A Fool Among Fools

I am a fool. It is a recognition I have recently discovered and one that quite possibly may have the potential to be one of the most profound realizations any person may find themselves facing. And ironically this recognition is not in any way negative or debasing, but an opportunity to turn suffering into blessing, pain into joy. Foolishness into wisdom. To learn. To grow. This is what I mean...

Foolishness is an inherent component of the human condition. We are imperfect, depraved, prone to conduct ourselves in manners which only cause pain and suffering to ourselves and those around us; this is what allows us to learn and grow. I mean honestly, how often do we absolutely insist on learning the "hard way", indulging in our foolishness in hopes of reaping wisdom by our own means. But also how many times do we enter a situation, feeling so confident, so "ready", it sometimes even seeming like God Himself has reached down and placed something so good and great right into your hands, only to see it through and have it seemingly snatched away without even realizing what just happened. I mean, it was so good, so right, and yet the same God who had given has now taken! And here is where our foolishness bears itself for all to see. We cry out, we lash out, we blame, we criticize, we act rashly and foolishly and even just plain stupidly; we wonder why a God who is supposed to be so loving and caring and who is supposedly always looking out for us, who promised that He "causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose," would do something like this to us.

But that's just the thing.

He doesn't do it to us. He does it for us.

In our foolishness, we often cannot wrap our minds around the fact that truly all things do work together for good. Whether it is because of emotions or lack of understanding or whatever, whether we see it as a direct cause of something we have chosen to do or just another part of life, we find it so hard to believe that what is happening is really so good. Another great paradox. Sometimes we have to be hurt in order to really grow. This truth is everywhere: a field burned in order to nurture the soil and allow even more abundant life than before; a muscle broken down in order to build it back up even stronger than it was; allowing a doctor to cut into a body, to intentionally harm, in order to heal. In our foolishness, we are allowed to heal, to learn, to grow, returning even stronger than before. It is when we realize this, and the fact that we are fools, that we don't know everything, that no matter how much we believe ourselves to be ready we never really are at least not by ourselves within our own capacity, that foolishness begins to translate to wisdom. Our foolishness is a curse, yes, but also a blessing when looked at from the correct perspective. And the wisdom that comes with the realization that we are nothing but fools is a great thing to have, for there we find peace.

Peace with confliction. Peace within confliction.

And this is good. This is the good. Learning. Growing. Harvesting wisdom that perhaps we could not have had sown any other way.

I am but a fool. But I know my Maker is using my foolishness, my imperfection, my rashness, even my stupidity, to mold me, teach me, make me the man He has designed me to be.

I know I am a fool; I don't know all there is to know about this life and the interactions and relationships I will form and cherish and neither will I ever. But in my foolishness I have been blessed to have a God who will always be teaching me, even if when I cry out to Him it seems as though He has disappeared. Because yes, it will undoubtedly stretch my limited capacity for patience to its utter limits as time is an ingredient of unknown measure that is sometimes unfortunately essential to the process. Yes, it will test my composition and character and fortitude and willingness and obedience. But isn't that the point. Because He knows. He always does, because He is no fool. But as I am a fool, I can learn. And I am content with my foolishness. