The Sabbath Day, Pretty Girls, Wilson Park, and an Old Friend

It’s midnight where I’m writing you from. The windows in my room are open as wide as they will go, and the wind is blowing in, hitting my chest like the waves I tried to kick in the Atlantic when I was five. They tried to drown me that day, but my five year-old fight was too much to handle—I kicked hard and gave ‘em hell. The weathermen tell us it’s supposed to storm tomorrow, and I’d say they’re correct for once by the way the air dances around inside my room. It’s midnight, and I’m here, writing. God help us. If you’re awake, too, it’s safe to say you’re just as restless as I am at the moment. Maybe you’re wide awake, too, running something down, trying to make sense of the cobwebs scattered across your soul, chasing down all the thoughts stumbling around drunk inside your brain. Or maybe you just have stuff you need to get done, things to do. Me? Well, let’s just say I’m awake at midnight because I’m saying hello to an Old Friend and we like to stay up late and share plenty of good stories when we get together. In fact, when I stop to catch my breath, He’ll talk my ear right off.

I few days ago we went on a run together at Wilson Park. Actually, a more accurate picture of that would be me getting punched in the lungs for three miles at Wilson Park. My friend, of course, seems to always stay right in stride. If you aren’t from my neighborhood, you’re really missing out on this place. Like the rest of you, spring is turning here in Fayetteville, which means Wilson Park is blowing up with fresh smells, hungry picnicers, young couples laying on each other’s chests, old couples holding each other’s hands, little boys pushing down little girls by the swing sets, softball teams trying to taste what October must to the big leaguers, dandelions breaking out of hibernation, trees growing new clothes for the new season, and all the pretty girls letting down their legs on the running path. And I’ll tell you, the girls sure are pretty. Looking just gets old though, and I’ll be the first to admit that it’s rather boyish; I’d like to fall in love instead. I mean, why settle for make outs when you could be married, right? So this is where we were Saturday afternoon: sweating next to the pretty girls and the long-loving couples; watching springtime patiently pause, then explode violently into color; feeling Saturday already starting to roll like the stone into Easter Sunday; and anticipating the wonder of what it will be like to wake up from being dead…

I finished getting the crap kicked out of me for three miles and stopped rehearsing in my head what I would say to the first pretty girl who looked at me with enough compassion, and I grabbed my pen and paper and headed for a bench. And so my Old Friend and I sat there on the early evening of the Saturday sandwiched between a good Friday and an even better Sunday watching the world before our eyes go green again, him whispering stories into my ear, and my pen trying to keep up with them.

That Saturday about two-thousand years ago must have been a strange day. Whether you believe in The Gospel story or not, we all have to admit that things must have been just a little awkward that day. Think about it. A man who had been healing cripples, casting out demons, raising dead guys from their graves, eating dinner with hookers, calling twelve social rejects (one who would betray Him for some silver and another who would deny Him while He was getting slaughtered) his best friends, being followed by thousands everywhere we goes, and proclaiming the power to forgive sins has just been mercilessly beaten and crucified on cross because He claimed to be the Son of God. He takes his final breath in the early evening, the world goes dark, the temple in the curtain tears in two, the Roman soldiers who just broke essentially every bone in His body are ripping of their clothes for fear of what they’ve done, and the mangled body of this “so-called” Messiah gets buried in some tomb no man knows about. And that day of unmatched historical magnitude ends. Is just-- over. And then Saturday dawns, the Sabbath day, a day that Jewish law forbids work and only allows rest and quality time in the temple. And I suppose that the tension in the air that day hung as heavy as Jesus on the cross the day before; that something didn’t feel right; that things seemed to be out of rhythm and that the temple didn’t quite have the same murmur about it as it did when Jesus was riding in on a donkey a week earlier. I wonder what that day was like, what was going through everyone’s mind, what they were talking about in the temple. Meanwhile, there is Jesus, wrapped up in the blanket of his sackcloth, sleeping in His tomb, obediently observing the Sabbath.

Resting.

Waiting for the sunrise on Sunday.

Waiting to blow up human history.

Waiting to blow up the hearts of the disciples.

Waiting to blow up the hearts of those who believe.

Waiting to wake up from the dead.

And, like I said, maybe you believe that Jesus was who He said He was or maybe you don’t, but we both have to agree on the historical fact that this day actually happened in the human story; and that is a very weird thing to think about. The most controversial man in human history—the very man on which ALL of human history hinges—was dead for a day.

I mean, history tells us there really was a guy named Jesus, who may or may not have been born of a teenage virgin named Mary, and who grew up swinging a hammer with his dad, Joseph. Then, at about the age of thirty, this Jesus guy got baptized by some wild man in a loin cloth who lived in the woods, and all the sudden political officials started getting real uneasy about the things Jesus started saying and doing. Something had happened to this carpenter from the trailer-park town of Nazareth, and it seemed to be picking up steam. He started telling prostitutes that their sins were forgiven, started staying the night at the homes of tax collectors and poor people, and started talking about the “Kingdom of God” being at hand. And whole crowds began buying into what this guy was saying, believing that His touch or His word could heal lifelong disease or cast out lifelong demons. All the while, the pharisees and politicians started plotting ways to kill him because they were worried about losing power to some carpenter’s kid from the slumtown, and whose friends were a bunch of screw-up, uneducated fishermen and rundown widows. Eventually, Jesus claims to be the one that the world was waiting for—God in the flesh even-- and they find their loophole. And so they bribe Judas, one of Jesus’s twelve, with a chump bag of silver. And Judas takes a few Roman soldiers up to the mountain where God is pounding the ground begging God to create some other way for the absolution of sin other than the crucifixion, but God won’t waiver. His word stands. So Jesus goes to his disciples, who are supposed to be praying too, but are taking naps instead, kicks them in their sides, and says, “Gentlemen, get up. It’s time.” Judas Iscariot—the same Judas Iscariot who has watched Jesus walk on water, seen all the miracles, sat with Him around campfires, broken the bread, drank the wine-- walks up with the Roman soldiers behind him, and he kisses the King on the cheek. So the guards go to arrest Jesus, but Peter steps in their way drawing his sword, and slices one of the guard’s ears off. Jesus picks up the guy’s ear, glues it back on the guy’s head, and says to Peter, “Put your sword away, stupid. This isn’t how it happens. They aren’t taking my life; I’m giving it to them.” Then they take Him to trial, six trials actually, three of which were illegal due to the fact that Jewish law forbid the Jews to hold trail after sundown. Then they beat Him. At every trial they beat him. Severely beat Him. Some scholars say that at the trials of those that were about to get crucified these beatings were so bad that the person getting crucified was already dead before they reached their cross. That is the kind of beating Jesus receives. Six times. But they didn’t kill Him. He kept breathing. He kept breathing and they kept beating Him. The Scriptures say that the Roman soldiers pulled the beard from His face, which the bearded know hurts worse than it might sound to the beardless. And they spit on him and mocked him and mutilated his physical appearance. They blindfolded Him and then slapped Him, and then would ask Him, “Prophesy! Who slapped you? Who was it that slapped you?” They pushed a crown of thorns on his head, deeply digging it into the skin of his skull, gave Him a staff, clothed Him in a purple robe, and presented Him before the mob mockingly as the “King of the Jews.” Then took the staff from His hand and beat Him with it. And Pilate, who wanted no part of this, thinks He can beat Jesus and shame Jesus so severely that the Jews will have to have compassion on Him and will let Him go. And so He beats this carpenter’s kid, the proclaimed God in the flesh, until Jesus is just some mangled, bloody, gruesome, busted-up body of broken bones who he throws down in front of the crowd and says, “Now what? Now what do I do? How about we let Him go?” And the same mob that cried “Hosanna, Hosanna you are the King!” a week earlier while Jesus rode into town on a donkey for Passover, now cries, “Crucify Him!”

Crucify Him.

That’s what they scream.

Crucify Him.

The thing about nailing people to a cross was that it was an artform to the Roman government. And what I mean by artform is that it was something that the Roman government practiced and perfected over time. It wasn’t just something they threw together for Jesus. It was a way of execution that developed with their reign; that got better, like wine, with time; that evolved with each new execution. At the time Jesus was tried, the Romans ruled the known world, which would have required a lot of fear. I mean, if you are going to rule the entire known world without any kind substantial threat, uprising, or major rebellion, then you strike as much fear as you possibly can into the hearts of your citizens. You scare the absolute s out of them. I mean, if I was going to rule the world (which is coming soon enough), that is how I would do it. I would scare the s out of you. So, in order to do this, the Romans came up with the art of crucifixion, and their thoughts with it are, “if we can butcher men and women in a way that is so horrifying, so disguisting and so appalling that no one will ever rebel for fear of having this happen, this would be perfect.” And so over a period of years where they guinea pig this plan, they eventually come up the crucifixion, which in some cases, would take days for a man to die. Days. Days of hanging in your own piss, excrement, vomit, sweat, and blood. And basically what would happen to you on the cross was that you would be beaten and hung in such a way that over time your lungs filled with blood ultimately causing you to drown in it. And as if this way of death wasn’t enough for someone, the Romans added an element of shame and utter humiliation. So they would strip the person naked and crucify him in a highly public place where the lowest scum and the highest politicians of the community could come and ridicule him, could come to mock and spit on and curse him; where the homeless, and the drunks, and the perverts were allowed, by law remember, to come and make a sporting event out of this, turn an execution into a public spectacle, into a game of basketball. And you didn’t even have to buy a ticket. Imagine this happening in the mall or off the highway. Or if you live around my parts, imagine this happening on Dickson Street. Imagine a man hanging naked and nailed to a cross on Dickson Street in the middle of a Monday afternoon on the first day of school. That’s what the Romans invented. That’s what you get when you get crucified.

So this is what happens to Jesus. He’s taken out to Golgotha, the place of the skull, a high hill overlooking the whole city of Jerusalem, a hill that was so high that you could look out your window and watch this crucifixion from the comfort of your own couch, and He’s taken here and crucified. He becomes the latest bloody addition to the vast catalog of brutal artwork the Roman government has been collecting over the last few years. He becomes their finest masterpiece, their Sistine Chapel. And this is where Jesus dies. And this is how Jesus dies. This is how the God of the Universe decides to die for man’s belittlement of His holy name. This is how Aslan chooses to lay down His life for our sin and our disbelief. This is how Jesus chooses to prove His unconditional love for a bunch of screw-ups like you and me. Yes, this is how Jesus dies.

And here’s the deal with this: you don’t get to deny it. No one can say that this didn’t happen historically. No one can say that Jesus didn’t get betrayed, tried, beaten, mocked, and crucified like this. No one. Why? Answer: because the Bible isn’t the only book that mentions this, that lays out the crucifixion of Jesus for us. All of our history books do, too. So this means that you are allowed to believe whatever you want about the Bible—that it’s either the Spirit-inspired word of God or just a load of crap filled with children’s stories written by patriarchal men—but that you aren’t allowed to believe what you want about the crucifixion. The crucifixion of Jesus happened. It’s a fact. A cold hard fact. How are you going to deny history? You’re like one of those idiots that deny the Holocaust if you deny history. Denying the reality of Jesus’s death would be like denying the reality of World War II, or the reality of Ancient Egypt. The only thing we’re allowed to deny about Jesus is his deity, is that He was the Son of God. You get to deny that if you want. History doesn’t force you to believe in His godship. It can’t. You can reject his virgin birth, shake that off as Mary being a lying whore if you want; you can reject his miracles, shake that off as superstition if you want; you can reject his healings, shake that off as propaganda if you want; you can reject his bold, often brash claims, shake that off as insanity if you want; you can reject his resurrection, shake that off as a scam if you want; but you don’t get to reject the way He died. There’s only one way we get to look at the death of Jesus: as truth, absolute truth. Everything else about Jesus can be refuted-- and refuted well-- but not His death, because when a man is beaten and crucified like Jesus, you are absolutely positive that He is going to die. And when you drive a spear up through His ribs and stab it through His heart after He’s been hanging on the cross for eight hours, you are absolutely positive that He is dead. And when you take His body and wrap it up in cloth and carry it to a tomb on the outskirts of town, roll a boulder that bulldozers would have trouble with, and place two of Rome’s best soldiers in front of that tomb, you are absolutely positive that He is going to stay dead. You can reject the rest of the story, but you can’t reject the climax. You can’t reject His death. I mean, I guess you could reject it if you really wanted to, but, then I suppose you’d be even crazier than those of us who believe He really is God in the flesh.

And, if His death is true, then doesn’t that require our consideration? Shouldn’t we look at this guy a little closer, maybe investigate for just a moment the possibility that this Jesus guy wasn’t just some carpenter’s kid, wasn’t just some crazy person trying to get famous? I mean, don’t we have to seriously wrestle within our souls with the idea that maybe, just maybe, Jesus actually was who He said He was, actually was the Messiah? Wouldn’t it be absolutely stupid of us to skip over a story this shocking, this soul-staggering, like it was just some stranger on the sidewalk? To just brush by this like a busboy in a restaurant? Don’t we have to confront this? Don’t we have to come to some kind of conclusion in our own souls when we witness something like this? And I would suggest this for anyone who claims the things Jesus claims and dies the way Jesus dies. If there was some guy named Steve who says that he is the Son of God, said he was born of a virgin, was capable of forgiving sins, performs all these wild miracles, has this epic crowd following his every move, and then eventually gets beaten, mocked, and murdered the same way Jesus does because of all these things, then we would have to decide some things about Steve, wouldn’t we? This is the rational thing to do, right? Wouldn’t a man like that require some kind of response from us?

And, look, I know there are some of you saying to yourself right now, “No I don’t. I don’t have to think about Jesus. Jesus was just crazy. Jesus just had a political agenda. Jesus just wanted to be remembered after He was dead. Jesus was just a nice guy with good morals. I don’t have to think about that.” And you’re right, but wouldn’t you have to be absolutely convinced that he was crazy, or had a political agenda, or just wants to be remembered, or was just a nice guy? Aren’t the consequences—nay, the stakes for your soul—way too high for you to just decide these things on some hunch, or because you read it in some book when you were in college, or because you got burned by some crappy church once? Wouldn’t you have to have a better argument—a flawless argument, in fact—than those that believe He is the Son of God?

If Jesus was just a crazy man, then he was a certifiably crazy man who needed to be in a straight-jacket locked away in some mental institute with sedatives ready every time He went around trying to heal other people or calling himself the Son of Man. And if Jesus was just simply crazy, if He just had some screws loose upstairs, then why would he go through all the ridicule, the abuse, the condemnation, and the death that He does? I mean, come on, crazy people don’t get a following the size that Jesus does. Those guys that tell twenty people in the basement of their house that they are the “chosen ones,” get them to throw on some white suits, and then pass a wine glass with cool-aid don’t get the kind of international coverage Jesus got. Jesus had an entire civilization at His heels everywhere He went. The Scriptures say that crowds pressed so hard into him that the only moment He could get alone was when He snuck off to the woods by Himself at three in the morning. You don’t get that kind of pub if you’re just some random dude trying to convert people with séances and vanilla candles in your mom’s basement. You get that kind of pub if you’re actually healing people and feeding thousands of people with some kid’s sack lunch. You only get that kind of following if you really are God.

And a political agenda? Don’t get me wrong, Jesus may have started a political movement because of the things He said and did and the way that He died, but His mission on Earth clearly wasn’t because of a political aim. I mean, you don’t have to get very far in the New Testament to see that Jesus wanted nothing to do with the political system in the Middle East. In fact, these crowds that kept pressing into Jesus wanted to crown Him king, but Jesus would constantly push it away. He kept telling them to find another one, that he was there to forgive sins and win the rights of their souls, not cause a coup or establish an earthly kingdom. He kept warning them that they’d be disappointed in his kingship because eventually He was going to have to die. Plus, not to mention, if Jesus said what he said just for some political agenda and he turns out not to be the Son of God, and is, in fact, just some mere man, how incredibly stupid is it for Jesus to die the way He does, thus never getting to see the effects of his cause? I mean, Thomas Jefferson doesn’t write the Declaration of Independence and then put a bullet in his brain, does he? No. The answer is no. He stays alive long enough to see a democracy born. Jesus, however, if he was a man on a mission for politics, never gets to see his mission carried out, and just turns out to be a really bad politician.

Or Jesus was just some guy that wanted to be famous, right? Leave some kind of crazy legacy around for us to talk about two thousand years later? And He was able to convince eleven idiots (Judas kills himself eventually) to get on board with this epic fabrication, carry it on long after Jesus is dead, and convince many of them to die brutal deaths as martyrs in His name? Right. I don’t think so. You saying Jesus just wanted to get famous by getting crucified would be like if some redneck from southwest Arkansas came out and said he was the Messiah, and then tries to prove it by turning a jug of water into a Pabst Blue Ribbon, then convinces twelve of his best friends that he is God and that they all need to spread this “good news” to the ends of the Earth after he’s dead and gone. That guy just wants his fifteen minutes of fame, right? He just wants CNN to come camp outside his mobile home for a few weeks. And, if Jesus wanted to get famous, isn’t this, once again, a pretty terrible tactic to get famous? He doesn’t get to reap any of the benefits of being famous. Instead, He just gets killed. Honestly, if He just wants to get famous, He does a pretty crappy job of it. Why does he have to get crucified to remain famous? Isn’t doing magic tricks and walking on water enough? I mean, if you can walk on water, is there anything else you can do that will make you any more famous? If someone walked on water tomorrow—like across the ocean walked on water—then I propose to you that that man would hands-down be the most famous man in the world by the time the five o’clock news aired. But Jesus, by the end of His life, has been marginalized as a mere man by His society and written off as crazy by members of His own family. After all, he spends his last day on Earth hanging naked from a cross, drowning in his own blood, and getting spit on by drunks. So, like his politics, it seems like Jesus sucked at getting famous, too. Really, really sucked.

