Friday, April 8, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Replenishing the Well
Alex and Brett Harris put it wonderfully (as usual) in a post about inspiration, thinking, and why blog posts were rare around therebelution.com for awhile last year. It challenged me personally as I realized that, yes, I am reading a lot, but it is not really of the challenging Christian variety that stretches my mind and heart. I read Total Truth by Nancy Pearcey earlier this year, and that was truly about the extent of it. I've let myself slip into reading mostly school texts and books that, while good for general reading (such as Isabel Allende- wow) do nothing for my spirit.
Once again, the Harris' have encouraged me to make a few changes in my everyday life. If you read this, I'm sure you will be challenged in some way as well. Are you ready to take up the challenge?
http://www.therebelution.com/blog/2010/11/
Once again, the Harris' have encouraged me to make a few changes in my everyday life. If you read this, I'm sure you will be challenged in some way as well. Are you ready to take up the challenge?
http://www.therebelution.com/blog/2010/11/
Monday, January 17, 2011
August Rush
I recently watched one of the most maddening movies I have ever seen. It was maddening because I both love it and hate it; embrace some of the worldviews it presents and reject others. Still, it did what good movies should do: it left me with many things to think about long after the credits rolled.
August Rush is the story of a boy named Evan who is growing up in the 'system', not knowing who his parents were or what happened to them. He goes through life hearing music- in everything. In the course of trying to find his parents, who he believes he is connected to by music, many strange things happens to him. First, he runs away to New York City, where he gets entangled with a man called "Wizard"- a creepy man who I never got a complete understanding of. The Wizard has him out on the street playing a guitar for money under the name 'August Rush'. After a police raid of the condemned theater where the Wizard is, he ends up in a church, where he meets a young girl who discovers his Mozart-like genius. The kindly reverend of the church takes him to Julliard, where he thrives, and ends up writing a fantastic orchestral piece.
Throughout the movie Evan's story is intertwined with his parents- his mother, a famous cellist, and his father, an Irish boy who was part of a rock band with his brothers. We see the way that his parents met and were separated, and that his father didn't know of his existence, while his mother thought he was dead. The story could have come out trite and cliche, but somehow, it didn't. The way the music of his mother overlaps with that of his father is a particularly intriguing combination, and the use of music to bring everything together was a particularly enjoyable plot device. Subtle humor throughout kept this movie from being overly dark, though it definitely deserved its PG rating. Simply because of the many thought-provoking moments in it, I would recommend it- though, because of its intensity in some places, I agree with my Dad who deemed it best for ages 13 and up.
August Rush is the story of a boy named Evan who is growing up in the 'system', not knowing who his parents were or what happened to them. He goes through life hearing music- in everything. In the course of trying to find his parents, who he believes he is connected to by music, many strange things happens to him. First, he runs away to New York City, where he gets entangled with a man called "Wizard"- a creepy man who I never got a complete understanding of. The Wizard has him out on the street playing a guitar for money under the name 'August Rush'. After a police raid of the condemned theater where the Wizard is, he ends up in a church, where he meets a young girl who discovers his Mozart-like genius. The kindly reverend of the church takes him to Julliard, where he thrives, and ends up writing a fantastic orchestral piece.
Throughout the movie Evan's story is intertwined with his parents- his mother, a famous cellist, and his father, an Irish boy who was part of a rock band with his brothers. We see the way that his parents met and were separated, and that his father didn't know of his existence, while his mother thought he was dead. The story could have come out trite and cliche, but somehow, it didn't. The way the music of his mother overlaps with that of his father is a particularly intriguing combination, and the use of music to bring everything together was a particularly enjoyable plot device. Subtle humor throughout kept this movie from being overly dark, though it definitely deserved its PG rating. Simply because of the many thought-provoking moments in it, I would recommend it- though, because of its intensity in some places, I agree with my Dad who deemed it best for ages 13 and up.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Kingdom Note from R.C. Sproul, Jr.
I love his perspective in this note... and how often do we think that we are only being effective for Christ when we are at our strongest?
I’m tired, and my dear wife is happy about it. Two weeks of speaking and travelling among the saints in Colombia, South America has left me run down, fighting a cold, and muddle-headed. My wife, God bless her, is no sadist. Her joy over my weariness is perfectly understandable. She likes “Tired Me” because “Tired Me” is much more soft, attentive, emotional and tender than “Energized Me.” I suspect that there are other husbands like me, and other wives like my own.
Having been through this pattern before I was tempted to think nothing of it. It’s a nice bonus that my wife is blessed by this current state of mine. And I had always been content to discount the phenomenon as not touching on the real me, tough guy that I am. But for some reason, perhaps because I watched Inception on my flight back from Colombia, I am not left wondering this- what if “Tired Me” is the real me?
