Into the Wardrobe

It's shortly after 11:00 PM and I'm sitting here feeling like some great writer, who was punching keys long before I realized I had the ability to use my mind. I'm downing a double shot hazelnut, with a pencil loosely tucked behind my right ear, wedged between the frame of my glasses and cartlidge of my ear. The shades on my window are pulled up and the lights are turned off; God's great spotlight, His streetlamps in the sky, and the ferociuos glow of this computer screen glaring off the lens of my specs are the only things illuminating my empty room. Blue Merle plays on my iPOD, leading me down whatever weathered path my thoughts decide to take me down tonight. And all I can think about is all I've ever been able to think about since I left home over a year ago now, and came here to start a new one. I'm locked on the thought of all things I left behind. On all the friends and family I have scattered across the country, and now the world. I miss my friends. I miss every little damn thing I ever took for granted when I was underneath the roof my house; my mothers laugh, my fathers face, my sisters style. I miss the walls of my room, now covered with the creativity of my sister. A room rich with the history of my life. A place where the laughter and fellowship I shared in with the greatest men I'll ever know still remains so thick that I have to brush it away from face every time I step foot in there. Its a room abounding in memory. I love how it was always understood, that atleast 2 nights a week that room would be crammed with boys learning how to be men. And it was in that room where I think we each learned what manhood was about. I can't speak for the others that ever shared a night in that room, but I can speak for myself, and what I learned was that our manhood was about each other. For me my manhood was them. We walked in alone, just friends looking for a place to stay the night. But we always walked out together, brothers branded together by our fists. We walked in that room with our clothes nice and neat, our hair done just the way we wanted, comfortable the tempature, and the odor of our bodies for the most part a decent smell. We walked in that room and the bed was made, the old chair sitting perfectly in the center of the room, papers neatly stacked, books in rows from the biggest down to the smallest. Everything was in order when we walked in that room. Things were different when we walked out. The collars of our shirts stretched out, the rest of the fabric swallowed in each others sweat. Our hair was a mess, meaning (if we would be in the company of ladies later) atleast 2 of us would step into the bathroom across the hall on our way out to fix the problem. No matter what, we always walked out hot as hell. It was unwritten law that we would each be burning up when we were done in there. Atleast one of us, meaning me, would walk out with new bruises or redmarks somewhere on their body. The room itself would be left in total dismay like a hurricane had barreled through, only it wasn't a hurricane, it was boys with all the passion of one. More of my bed would be on the floor than on the actual bed. My hallowed chair would be in a different corner, probably turned on its side or upside down. Anything and everything would thrown around the room, ending up lifelessly laying somewhere on the floor. The room was left a wreck. We walked out a total mess. We walked out boys that were fashioned into men because of the brother standing next to them. We walked in that room like cookie dough, and we walked out carved from wood. We were messy, but we were right. We were exactly how we were supposed to be. Exactly. And I feel it's the same way with all our lives. The heart must remain a mess, an open wound, left vunerable and cluttered, like my room and our lives, because thats when the most damage is done. Thats when man gets chisled into stone, and woman into beauty. God would have nothing to do if we left our hearts in perfect order, with the bed perfectly made, the floor constantly vacuamed, and the valves polished and perfected like some piece of antique furniture. Christ died on the tree so that we wouldn't have to clean up. He died so we could pour out of that room a mess, but exploding with belly aching laughter and grinning like absolute idiots. We came out of that room like immortal giants. And thats exactly what Christ allows His children to feel like all the time. Man barrels out of his room messy and dirty with the ache of life and Christ cleans up, boosts us up on His shoulders like a child. And that transformation process is a beautiful mess. And thats what happend inside that room for me with those guys- a beautiful mess. And being apart from them is the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my short 20 years of breathing air. Not getting to shake their hand or take a royal beating from them has been terribly hard on my weary heart. Not to laugh with them, or talk with them face to face has left me with a strange and awkward hole in my chest. The distance left between my brothers and myself seems to stretch on and on down some eternal dirt road. A road that bleeds deep into a sun that never sets. I miss my friends. All of them. I miss all the forests we explored, the hills of dirt we stormed, the holes we dug just so we could imagine ourselves pinned behind enemy lines. I miss the rides we had in each others cars and trucks. I miss finding more of my manhood with them. I miss all the trespassing we did, all the wild runs from the cops we had. We were outlaws in our hayday. Boys on a mission to find ourselves in the shadow of the early morning moon. I always hated falling asleep when I was with them because I was so afraid of missing something memorable. Every moment I shared with any of them was the best damn moment of my life. Nothing else mattered to me. I am totally sold our for these guys, for that entire of group of damn fine people I got attached too. This is hard as hell for me. I miss the stories we shared, the stupid arguments we would have, tossing the football, and talking about our girls or lack there of. I miss being accountable with them, being brutally honest with them and myself. I miss being outnumbered when we listened to music. When I had to sit through the metal crap that they loved so much. I miss the ridiculus ideas we had, the randomness of everything that came out of mouths. Now I'm going through manhood on my own; forced to do this without the shelter and sharpening of my friends. I'll have to do this alone for now. And for the past year and half I've been real scared to take those first few steps. I've always had them to catch me when my legs gave out. And now, being without them, I've learned this, especially in the past week, that believe it or not, God creates holes in our hearts that are designed for people to fill up. I believe that God designs voids in hearts that can only be filled by specific human beings. There's a hole for our best friends, our futures spouses, our family, our children. Canyons carved out for the people that really matter to us. And when we're with these people, we know that life is right. Our hearts beat to the right rythm and we sway back and forth like we do when we hear our favorite song. Our hearts are whole when we're with them. And I think God does this on purpose. Because when distance tears at that hole; when that canyon feels so deep and so empty that we're pushed into some strange sadness and a bitterness we never asked for, It's just our hearts crying out for more of the Creator. Because the fact is, people will move in and out of lives life busboys in a restuarant; friends, family, and strangers will vanish like fog after awhile. And those voids will remain even when their gone. And thats where we learn what it truly means to lean on God and to lean hard, real hard. God gives us these people-driven voids so that when those people we care so much about aren't there to fill the carved canyon in with their life altering water, God can and will. God steps in and floods that dry canyon. And that's what I'm learning and trying to apply right now as I type these words. My heart is dry and blistered without my brothers and my sisters. But God can be enough when my rocks aren't around. When the stones of my life are removed, like they are now, God is the good rock. He is the stone that all the other stones stand upon. I miss my friends, i miss growing into manhood with them, but who's to say I can't grow into my manhood with the greatest of all men, while they're fighting this war? Who's to say that? The fact is this: God is ushering us into a romance filled with the same splendor and wonder every minute of our lives that I had everytime I was with my friends. An adventure oozing with the same mess, the same laughter, the same memories I made with the boys of my youth. He is taking us deep into the wild forests of His kindom by the hand with confidence and love. We must follow. We must follow His footsteps with curious eyes and messy souls. Our canyons will be filled, and we'll find all our friends along the way. I'll see you soon, my brothers and sisters. We'll shake hands and embrace like time had never gotten in the way. Our hearts will be whole and our laughter will be rich with the breath of the Trinity. Yeah, I'll see you all again soon. But first, first I must muster up the courage to step deep into this unknown world, I must walk like those brave boys and girls stepped into Narnia. I must step into the wardrobe of the wild, like I stepped into my own room with my friends close behind- alone. I must walk into the wardrobe, like we stepped out of my room- a mess. I will find you all again. I will find you alone and in a mess, but with the Great Lion restoring the holes you left in my heart...