And a nice guy with good morals? What? You’re telling me that a guy that goes around telling everyone that He is God in the flesh and can save them from eternal damnation if they believe in him, but turns out to be just some ordinary carpenter from Nazareth, is a nice guy with good morals? People are putting all of their hope in this guy. People are selling away everything they have just to walk with Him. Some people are giving up their jobs and their families because of the things He’s telling them. And you’re telling me He’s a nice guy with good morals? No way. He is a liar and the evilest, most murderous, most twisted psychopath that will ever walk the planet. Think about it. Billions of people since Jesus have died believing that believing in Him was going to get them to Heaven, but if He was just some ordinary bloke, and not God, then all these people died believing in vain, in a liar, in a murderer and are in Hell right now. And Jesus is to blame for this. He’s behind their fairytale hope. He’s behind their eternal damnation. This means that when Jesus holds in his hands the crying cheeks of the whore who the Pharisees want him to stone (with rocks) but instead Jesus tells her “I love you. I forgive. Go and sin no more,” that this was just a front for his evil master plan. This means that Jesus is responsible for the death and damnation of more innocent lives than Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini, and Hussein combined. If Jesus was just a man, then the last thing he was some nice guy with good morals. If he was just some nice guy with good morals, why did He get crucified? Why did he endure those horrific beatings, that humiliating shame, and that overwhelming death? Why would he suffer like this if he was just a man? Was it because he was a nice guy? Because of his good morals? Or was it because He actually was The Christ? I mean, if he really is God in the flesh, if he really can forgive all our sins and heal all the holes in our hearts, and getting crucified is the only sufficient way to do that, doesn’t he take it? Doesn’t he finish this? If he’s crazy, he confesses that he’s crazy. If he’s a liar, he confesses that he’s been lying this whole time. Liars don’t get crucified for their lies. They tell the truth before it ever gets to that point. If he’s just a man and not God, he confesses that before the beatings break out. He doesn’t endure this. He doesn’t stay up there. He panics. He kicks and screams. He comes clean. He cries out that all this was just a sham, just an attempt to get famous, to be political, because he is insane. He cries out to the crowd to save him. He cries out at the top of his lungs, while blood is dripping out of his mouth, “Stop this! I’m not God! I’m a liar! I’m not who I say I am!”

But he doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut. He endures this. He suffers for you and for me. He takes the beating. He wears the crown. He takes the mockery. He takes the spit. He takes the shame, all the utter humiliation. He takes the cross like a champ, like he really is the God of the Universe, like He is exactly who He said He was. He does this. He finishes it. He makes history. He makes truth. He gets crucified.

And I know some of you don’t agree with me on this, don’t believe any of this at all, and I think that’s absolutely fine. I’m sure you have good reasons. I’m just asking you to have good reasons, really, really good reasons before you shove Jesus off as just another guy in our history books, because I think you and I can both agree that there’s something different about Him; that He’s just not another guy in our history books. And if that’s the case, then that begs the question: who is He? That’s all I’m asking. That’s all I thought about in the park on Saturday while My Friend was telling me these things. I told you He could talk my ear off. I’m just asking you to give this Jesus guy some thought. I’m not asking you to believe like I do. I’m not asking you to admit that my way is right and other ways are wrong. I’m just asking you to consider Jesus, to maybe see if His way is right and the rest of us are wrong—dead wrong. I’m just asking you to wrestle a little. That’s all. And, if you’re wrestling and get to a point where you still don’t buy this thing, that’s fine. Really, it is. We can still be friends I hope. We can still sit down over beers in some smoky bar and discuss those pretty girls in the park. We can still talk story with each other. And I’d still invite you to my birthday party.

I hope I can still come to yours.

**Disclaimer: If you made it this far, that means you read this whole thing. Thank you for that. It means a lot to me.

Building to Burn the Bridge

I've been told by a few people recently that I need to juice up the battery on my blog again; that I apparently have things worth saying and things worth reading. So, because I care, I'm hear to share some soul with you, my good friends. Yes, it's long overdue, and this will probably be the only thing I write for the next six months, so let's drink deep and make up for all the lost time we could have shared. I could be doing numerous things right now, things that are more important than the itching and anticipation provoking my fingers into pounding this coffee-stained keyboard, but I am here, here because the heart is heavy- because the heart is haunted by something that wants to make beauty and bravery in all the places I'm ugly and useless. I tell you friends: I am tormented by The Truth. I am haunted by the holiness of God. And I am forever chained to the bloody Cross of Jesus Christ.

I should be doing homework for a class that hasn't even started yet (pre-class homework literally makes my insides shiver).

I should be calling one of my best friends over and over until she answers the phone, because I'm an ignorant slut, because I need to apologize for being about me when I should have been about her. Hopefully she'll call soon, at which point I'll shutdown the blog to say I'm sorry.

I should be showering because I smell homeless.

I should be watching the Olympics because they've been awesome and they only happen every four years.

I should be blaring Dave in candlelit room, lamenting over the loss of Leroi Moore, and paying my respects to one of my all time favorite musicians.

I should be doing things.

But I'm not.

I'm here... right here... right now... because I have to respond to a question. Because an artist has to paint a picture when he's tormented by the colors in his head. Because a poet has to write a poem when he can't shake the weight he wears on his shoulders. Because an opera singer has to belt out the beauty of song from her lungs when she's breaking down. Because every once in awhile, between skipped beats and missed breaths, the thing that stirs your soul, the very passion that pumps your heart, will pull and push at you until you paint the Mona Lisa. Or until you write Shakespeare's 116 Sonnet. Or until you sing out the soul from center stage. So I am here, not to paint the Mona Lisa, or to shoulder up with Shakespeare, or to step out on center stage and try my hand at the opera, but because I just have an itching to tell you what rhyme and reason the heart has been harmonizing with recently. I just want to walk with you. That's all. So, please, bend and ear and bleed with me just a few, short moments.

And when we're done, we can all get back to doing things...

A little over a week ago, I had some very, very, very (x10) good friends of mine come to Fayetteville for the night. We had a twenty-first birthday to celebrate, and, well... celebrate we did. These friends of mine, they're unreal; I'm talking straight up, out of this world, drop-dead, crazy beautiful good. Find friends like these girls, and it just gets really hard for you to ever want more; these girls, they're enough. I was crazy to leave them so soon, and even crazier to risk things the way I did. But, these girls, they'll make you speed up, step out, and risk things. They'll make you walk out on ledges, be a bit too brave, and jump just to see what happens. They'll make you stronger, bolder, more of the man most men never get to know. I am convinced, because of these fine women, that man always has something soul-shattering to learn from a beautifully staggering woman. I think a good woman will always leave a good man a little weak in the knees with a little goofy grin on his face. Boys, good women will melt us into good men. Atleast the good women I've got close to over the past few years have helped melt me into one. I don't know how to say thank you to them enough, and quite frankly, all my ideas just seem downright pathetic. I am grateful for them, for the way their laughs still ring loud in my ears long after they've gone. For the way the sunrise in their smiles shines still in my eyes, even when I can't see them. For the way they do soul. It's beautiful. It's good. And it makes me small. But that's what it means to be man. I'm getting way ahead of myself here, though.

I mentioned a question I felt provoked to respond to earlier. The question was raised beneath neon bar lights, the star shine sparkle of beer bottles, and in between the love-drunk laughter of these dandelion-like girls. I don't quite remember how the question got brought up, or even why it was asked, or even if anyone remembers what it was, but like I said before, I secretly get seduced into torture by these things that other people forget. I wish it on no one. It sucks.

The question?

...."Ryan, do you believe in the one?"

Now, when I answered this question that night, I about got hanged for it. I mean, maybe I'm still a bit old school, and I'm still a bit of a romantic, and I smile and laugh like a lunatic and have to take horse tranquilizers just to calm down my heartbeat every time I think about seeing my bride walk down the aisle, all dolled up in that wedding dress, with stars dancing in her eyes, and the sunrise tracing her smile. Really, I have this box of tranquilizers I stick myself with everytime she shows up inside my head. But I believe in "the one." I believe very much so in "the one." Now, by "the one," I mean one husband, or one wife. Like, you meet one girl, she's amazing, you fall in love, get married, and that's it; she's your one- she's the one for you. Now, maybe you don't believe in that. Maybe you're of the school that thinks there are many; that there's two, or three, or whatever. And I'm not knockin' that school. The majority of the table that night goes to that school. Maybe you've seen them in the halls. Talked to them at their locker. Even might have thought that at one point they could have been "one" of the many for you. And that's totally okay. Enroll your kids in that school for all I care. It's not a sin, it's not wrong, it's not life-threatening to not believe in the one. I'm only writing today to tell you that I think she exists, and that I cannot wait to see her in that wedding dress. And out of it too, because white will look good on her, but naked will look better. (...Reaching for the tranquilizer...)

There are a few reasons I still believe in "the one." And they have nothing to do with romance, or emotions that eventually evaporate before you even get a taste. I don't believe in romance. I believe in the covenant, in the companionship, in the promise we make when we slip that wedding ring on. That's what I want. I want the wedding ring; not the romance. I want to exhaust myself into loving one girl; not exhaust my heart on a bunch of different ones. I don't want the disappearing emotions of romance; I want the everlasting commitment of saying for all eternity. Don't get me wrong, romance is good, but I'm convinced that forever is better.


She's calling... deal with it. The one can wait. I'll be back when she's sick of me.


Be patient...


Okay, she finally got sick of me.

See, I think the difference between romance and the covenant is the thing that sparks my commitment to the one. There is a difference and it's what distinguishes it for me. Honestly, I think romance is a bunch crap. I don't think romance is a product of real, genuine love. And I think this because romance wears off, just like the color of a rose, or the curves of Heidi Klum when she turns eighty. Romance just gets old and boring after awhile. Let me set this difference up for you. There are a lot of people out there in this world who want romance; they want to feel wooed, they want to be chased, pursued, wanted, and reached for. People feel the need for intimacy. We want the ketchup fights and the tickling (Michael Scott). And that's what romance comes down to for me- just a bunch of ketchup fights. See, the thing about romance is if you ask anyone what it is, they really can't tell you. It's just one of those words that we've forgotten the meaning to. It's become this word that's lost all its worth. Just some word we use when we want to sound poetic or feel soft. Guys will use this word when they want to impress some girl, and some girl will use this word to describe the pathetic guys who use it.

Take this hypothetical true story I just made up about Charles and Charlotte.

Charles: "Wow! That Hugh Grant movie was full of romance and passion. More guys should be like he was in that movie!"

Charlotte: "Oh, Charles! You're so romantic! Have my babies!!"

See what I mean...

I was a real romantic guy in middle school. I'm talking total Casanova. I would always ask the girl I liked to be my girlfriend through her best friend. If she said yes, I would write her a note telling her thank you and that I would call her that night so we could listen to each other breathe. This went on until my senior year in high school, by the way. Over a few days of her being my mute girlfriend on the other line of the telephone, I would finally man up and walk with her in the hall or some crap. This was always a huge deal. You would have thought she was pregnant with my child. A few days later I would actually talk to her when we walked down the hall. This was an even bigger deal, like the baby had been born or something. But, then a few days later, I would meet with my "girlfriend's" best friend by her locker right before lunch to tell her that I didn't like my "girlfriend" anymore and that I wanted to "break up" with her. It was all very business professional and mature, let me assure you. After this happened, her friend would go to lunch, tell my gfriend what I told her, and then all hell would break loose; which just means I would write a note before 7th period rolled around telling my girlfriend it was over between us. She would cry for a few days and I'd listen to a 98 degrees song in my room on repeat all night, lamenting over the love I'd just lost. Two days later, I'd get over it, and repeat the process with my ex-girlfriend's best friend. It was real romantic.

I tell you about my middle school love life because this is the picture I get every time I hear or think about romance. I think about how romantic I was and how permanent it was. I think about how long the romance lasted; about how the flame burned on and on and on. Romance is such a middle school concept isn't it? It just doesn't last. It's not sharp. It's not strong. It's not enduring. And it's not the right kind of exhausting. It's elementary, and young, and foolish. Romance is written in the barely legible handwriting of an unshowered, creek-stinking 7th grade boy on the notebook paper he ripped out of his friends binder in english class. Romance is not committed; it's still got turtles to chase and unmapped forests to explore with his friends. She's got slumber parties to have, more make up to wear, and A-team quarterbacks to dream about. And this is what I see when I hear about romance. I see me at thirteen with mud on my shoes, listening to 98 degrees. And I can't help from laughing.


One of the things that really confuses me is when I hear a pastor talk about Jesus being a romantic guy. What does that even mean? How is God romantic? Does he mean that Jesus wants to take us on long walks down the beach or take us out for picnic lunches beneath oak trees? Because if that's what he means, I want nothing to do with Jesus. If Jesus wants to have long walks with me down the beach, then I am questioning Jesus' intentions. When I read the gospels, I see no trace of Jesus being the ultimate romantic. I don't get it. I don't see Jesus wooing anyone into a relationship. I see him completely surrendering himself so we will have a relationship. I don't see any traces of me in my middle school days. I don't see any Jesus making deals with our best friends, negotiating for silent conversations on the phone later that night. Nor do I see any traces of God being romantic with His people in the Old Testament. I don't see this concept of romance exercised anywhere in the Scriptures. I see God making ridiculous guarantees, and Jesus making equally absurd promises to us. And a promise is never, ever romantic. A covenant is never ever sexy. I see promise after promise on page after page. I see blood. And wherever you see blood, you will never find romance. Romance is not willing to bleed, to get messy, or prove itself. Romance is not willing to take the beating or the broken bones. Jesus isn't romantic; He's committed to keeping us His forever. He's committed to keeping the covenant that the Cross married us into. And He will not break the promise to be romantic for one second. Jesus will never light a candle for us. He'll never walk sandy beaches with us. He'll never pack us a picnic. He'll never write our name in the sky. He'll never listen to 98 degrees. But He will bleed for us. He will break bones for us. He will take on Golgotha for us. He will do what it takes to keep us His. He will be full of mercy to keep His covenant. And He will be wrathful too. He will sit with us at campfires and listen to our heart beat. He will call us His forever. And He won't do these things because He's romantic, or passionate, or sexy, or in 7th grade. He'll do these things because He doesn't break promises. And He'll go to a cross, and get crucified next to criminals, to make sure that the covenant meets completion; to make sure that he keeps these absurd promises. Romance doesn't prove itself, but Jesus does. Every single time.

Now, you're probably asking yourself what any of this has to do with me believing in "the one." And you're probably asking yourself how much longer could this blog be. Well, it has everything to do with me believing in "the one" and I'm not even close to closing the bar, so go ahead and buy another beer.

My conscience tells me that those being sanctified by Christ are called to stay subject to this covenant He's made with us; that we are called to mimic the promises He's made with us; that we should stay committed to bleeding and breaking bones for our brothers and sisters, and our wives and husbands. We, man and woman, are to model Golgotha. There are really two chapters in Scripture that really convict me into believing in the one. And I have to reiterate that these two passages are written by Paul, and one of the chapters are the words of Paul's conscience, so it's basically just words of advice. But it's dang good advice. And I think it totally echoes the covenant of complete devotion Jesus has made with us. Check out 1 Corinthians 7 with me. And bookmark Ephesians 5 because we'll go there in a just a second.

Before we sit in the Scriptures for a little while, let me just say this about the one. Let me just talk about her for a second. I think we make a lot mistakes before we find the one. Maybe you meet someone that you think is the one; that you think you're going to marry, raise a family with, and get old with. But it doesn't workout. Something happens. Your feelings wear off. His feelings wear off. He cheats on you. She cheats on you. She turns out to be a raging lunatic. He turns out to be an arrogant asshole. He turns out to be full of romantic talk, but no covenant. She turns out to be full of tasty kisses, but no soul. And your left alone again, listening to 98 degrees in your bedroom, wondering what went wrong. And some of us sink into depression, or bitterness, or anger, or hate, feeling like "the one" for us got away. Feeling like fate or God or whatever made a serious mistake. And we shut ourselves in, fortify our walls, dig moats with killer alligators around our hardened heart, and we never let anyone in again, just hoping that the one we lost realizes what they've lost. But they never do realize. They get married to someone else. They stop calling us to hear us breathe. They stop taking us to dinner. They forget our names. They stop bleeding for us. And what we never stop and realize is that the only thing we lost in the whole mess was just a bunch of romance; just some boy who still has mud on his shoes or some girl still playing dress up. What we don't realize is that what we had with them was never covenant, never commitment, never Golgotha. So we lose this guy or this girl, and we feel like we've lost our chance at love forever. But what if we didn't. What if we just get closer to what forever actually is when stuff like this happens? What if we were supposed to love that person and then lose that person? What if this happens so we can find covenant? What if we have to walk through the storm of romance to find the sunrise of forever? What if? What if it happens like this on purpose? If the mistakes we made were right? If these mistakes just bring us closer to "the one?" To the one who is willing to stick with you? The one who is willing to smell old age coming on with you? To the one who wants to hold hands with you in heaven? What if that guy you loved- that guy you thought was the one- was just a brick in the bridge that gets you to the man who's willing to do church with you? The man who's willing to play Christ to your Church? The man who's willing to man up, climb Golgotha, and hang on that Cross for you to make sure that he doesn't break his promise to you? What if? What if losing love was a means for actually learning what love really is? What if we have to have the tickle fights to learn how to carry a cross? I think there's so much hope in losing him or her. I think it just gets us closer to the covenant of marriage. I think it gets us closer to forever, closer to the wedding ring and the relationship. Maybe this guy or this girl was never the one. Maybe they were just one, but not THE one. But maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe these mistakes weren't supposed to happen. Maybe he or she was never supposed to leave you. Maybe your love story is missing pages. Maybe we just have to move on and find another one. Settle for some other guy, or some other girl. But I don't think I'm wrong. I think she's still out there. And I think she's making mistakes with me. I think she's building the bridge and eventually she'll be finished and it'll be me waiting on the other side of the water. And I can't wait to tell her that I'm fresh out of romance; that no more mistakes have to be made. That all I have left in the tank is forever- a covenant, a commitment, and a wedding ring. I can't wait to tell her how ready I am to do Church with her. And I can't wait to prove it- and to prove it with some blood and broken bones. I can't wait to sacrifice for her. To hand myself wholly over, just like Christ.

I can't wait till the bridge is finished. And you know what's really awesome when it is finished? Evetually the both of us stand in front a pastor, in front of all our friends and family. She's wearing a white dress and I'm wearing a tuxedo with pit stains the size of Alaska because I'm so damn happy. And we say our vows, slip our rings on, and have our first kiss for the last time. And we turn around, holding hands with one another. And on that day-when that kiss happens- the bridge we both spend our whole lives building blows up. Grace happens on that day. All our mistakes, all those ones we thought were "the one" go down in flames. And the both of us, as bride and groom, hand in hand, walk into the sunrise of forever. And we make the promise to never let go. Just like Jesus.

You know what? We'll talk about what Paul has to say about "the one" some other time. Just know that I believe in the one because it seems like Jesus lived like there was one. I mean, He never leaves His bride, His "one," right? It seems like He sticks it out with her, even when she gets real ugly towards Him. Even when she crucifies Him. So, just know that I believe in the one too. Even if she tries to crucify me too. And nothing's splitting us up when we say "I do." Except adultery. Then I'm out. But other than that, I'm not bailing out on burning down that bridge with her. I made a promise to be like Christ to her. And like Christ, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I don't break it. Even if it means Golgotha.