What if my weariness doesn’t obscure, but instead reveals who I actually am? What if I expend energy, when I have it to spare, suppressing my feelings? What if Andrew Peterson’s song The Queen of Iowa drives me to tears because it should, and that something is wrong with me when it doesn’t? What if my Shannon’s smile, my Donovan’s hugs, Darby and Delaney’s singing voices, Erin Claire’s thoughtfulness, Maili’s stories, Reilly’s prayer requests, and Campbell’s overflowing love for his siblings are supposed to keep me perpetually choked up? What if “Tired Me” is better at sympathizing with Yolie and Sue and Eileen and Tim and Joni in all the challenges they are facing?
Indeed, what if God in His good providence, sees to it that I am more tired, so that I might be more like His Son? Maybe that’s why I should be getting up earlier to pray. Maybe that’s why I should be working harder, not so that I might get more done, but that more might be done in me.
Our prayers expose the folly of our strategies. We ask for strength, because we think it will do the kingdom good. But the kingdom grows in our weakness. We ask for health, thinking it will make us more effective, when it might just make us more affected- pretending to be strong and bold. We ask for ease, which only makes us more at ease in Babylon. What we ought to be asking is to be more like Jesus. He had no place to lay His head. He was acquainted with sorrows. He carried the burden of our sins, and drank the Father’s cup. And through it all He is what we are supposed to want to be. Lord, make me tired. Make me weak. Make me tender and make me soft. Make me reach out to hold my wife, to squeeze my children. Make me more like your Son, for the sake of His kingdom, for the sake of His saints, and for the sake of my soul.
I’m tired, and my dear wife is happy about it. Two weeks of speaking and travelling among the saints in Colombia, South America has left me run down, fighting a cold, and muddle-headed. My wife, God bless her, is no sadist. Her joy over my weariness is perfectly understandable. She likes “Tired Me” because “Tired Me” is much more soft, attentive, emotional and tender than “Energized Me.” I suspect that there are other husbands like me, and other wives like my own.
Having been through this pattern before I was tempted to think nothing of it. It’s a nice bonus that my wife is blessed by this current state of mine. And I had always been content to discount the phenomenon as not touching on the real me, tough guy that I am. But for some reason, perhaps because I watched Inception on my flight back from Colombia, I am not left wondering this- what if “Tired Me” is the real me?
What if my weariness doesn’t obscure, but instead reveals who I actually am? What if I expend energy, when I have it to spare, suppressing my feelings? What if Andrew Peterson’s song The Queen of Iowa drives me to tears because it should, and that something is wrong with me when it doesn’t? What if my Shannon’s smile, my Donovan’s hugs, Darby and Delaney’s singing voices, Erin Claire’s thoughtfulness, Maili’s stories, Reilly’s prayer requests, and Campbell’s overflowing love for his siblings are supposed to keep me perpetually choked up? What if “Tired Me” is better at sympathizing with Yolie and Sue and Eileen and Tim and Joni in all the challenges they are facing?
Indeed, what if God in His good providence, sees to it that I am more tired, so that I might be more like His Son? Maybe that’s why I should be getting up earlier to pray. Maybe that’s why I should be working harder, not so that I might get more done, but that more might be done in me.
Our prayers expose the folly of our strategies. We ask for strength, because we think it will do the kingdom good. But the kingdom grows in our weakness. We ask for health, thinking it will make us more effective, when it might just make us more affected- pretending to be strong and bold. We ask for ease, which only makes us more at ease in Babylon. What we ought to be asking is to be more like Jesus. He had no place to lay His head. He was acquainted with sorrows. He carried the burden of our sins, and drank the Father’s cup. And through it all He is what we are supposed to want to be. Lord, make me tired. Make me weak. Make me tender and make me soft. Make me reach out to hold my wife, to squeeze my children. Make me more like your Son, for the sake of His kingdom, for the sake of His saints, and for the sake of my soul.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
I received this reminder last night: "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know."
That has been, and still is, my strongest temptation, and I suspect that it is for many people- the desire to be strong, not to have failures, and certainly not to be perceived by others as weak or silly or foolish.
Well, guess what? Sometimes we are weak. We all have failures, memories that never fade completely, and moments where we are weak, physically or emotionally or both. As the chorus of a Rich Mullins song says,
We are frail
We are fearfully and wonderfully made
Forged in the fires of human passion
Choking on the fumes of selfish rage
And with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are
We are fearfully and wonderfully made
Forged in the fires of human passion
Choking on the fumes of selfish rage
And with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are
At those moments all I want to do is get through the situation, selfishly focusing on myself and forgetting that there may be a deeper lesson to be learned-
And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)
One final thought: Christ, our Savior and Lord, the One who sustains the whole universe, came to earth as a helpless baby. Perhaps we should follow the example of Jesus and allow ourselves the freedom of not always being strong. After all, we're not ultimately in control anyway, and we'll never be fooling God.
His grace is sufficient.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
And you show that you are a letter of Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of human hearts.
~2 Corinthians 3:3 ♥
I love that image of being a letter of Christ, written by the Spirit of God, and of the difference between tablets of stone and human hearts. One of my absolute favorite things is a hand-written letter, so the word picture really struck me when I read that today. Blessings!
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