the quartet, (which is the reason we went there at all) and I thought at the blessing it was to see three friendships connected in that one room. It was satisfying to be the connecting piece between friend, family, friend.
But I also felt really small in that place, as my one little life with family and friends. Perching in that little restaurant with the brick floor and the few others nodding their heads to the music and couples with wine, I felt so trapped in the singleness of that place and time. It was guilt, almost, (though I know it shouldn't be), for being so content and comfortable and settled in life. It seemed like it should be bigger, harder. Looking around I thought that probably no one else in the room saw outside their own lives like that at the moment, and it was like stepping out of time.
It was a late dark drive home. I had a hard time focusing on the road and felt an urgency to arrive, but I also felt a settled contentment that right at this moment, forgetting everything else, God is good.

How do I end up writing things that I don't even understand?

vileness

Is hate always a bad thing?

I hate hearing the word fuck (and all its forms) spat out from every passing group in the hallway, and the way that consonnance clings in the air with a foul scorn. I hate other words, too--the remarks between guys about the girl they want to get with. Such a slut, they say, their grins even audible.
I hate the trash left here and there, the food mashed into carpets, the cans haphazard in the grass, that seem to bear the careless delight of snubbing others' service. All this makes me want to lunge at someone and hold them by the collar and throttle them until they understand their offense. I hate that reaction in myself.

I saw an empty 40 oz. bottle of malt liquour in the bathroom, all covered in duct tape where someone's hand had been.
Walking back to my room this evening, in the damp air, I heard a car rev and squeal by through the center of campus. My jaw clenched. "You idiot," I thought. "You're going to hit someone." The car rumbled away, and the song I had been humming was interrupted. And for a few seconds, no matter how I focused, I couldn't find the right note.

pictures new and old

Last night I uploaded some new pictures to my webshots. (It was foolish of me to do this until 2 in the morning--but I can't change that now.)

I feel like I have the posting-fever today, but instead I have a pile of things to do. Doesn't it always seem to happen that way?

when in rome (and getting there)

It's 7:30 on Friday night. Another Friday night. I just came back from a small meeting to pray for our fellowship with my friends Charlotta and Meghan. We walked through the bitter cold to a new restaurant in town. Meghan and I had chicken noodle soup. Charlotta had frozen yogurt.

I've been reading the book of Acts these days. God is patient with my attention and interest that taper back and forth; this morning I had a particularly clear, new picture of something. Paul is starting to come up off the page as a real person. The last eight chapters of the book catch me the most. They tell the story of an apostle who lives like he has been "bought with a price" serving a God who does "work all things for the good" and a faithfulness to his task.

For a while, Paul's been traveling around doing apostly things like planting and discipling churches, but now he has a new message from God. He gets a bee in his bonnet to go preach the gospel in Jerusalem. Sometimes I wonder if Paul was just addicted to creating controversy. He was like a magnet for it.
His friends tried to disuade him: "Through the Spirit they urged Paul not to go on to Jerusalem." But Paul wasn't about to turn back. "Why are you weeping and breaking my heart?" he said. "I am ready to not only be bound, but to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus. ... The Lord's will be done."

The Spirit had predicted correctly that Paul would be bound. After preaching in Jerusalem for a few days, a full-scale riot erupted. "The violence of the mob was so great he had to be carried by the soldiers. The crowd that followed kept shouting 'Away with him!'"
I can picture the scene: safe next to the soldiers, Paul stands up and begins to speak in Aramaic. The crowd goes silent. He is one of their own.

Paul shares his whole testimony of his history, his conversion, and the mission that God gave him. And as if he can't help telling the whole truth, he tells this gathering of Jews the news that God has sent him to the Gentiles. Hell breaks loose again in the crowd.

Had it not been for the centurion with him, Paul would have been killed in the uproar. Wanting to do something responsive, the centurion orders him flogged--but as the whip is raised, Paul announces he is also a Roman citizen, and the centurion halts in surprise.

The next day an assembly of the Chief priests and Sanhedrin come to make a formal accusation against Paul. Paul acts shrewdly, pitting one sect against another. "I stand on trial because of my hope in the ressurrection of the dead." The assembly breaks into argument, and again a Roman soldier removes him from a violent scene.

"The following night the Lord stood near Paul and said, 'Take courage! As you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify about me in Rome.'" Little did Paul know that it would be through severe hardships, and that he would be a prisoner the rest of his life.

A group of Jews plots to ambush Paul, but a young boy, Paul's nephew, overhears and leaks their plan. By now, the local Roman authorities are scratching their heads at the controvery. Paul appears a stable, intelligent person. They transfer him to Ceasarea with a legion of Roman soldiers to protect him from ambush. Only God could work out something like this.

In Ceasarea Paul makes the case for his innocence eloquently before the governour Felix, again sharing his testimony. No doubt, people in the court heard him and turned their heads. Instead of action, Felix keeps Paul in captivity for two years. I wonder if Paul began to doubt God's plans for him. In God's grace, Felix allows Paul's friends to visit and take care of him.

A new governour, Festus, takes Felix's place. Paul's trial continues where it left off. The sanhedrin come to make their accusations against him. Festus decides that Paul should return to Jerusalem for a trial. Paul makes a bold appeal, using his rights as a Roman citizen, to be heard in Caesar's court. His heart is still set on God's promise--Rome.

Festus is at a loss for words to send with Paul to Caesar. King Agrippa happens to come to pay his respects to the governour Festus. Paul's case is re-hashed, and Paul's gives to Agrippa his boldest testimony, with his two years' inactivity built to a climactic passion. (Read Acts 26, if you haven't in a while).

Agrippa concludes, "This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar." It reminds me of something Jesus said: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it." (Mark 8:34-35).

Finally, Paul is put on a boat for Rome. I wonder if Festus was relieved to have him off his hands.
The journey would be fraught with storm and shipwreck, and take more than 4 months--through which God uses Paul as a witness of his power. "So keep up your courage, men," Paul tells the other prisoners and crew on the ship, "for I have faith it will happen just as he told me." On the island where the boat is repaired after the wreck, the natives see God's grace on Paul.

When Paul arrives in Rome, the news has preceeded him, and he has an audience of Jews and Gentiles eager and curious to hear what he has to say. "Some were convinced by what he said, but others would not believe."

It seems like Paul could not escape being a witness. Wherever he went, in danger and in peace, God used Paul's testimony. He died in Rome, most believe, after at least two years under house arrest with visitors coming and going, receiving Jesus and dispersing through the world.


Well, that was a little longer than I intended. But I'm glad I've written it. Now it's time to make some other use of this Friday night.