Well... we've got bridges to build for burnin'.

And things to do.

Let's get busy.

See you in six months.



And you, wherever you are, I'll see you on the other side of the water...

Three Things God's Will Calls Us Into

1 Corinthians 1:1-2

I think these are very important verses for us to better understand what the focus of our faith should be about. There are very important questions that are quieted by very important truths in Paul’s opening lines in the letter to the church in Corinth; questions with truths that should always dictate the direction of God’s holy and divine design for our faith in Jesus Christ. I feel that these questions are confirmed, not by mere, little, flesh-fulfilling, worldly-wise answers, but backboned by Spirit-saturated, Cross-centered, God-groaning truths that the inerrancy of Scripture and the infallibility of The Father call us to stand in when our legs are giving way to the weakness of the world. It would be criminal of us as children of Christ to appoint these truths as Paul’s alone and not ours to be shared. What Paul writes applies not just to him or to the intended people or church he writes to, but to us- to the whole body that has been bonded together by the blood of Christ; we are the audience Paul appoints his letters to; we are to search these scriptures and share in the truths of the faith told long ago. This is where we stand. This is where we start. This is what we share. Let’s break this baby down.

1. The children of God are the chosen children of God. And the chosen children of God are unconditionally chosen by the infinitely wise will of God for the sole purpose of discipleship in Christ Jesus.

Paul says, in the very first line of the letter, that he has been called by the will of God. He wants to make crystal clear that it’s because of the will of God that he’s been called to be an apostle of Christ. This tells Corinth that Paul is parading no person’s preaching for his salvation; nothing, other than the sovereign will of God, has secured his salvation. This is how Paul starts his letter. Not with hello. Not with “how ya doing“. Not with “how’s the church doing?” Not with “did we get the money to build the new children’s building?” No. Paul starts the letter off with giving credit to the King. And to what sake does he give credit? To what purpose has the will of God called him? To be an apostle of Christ Jesus. To do life like Christ. To follow and glorify the Son. The purpose to which we have been called by God is to be an apostle of Christ Jesus. God calls us to be children of Christ so that we can do life like he did it. To line up our lives behind love on the narrow road to making more of Him and less of us. This is the means to which the children of God are chosen to be children of God. The chosen children of God are chosen for the specific and single, all soul-embracing calling of becoming like Christ. So Paul points the power of his conversion to the infallible will of God for the sake of moonlighting the Messiah. This is the will of God- to be an apostle of Jesus Christ. When we are called by God, we are called into the wonderful mission of mirroring the blinding rays of the Son. We cannot separate the Son shining through us from the concrete, genius decisions of The Creator; God has set this as His will and we can do nothing to change it. God’s set design for man, after that man has been called by God’s holy will, is to follow the same steps of Christ. To bear the Cross. To take on Golgotha. To share in his sufferings. This is what apostleship to Jesus Christ looks like. And this is what the will of God calls us into.

2. The will of God and apostleship in Christ gives Paul (and us) a new identity.

There is a second truth in verse one that we can borrow from Paul. Paul understands exactly how he has become exactly who he is. He has become an apostle of Christ, not because of anything he did; not because he took the right road to Damascus that certain day; not because he preached some pretty bangarang sermons back in the book of Acts; not because he’s been getting beat for the gospel lately; or not even because he’s getting thrown in jail . Paul doesn’t say, “Paul, an apostle of Christ because I wrote Romans.” No. Paul says, “Paul, called by the will of God.“ In other words, “My name is Paul. I know exactly who I am. I have a name. It belongs to me because I have been called by the will of God. I’m not Saul anymore; the will of God has called me Paul.” This is evidence of Paul’s new birth in Christ; resounding evidence of Paul’s resurrection from sin, redemption from death, and rescue from the world because of God’s will and ravished apostleship because of the light of Christ. What if we could echo the same understanding as Paul does? What would it look like if we truly rooted our redemption in the supreme will of God for the sole sake of making more of the magnificence of Jesus Christ as Lord? When we are called by God to be the reflection of Jesus Christ, we are given new names, new identities, new hearts, and a new responsibility. This resurgence from the old, world-absorbed, flesh-feasting, sin-starving self comes from the call of God alone; it comes from nothing we do or nothing anyone or anything else does- it comes from the will of God alone. We don’t earn our new name and new soul. We don’t earn rescue. Paul didn’t work for redemption; he got it freely and responded with out-right obedience in the boastings of Christ. Paul didn’t take the road to Damascus that day with the intentions of being blinded by the glory of God did he? He didn’t wake up that day hoping to get converted. I take it meeting Jesus wasn’t on the agenda that day. Paul recognizes this and lives in it. He gives all the glory of his conversion, his rebirth, his new name to the excellent and wise will of Holy God. What if we recognized and lived in this too? How great would we make God look in the eyes of the lost if we understood where our rescue was rooted? Or how beautiful and inviting would we make the life of Jesus Christ if we actually started doing life like he did it and stopped doing it like the Pharisees? I think we might raise some eyebrows. Might get some questions asked. I don’t know, maybe even someone that’s interested in this new identity we’ve been given in Jesus Christ. God-forbid we ever dare walk that road though, but I guess that’s why Jesus called it narrow.

3. The calling of God calls us to all be saints together in Jesus Christ. Not saints stuck in sin. Not saints picking sides.

Our sanctification and our dependency in Jesus Christ binds all our broken hearts back together; we share the same sisters and the same brothers in the supremacy of Jesus Christ in all things. I think this is an extremely beautiful truth for us as redeemed children of God through the grace and love of Christ by the unmistakable power and persistence of the Holy Spirit working through our sinful hearts to get close to, breath in, and fill our lungs with. Paul’s writing 1 Corinthians to a church, a church that is made up of human beings, and human beings are made up of sin- human beings are sinners- we are naturally not saints; our instinctive inclination towards sin surrenders our sainthood. Adam compromised the sainthood of humanity when he chose to cower down beside Eve and watch her get deceived by the snake. So we lost our sainthood because of one man, but we have been washed back into it through our sanctification in Jesus Christ- through the mutual, shared, and active work of the Holy Spirit’s grace in our hearts and our awakened faith and focus on the beauty and boasting of Jesus Christ as LORD. The two things simultaneously collaborate, work together, and regenerate the dead heart. This is what Paul means when he says “sanctified.” And this is what happens to a body of sinners who call upon the name of Christ- they are sanctified back into sainthood. In other words, that body of broken, sin-drenched human beings are given exactly what Paul was given- a new identity in Jesus Christ by way of the will of God. So I think Paul gives us a pretty accurate and amazing picture of what the church is or what the church should look like- a body of sin-bruised human beings, who have been cut off from knowing Christ as Lord because of that sin, but, who by the holy and merciful will of God, have been rescued from the depths of their sin, returned to their full sanctification in sainthood, and redeemed and resurged in their new identities gained through the death, resurrection, and personhood of Jesus Christ.
When I read this verse, there’s another blow to the gut that I feel, another bullet in the chest that makes me step back, gasp for air, find my footing, and check the condition of my own heart. The statement, “called to be saints together with all those who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours,” really convicts me and leaves me down on my knees begging, both for my own heart and the condition of today’s church. There’s an obvious war that’s going on every Sunday morning. And I’m not talking about the one between demons and angels or God and the Devil or the secular world and the so-called “Christian” world. These are not the wars I’m talking about, or for that matter, even concerned about. I’m talking about the war that’s going on between brothers in Christ- about the war between Baptists and Methodists, Relevants and Reformed Relevents, Calvinists and Lutherans, Catholics and Protestants, Emergent and Emerging, Liberal theology and Conservative theology. This is the war I’m talking about, the war I’m torn and broken-hearted over. If you don’t think that this is of any concern then do me a favor and just go drive around a few blocks and pay attention to all the churches you drive by. Look at their signs. Most of them will have some sort of denomination associated with them. Like “First Baptist” or “First United Methodist.” Some crap like that. And I don’t really understand the whole “first” thing. Are they trying to say that since they’re first they’re better? Isn’t that like saying all the other Baptist churches suck because they weren’t the first one to be Baptist in that area? Because they were the “second” Baptist church in Dallas? Since when did establishing churches become a race? Something you placed in? Or this whole “United” card that the Methodists throw out. What does that even mean? Are you really united with anybody if you have to start your own denomination? Aren’t there all these different denominations slapping associations onto God’s house because no one could agree with one another? Because some sinner believed something to be different than some other sinner did? Aren’t there all these different denominations because our hearts are ruled by this stupid, pride-drenched idea of I’M RIGHT AND YOUR WRONG? Aren’t the lines of the church today painted by hideous shades of pride? Come on. The last thing any of us are are united. The American church is more divided than Jews and Palestinians. If we were united we wouldn’t separate ourselves. But I guess religion is the result of sin, isn’t it? Paul’s going to say that the will of God has called us all to be saints together, not sinners set apart from one another. He’s going to say that Jesus is Lord of both Baptists and Methodists, your church and the Presbyterian guy’s church. Hasn’t God shown all of us grace and mercy and love and forgiveness and invited us into unity under the banner of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Isn’t Jesus Christ supposed to bring us all back together? To make the body of all that believe one? United? First? I mean, Jesus didn’t come to Earth waving the Catholic flag, wearing a “Relevants Rule!” t-shirt, or preaching “Be a Baptist or Burn!” sermons. Jesus never once mentioned religion while he was here on Earth. I remember him coming to ruin it; to shake it up; to tear all the religion of the Pharisees down and then reestablish the faith and unity of the body back on Him. He came preaching His own name for the sake of His Father’s Glory. And then when He left, He commanded all the disciples to do the same. Not split up. Not to be a Methodist. Not to be conservative or liberal. He commanded them to stick to the Scriptures and to stick together for the salvation of all and the greatening of God’s glory. We all share in the salvation of Jesus Christ. The Beloved belongs to us all, regardless of denomination. Christ doesn’t care what church we belong to, He only cares that we, all His baby boys and girls, belong to Him. About us being sanctified in Him. About us being saints together with all the others out there that He's called into the company of His wonderful companionship. About us enlightening the blind to His beautiful majesty. About us exhausting the self for the sake of His exaltation. Isn’t this exactly what Paul tells us we’ve all been called into by the will of God? Maybe I’m wrong about this though. Maybe God just called us to be “first.”

Peeling Back the Curtain

I want to write, very briefly, directly to you today. If your eyes are reading these words, then consider them yours; I want you to have them. They are yours to take or yours to leave behind. But I must warn you: I am more than prepared to beg on your behalf that you take them; in fact, I have been begging for quite sometime now- begging that you would read these words and take them to heart; that you would hold them there tight and keep them very, very close; that you would slow down a moment and take in deep, rich, soulful breaths of the absolute supremacy of blood-stained, glory-soaked, spirit-saturated Christ Jesus our Lord. I am begging for you to be still and sink your teeth into the marrow of His beautifully broken body. I am begging you to join me on the trail today. I am begging you to join me on the Hosea-like journey of knowing God (Hosea 6:3). I am asking you to read on and press in. I am asking you to take heart, good friend, and follow the trail first blazed at the shaping of every star. The hanging of every planet. The collaborating of every molecule. The forming of every formless world. The creating of every creature. The planting of every tree. The knitting together of every galaxy. The filling in of every ocean. The carving out of every canyon. The molding of every mountain. The child-like coloring of every sunrise. The cursive-like writing of every soul. The breathing of life into every breathless body. The unconditional handpicking of every beloved child. The swinging of every son’s sword. The stepping of every daughter’s dance. Yes, good friend, I am most definitely writing to you. And I am inviting you to peel back the curtain, and catch soul staggering glimpses of the absolutely awesome supremacy of Christ in all things, over all things, through all things, beyond all things. I am inviting you to know the heart of God. I am showing you the way into the knee shattering knowledge of Him. So, won’t you please take my open hand and walk with me awhile? I’d really love to talk with you…

Grab a Bible if you’ve got one close; that’ll be our walking stick.

Hosea 6:3
“Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD;
his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers,
as the spring rains that water the earth."

2 Peter 1:3-4
His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.

These are two of my favorite passages in all of scripture. I would put them in my top five of all time, thrown in the mix with Genesis 1-3, Romans 8, and Ezekiel 16. Don’t ask me to sort them out one through five because I just can’t. That’s like asking me to pick between Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark or Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade; you just can’t do it. Something like that takes a prayer rug, a lot of prayer beads, and some vanilla scented candles. But we aren’t talking about Indy’s adventures today, no matter how mind-blowing they might be; we’re talking about the knowledge of God, and how mind-blowing that actually is.

I love these two verses specifically for so many different reasons. We’ll work with our boy Hosea first. Hosea is my second favorite book in the Bible. If you don’t know it, here’s a very quick overview of the story. God comes to Hosea, tells him to marry a hooker, he asks God to repeat what He just said, God repeats “hook-er,” and Hosea obeys. Hosea’s wife is… well, she’s a downright whore. She is constantly belittling, betraying, insulting, condemning, and cursing Hosea, but God tells Hosea to suck it up and love her regardless. In fact, every time Gomer (Hosea’s wife) is unfaithful and cruel towards Hosea, God increases Hosea’s love for her. Every time Gomer tells Hosea he’s an idiot, Hosea grows wild with more love in his heart for her. Sounds an awful lot like some guy I know. Eventually, God takes Gomer into the wilderness, strips her of absolutely everything; I mean, He literally depraves her of all that she is. He takes away her jewelry, her clothes, her pretty hair, her sweet smelling skin, and leaves her crying and naked in the desert. Alone. Broken. Ruined. Exposed. Ashamed. Empty. Makes her shoulder the shame of all her sluttish acts. The weight of all her whorish ways. And then God comes and finds her, and puts her back on her feet. Covers her naked body with a wedding dress. Dries the tears from her flushed cheeks. Brushes the dirt from her tangled hair. Wipes out all the men that ever took advantage of her. Restores the parts of her soul that were raped. And whispers beauty back into her heart. Whispers purity. Whispers honor. Whispers redemption. And as God is holding Gomer’s head in His mighty hands, Gomer looks up and stares into the eyes of God, and whispers back, “My Husband… You are my Husband and I love you.” And God looks back, smiles a wild grin, and whispers, “ And you my bride… You are my bride and I will always love you more.” Pretty awesome picture. But it doesn’t get awesome unless God breaks Gomer, kind of like He has to do with us. It is God’s breaking that leads to our beauty, so that our beauty may point back to His breaking and ultimately His boasting. And it is Gomer’s beautiful breaking, and Israel’s beautiful breaking that causes Hosea to sing those amazing lines in chapter six, verse three. Let us know; let us press onto know the LORD. Here is what is very important in that last part; it’s the usage of the word LORD with capital letters. LORD with capital letters is very different than Lord with lower case letters. LORD with capital letters is the name God gives Himself; It is the name He chooses to compliment all that He is. LORD with capital letters literally means, “I AM,” or “I WILL ALWAYS BE.” LORD with capital letters is God’s way of saying, “I AM SUPREME OVER ALL THINGS. I SET THIS UP. I DID ALL OF THIS. ALL OF THIS IS ME! I PUT THE PLANETS IN MOTION; I MADE THE STARS SHINE; I MADE THE EARTH TAKE SHAPE; I MADE THE LION ROAR; I MADE THE TREE GROW; I MADE THE RIVER FLOW; I WROTE THE WORD; I AM THE WORD! I AM THE LORD! Lord with lower case letters doesn’t mean quite so much. Lord with lower case means I’m Lord of this little nation over here, not the entire universe. Lord with little letters does not mean, “I AM HOLDING EVERYTHING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED AND EVERYTHING THAT WILL HAPPEN IN PERFECT HARMONY. ALL OF EXISTENCE FITS INSIDE THE PALM OF MY RIGHT HAND AND I AM BALANCING IT ALL THERE WITH MY EYES CLOSED! STANDING ON ONE LEG! WHILE JUMPING UP AND DOWN! I AM THE LORD!”
So, in other words, Hosea is literally saying, “let us know; let us press onto know God in His absolute sovereignty over all things, including my beautifully broken bride or the breaking of Israel. Hosea is saying “Let us know God in His perfect, self-glorifying supremacy. And so I say to you: let us press on, let us press on to know the LORD.

Now you might be saying to yourself, “That’s great, Ryan. That’s a nice story, but how do I know God in all His supremacy? How do I peel back the curtain and catch the soul-staggering glimpses of His Glory? Is there like some ten week program I can do? Or a pamphlet that has 10 steps I could follow? Or maybe just a movie I could watch? How can I ever begin to understand the LORD with capital letters? And I will answer you with this: There is a book, a little over 1000 pages long, that has been thrown to the fire time and time again, and never been burned. I will answer you by begging you to bury yourself in the love-drunk, blood-soaked, God-centered poetry of the Bible. Look at the verse in 2 Peter with me. Does verse three not say that God, in His divine power, has given us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us to His own glory and excellence? Here’s your answer! The supremacy of Christ in all things has given you everything you need to understand His sovereignty in your own life and your own journey towards godliness, through growing in the knowledge Him, so that He might be further glorified! God doesn’t leave us little pamphlets with 10 step programs, or little self instructional videos to watch. He leaves us the Living Word! He leaves us with a book about His absolute supremacy! The Bible isn’t a book about you; it’s an ongoing story about how time after time God proves Himself and His supremacy over all things! It isn’t flawed. There are no places scratched out or erased; This is the heart of God for freakin sake! It has been commissioned as Truth by the blood of Golgotha! This is how you learn the knowledge of God. Not by never having smoked a cigarette or sipped on a beer! Not by following a bunch of rules that lead nowhere! That’s not knowing. That’s not what Hosea meant by pressing onto know! The word “know” is so sexy. Think about it! It is a sexy word! I don’t think Hosea used the world “know” to mean mere mental awareness. He wasn’t saying “let us press onto to be mentally aware of the LORD.” No, the know Hosea uses is the “know” of a lover. A lover who is totally ravished by what he discovers; by what he sees. Let’s know God like a lover. Let’s know Him intimately, and personally, and passionately. Not, like a professor knows geometry. Let’s know the grandeur and glory of God with our souls, not just our minds. Let’s know God like ravished lovers, not bored geometry teachers.

So I say to you, friends: stay close to Truth. Take deep breaths of these passages. Let the words fill your lungs until you suffocate and have to cough them up. Swim in this current of God’s great ocean. Do a cannonball into the ocean Scripture and let the salty water of that sea splash, and spill out to the world around you. I am begging you to stand in this Scripture because it is the tool God uses to reshape and sharpen a formless and dull soul. Make every effort to compliment your God-initiated faith with the great story of God’s awesome supremacy. His will in the order of the orbit of all the universe is your out; your great escape into the blinding, radiating sunshine of His presence. So I say to you: stay buried in the Scriptures. If you are going to wander and wrestle, then wander and wrestle in the wilderness of His Holy Word. Scrape your arms and legs on the branches of the Good Book. Bleed and breathe in the breathtaking beauty of the Bible. The breath of God is literally kissing your face as you turn the leaf-thin pages of His boundless glory. Starve to the point of suffering for the sake of the Scripture. God promises to reveal Himself to you through scripture, and you will grow in the knowledge of His supremacy over all the broken parts of your heart. Let the knowledge of God guard, and govern, and guide your feet as you step through the stones of life. This Great Word is the heart of God. We must chase after it. We must catch it’s elusive scent and follow it into the high countries of Holiness. In it we will find the sovereign will of God. But we must open it. We must breathe it in. We must play in it. We must get dirty, and messy, and muddy in it. We must learn to take risks and step where there is no stone. We must learn to do this in the Glory sea of God’s Scriptures. I am begging you to soak the soul of all you are in the soul of all God is and forever will be. Know God. Take the first step. Go. Engage. Embark. Depart. Dance into the Hosea-like journey of knowing God. Peel back the curtain. Know God the very way He knows you. Make this your pursuit. Press on, my dear friend, into the jaw-dropping, soul-shattering, mind-blowing, knee-breaking knowledge of God. Stay grounded in the Word; I beg you, lest you never know God the way He designed you for. Lest the canyon of you soul stay empty. Lest you continue to eat foods that never fill. Lest you continue to fill it with sex, fancy clothes, good grades, lots of friends, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, pretty hair, the perfect body, the best reputation, the right job. Eat the Word of God, lest your soul never know the honey of Christ and His love-scarred hands. Please, friend. Know God and you will not fall. You are promised to flourish like a palm tree. You will be strong, rooted deeply in the foundation of the Most High Holy Father. Plant your feet in the soil of these scriptures and live! Let them grow you wild, like blossoming vines across the countryside. Let the wedding bells of Hosea 6:3 and 2 Peter 1:3-4 ring loud in your redeemed heart. Press onto know! Do this and He will come to you like He came to Gomer in the desert. He will find you. James tells us that God promises to draw near to us when we draw near to His spirit. So draw yourself into the Spirit and sit there until God comes. Don’t move. Don’t you dare go anywhere. Be still and know. He will come like a cool rain in the hot desert. He will come and flood your dry, canyon soul. He will reveal Himself to you. You will know Him. He will wrap you in the warm blanket of His never-ending Holiness and make You His. Take heart in the absolute supremacy of Christ and His Holy Word. It is no roadmap to life. Is that what we want to dwindle the Greatest Story ever told down to? Directions? Come on! The Holy Words of God are the blueprints to boasting the Glory of the LORD on high. It is the songbook to His gut-wrenching sovereignty over all things. So open it and start building. So open it and start singing, lest you never know how beautiful your voice really is. Lest you never sing the sweet name of the Savior. Open the Good Book and breathe. Crack open the cannon of crucified Christ and know. Boast the saving mercies of His splintered Cross. Boast the bloodstained battlefield of Golgotha. Boast the victory secured there, for it never has to happen again. We were rescued once forever. Journey on, my friend, and know the absolute supremacy of the Trinity over all things. And bring yourself to the wedding altar of The Father’s love. Through knowing God we become like brides going forth to marry her grinning Groom. We trade old rags for a flowing wedding dress. So press on. Peel back the curtain. Go and get married. Go… and know.

Three Shots of Soul

Here we go again. More expermenting with poems or songs. Take your pick. Blue Merle's been the only thing that has hit my speakers all day, so I have to say thank you to those boys for helping me collaborate heart today. Really I have to say thank you to them for carrying me through the last few days. Musically they've been a strong crutch for me to lean my worn-down bones on. Songs like "Lucky to Know You" "Made to Run" "Places" "Part of Your History" and "Bittersweet Memory" have really been keeping the loose ends of my unraveling heart tied together. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I literally feel pity for you. I mean, I just feel bad that you're missing out on this music. Find a way to get some of their stuff. I don't care if you have to rob Best Buy because your broke. Best Buy is a fortune 500 company; they'll be fine. And you'll benefit because you got great music. Plus, you'll be able to tell people you stole and that's good for the street cred. And I know about street cred. Trust me.

I want to give you a heads up on some of this soul I've been scratching down the last couple days. I know I use "whiskey" in some of them. Don't worry, this isn't because I've become a raging alcoholic. It's just a strong symbol I'm using to reinforce a theme. This is not to say some whiskey has not been downed while chasing down these ideas. But I assure that this was done solely for literary purposes. Anyway, leave me some love. Let me what you know what you think about these cups I'm serving up. If you like the poem/song things- tell me. If you like the longer, commentary/thought-provoking pieces- tell me. If you like them both- share the good news. Just be honest. If something sucks, then tell me. I want to give the people what they want.


Busted Knees

In the lonely wilderness of my weary heart
I wait like wild, running waters for You.
In what secret place will we wrestle today?
In what great hour might we dance?
In what quiet moment might You come?
On what horizon might Your glory rise?
Will it be the East?
The West?
Where should I place my sleeping eyes?
In the colors of the sun?
In the shadows of the moon?

My heart is beating.
Yes, my heart is beating-
Banging in my chest
like wild, reckless drums.
It burns at a fever for
Your sweet company.

Satisfy it's deep, deep desire.
It begs.
It groans.
It bleeds.
For You.
For Love.
For Glory.

When will you come?
When will we feast?
Until you show
I will hope.
No!-
I will beg!
on bended.
busted.
knees.


Casualty

Saturday night comes quick again
fading faster into early morning.
My head is spinning something sad-
Too much whiskey kissing.

I'm back alone
some place far from friends
Without a melody to sing
or story to share.

Flat on my back
Down in the valley
Tracing white stars
Against the black
With dirty hands.

I trace your pretty face-
Laughing like a child
fooling in a sandbox.
Dancing like a daughter
on her daddys' toes.
My hands make me an artist-
Drawing beauty
up out of nothing.
Or does that make me God?

Not God.
God wouldn't bury his soul
in sour-eyed shots of whiskey.
God's no damned fool.
No broken-hearted bum.

My phone rings round.
I wonder at it drunk too long
As your name lights the screen
I miss the call
Leaving you to telephone wires.

Crying time away.
Teardrops fall
to the cold concrete
around my feet.

Now I'm dead drunk
Walking backwards
into whitewased walls.
Drawing circles with my eyes
around burning stars
that blink like you.

Kiss it to my lips one last time
And just like that
The good whiskey's gone empty.
And just like that
And just like you
I've lost another
good, good friend.

Yeah, I lost my friend
Gotta go bury my friend
God, I miss my friend
Nobody needs to bury a friend
Nobody needs a dead friend
Oh God, give me back my friend
Please give me back my friend.


Crawling On

He sits in quiet, secluded places
Sipping whiskey to keep warm from the morning cold.
He eats his breakfast from the bottom of the bottle
To help him wake from another war-torn night.

His nights are restless as a hurricane
And his days are beaten by the sun.
His skin is burned from unforgiving heat
And his feet are blistered from weak, worn-down soles.

He is beatdown.
Ruined.
Busted up.
Broken.

He spends what time he has
crawling through the carnage of creation.
He has little strength to walk
so his face has become stained by ground.

He wrestles on, like a soldier through bloody trenches
Gnashing his blood-stained teeth
As he moves his mangaled arms
across the rough skin of the Earth.

Every moment aches with strain.
He growls and groans
Like the rumbling bowels of an earthquake.
Like the day,
He is coming closer to his death.

Soldier keeps crawling on
Stopping just to sip his whiskey
On his way to the top
of this Great Hill.

He keeps carving trails.
Breaking bones.
Blazing paths.
Wrestling.
Fighting.
Sweating.
Crawling on towards You.

Wedding Bells

Come Close. Come close, good friend, and listen to the story. Brother Jesus just struck a chord in my heart and it’s ringing louder than wedding bells. It’s a beautiful sound, really. Rushing madly through the worn-down roads and beat-down canyons of my rugged heart like the wild waters of the Colorado through the skin of the Earth. I can’t describe to you the sound and do it enough justice. My words would only rob it of its great wonder. I can only tell you that it feels amazing to have something this good breaking out in my wicked heart. I can only hope and beg God that He’ll send something this good through the hearts of the rest of my brothers and sisters, scattered out about the world, like misguided ants. I beg for you all everyday.

Today we’re in Ezekiel, so if you’ve got a Bible- get it. If it’s under a pile of old clothes, somewhere in the back of your closet- open the door and dig it out. If you lost it, threw it away, never had one to begin with- go ask the neighbors. I really want you to see this. I want you to see the greatness of our God in the perfect cursive of the Truth. Let’s go.

A little background on our boy Zeke before I take you where I want. Ezekiel is probably my favorite book in the Bible. For numerous reasons really, but that’s neither here nor there. It has always hit my heart hard, but now, as I wrestle through it a new time, it is hitting me harder than it ever has before. Like a baseball bat straight to my chest. Like a car crash. A head-on collision. Zekes’ rap sheet looks like this: He’s a priest, living among the exiled Israelites. There ya go. That’s Ezekiel. Pretty normal guy who God decides to make one of the most extreme, most radical prophets of the Old Testament. I won’t take you all the way through Ch. 1 and Ch.2 cause I want to get you to Ch. 3 before I bore you to death, even though the first two chapters are incredible. Here, I’ll fill you the best I can. Hopefully I don’t scribble outside the lines too much, though I’m like a three year old with a crayon when I write. God’s glory shows up out in the desert where Zeke lives. Zeke describes the glory of God best he can, but we find that it’s no easy task to paint a coherent picture of Gods’ great blaze. Ezekiel sees the glory of God raining down from the sky, worse than any thunderstorm in the history of the world, and he ends up flat on his face. Facedown. Blocking out the brightness with his arms because they didn’t have sunglasses then. He’s humbled by the radiance. He relates it to a “rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day” (1:28). Says it sounds like “the roar of rushing waters or the tumult of an army” (1:24). It’s “shining like an awe-inspiring crystal” (1:22). “Flashing bolts of lighting in the midst of fire” (1:4). There is too much glory for Ezekiel to handle so he falls down on his face. Down in the dirt because he knows that’s where he belongs next to something this marvelous. That’s chapter one. I think it’s incredibly too cool, but I’m also incredibly too much of a nerd. Whatev.

Let’s roll onto chapter two. In chapter two a voice speaks to Ezekiel. I love seeing Ezekiel 2:2. I love what it says: “As he spoke to me, the Spirit entered into me and set me on my feet.” Ezekiel cannot get up on his own. He’s too impressed. Too humbled. So the Spirit has to come get in him and give him the strength to get back on his feet. I just think that’s a great picture of our weakness as humans before the greatness of God. It cripples us so much that we cannot function without the intervention of the Spirit. We are totally incapable of anything without the help of the Spirit. The feeble bones of our little bodies are just too weak on their own. They need the Spirit. Anyway, onward Christian soldiers. So this voice is speaking to Zeke, right? Great. Well, what’s it saying to him? I love what God tells Ezekiel to do. It’s great. He says “Zeke, son of man, go to the people of Israel and warn them I’m coming. Tell them. Tell them I said it. That I, the LORD, with capital letters, said it. But they won’t listen. Not to you. They’re stubborn and rebellious. They will refuse to listen to anything you say. They’re a rebellious house. But you’re going to them anyway. You, Ezekiel, son of man, are going regardless of this. And they will know that a prophet as been among them because of this.” So, basically, in other words, God is sending Ezekiel on a suicide mission. If you read on you see that God causes Ezekiel to do some pretty radical stuff. Hilarious stuff. Ridiculous stuff. Anyway, back in chapter two, before that stuff, God is getting Ezekiel ready. God feeds Zeke some truth and fills his belly with a scroll of things to say that Ezekiel says tastes “sweet as honey “ (3:3) I LOVE that. Sweet as honey. The word of God is sweet as honey. Truth is sweet as honey. Incredible. The beginning of chapter three God spends time reinforcing the fact that these people will not listen to Ezekiel, that Ezekiel better not be scared because God’s with him, and that God is going to be the one speaking through him, whispering the right words in his ear. God sets this monstrous mountain in front of Ezekiel and says “climb.“ God tells Ezekiel to climb and lose his life for Glory. God says obey. Then there’s 3:14. And that is where we will camp out for awhile.

“Then the Spirit lifted me up and took me away, and I went in bitterness in the heat of my spirit, the hand of the Lord being strong upon me.”

That’s what 3:14 says in the ESV. The NIV says that Ezekiel went in bitterness and in the anger of his spirit. The Message says that he goes bitterly and angrily. It says that he “didn’t want to go, but God had him in his grip.” Ezekiel had no choice. Regardless of the how he felt, God had him in His grip. Ezekiel was going up this mountain whether he liked it or not. I think this is a great encouragement to us. At least it is to me. I hope it is to you. Bottom line is: God’s doing things. Some things we like, some things we hate. We have a mountain in front of us and He is calling us to climb. Up to the top. Out of rock bottom. Out of the valley. He is calling us to climb towards obedience. It doesn’t matter how we start the ascent up. It doesn’t matter our attitude, how we feel, or what kind of emotion we’re riding. Ten times out of ten, when God calls you to obey, He’s calling you to bleed. He’s calling you to change things. To move. Break a bone. Get messy. He is bringing you into a very, very dangerous place. Let’s be honest here. Do you really expect to climb into a place like that smiling? High-fiving God? Being happy? Please. Give me a break. Even Jesus wasn’t happy about going to the Cross. The night before Jesus was begging God for another way. He was troubled. He had emotions and He was riding them. Even into that climb. But God didn’t let go of Him. He held on. He had Jesus in His grip. He had plans and wasn’t going to change them. Just like He did with Zeke. Just like He does with us. I’m not telling you to be angry at God about obedience, about climbing. I’m just telling you that it’s okay if you are. God is not going to let go of you. What’s great about the whole thing is you really don’t have a choice in it. The Spirit is the one lifting you up. Taking you away. Forcing you to go. Compelling you into action. Even if you are frustrated. Angry. Annoyed. Unwilling. Wrestling. You are going whether you like it or not. Even if your legs are broken, God is calling you to climb. He’s calling you because it brings Him glory and he’ll do whatever it costs to get Him more of that. Even making you a little angry or bitter. What matters is that you let the Spirit take you, even if you don’t want to go up the hill. It sucks; I’ll tell you, it sucks. The Hill is hard. It hurts a whole helluva lot. Death is breathing heavy on my back. I’m hurting. My bones are broken something bad. And I’m not happy about it. But I want God to get His share. His glory. I want Him to get more of Him. Even if it means me hurting. Even if it means me bleeding a little. That’s why Ezekiel went to a rebellious people who weren’t going to listen. That’s why Jesus manned up and got on the Cross. For Glory. For More of Him and less of themselves. This is our spiritual climb, friends: To die and let God live. Just go. Come on. Get up that hill. Be angry. Be happy. It doesn’t matter, just keep climbing. Crawl if you have to. I want to encourage you. The hand of the Lord is on you. He’s not going to let go. If He lets go, He lets go of His glory. God will not let go of His glory. You are His glory. He’s going to get you to the top. It’s the one thing I can promise you, other than the road there will suck. Beg Him to help you get there. You cannot do this thing alone. We need His Spirit to sherpa us up our Everest. You don’t need your friends. You don’t need cheap, watered-down answers. You don’t need churchy people telling you churchy things. You don’t need lies. You don’t need magic books with magic answers. That junk will weigh you down. You need truth. You need to strap your boots up. Stare the junk in your heart down. You need to be pushed. You need to get up. You need to stand your ground and fight, damnit! You need to grow a pair. God will not let you go.

Look, I thought all this was a stupid idea. I wanted nothing to be apart of what God wanted to do with me. I honestly did not want my obedience to be this way. I didn’t like the idea of me having to die and having very important parts of me die too. But the Spirit over took me. I got hungry for the glory of God. Now I beg for death. Now I beg for His glory. It’s hard, believe me. But if you love Jesus, I mean really, wildly love Him this is what’s commanded of you. Death is demanded of you if you love Jesus like He’s commanded you too. If you aren’t climbing, not obeying God to the point of blood and sweat, then you’re telling the rest of the world that Jesus is just some guy. Some madman who helped people once. Your blood, sweat, and tears scream Savior of the World. King of Glory. Beautiful One. Good Friend. Your lack of it shuts those screams up. Screams the opposite. Do you love Jesus enough to let your world crumble? Will you show the world that? Your friends? Your parents? Do you love Him enough to lose it all? Or is He just some nice guy who should get lip service and a dollar on Sunday morning?

God’s going to keep hijacking your heart and moving you up this hill. He keeps doing it with me. He’ll do it with you. My heart is still bitter. I’ve lost precious things to me. But He wants His glory. And so do I. Losing these things is totally worth it, if God gets his glory. Beyond worth it. He keeps initiating me. Making me hungry. Miserable outside His presence. Making me groan for it with a bloody heart. Forcing me to come to life. He is the one making the pen move. I’m only writing what He’s whispering in my ear. I’m just the middle man. We’re all just the middle man. The intermediates bridging God back to His glory. He is taking us away. Wrapping us up in the unflinching grip of His Good Spirit. He refuses to let go of us no matter how bitter we get or how much we hurt and sweat. Our hurt and sweat increases His name and glory. Ache for your hurt and sweat, lest God not become more famous. Chase, climb, crawl towards those things. Yes, God most definitely loves us. Cherishes us as orphaned children. He’s concerned with us but only because He’s concerned with Himself. He loves our broken hearts so much only because He loves how He can mend them back together so much more. We can be angry as much as we want, shake our fists and scream till we lose our voice, but it wont matter- it won’t change this beautiful truth about God. He’ll keep holding us. Bringing us in tight. Wrapping us up in warm blankets. Hugging us. He’ll keep inspiring us to get up and go. Stand our ground and fight. Climb or crawl. As long as we’re breathing, we need to be begging God to make us breathe His glory. The Spirit is lifting us up and taking us away, even in the heat of our bitter skin. His mighty hand is strong up on us, causing us to climb. It’s never going to let go. We’ll be dragged, kicking and screaming, all the way to the top. He’s breathing life into dying bones. Fashioning beautiful, pure women. Molding rugged, passionate men. He’s recreating His children. Making them better. Replacing old ashes with radiant beauty. And He will not let go. Ever.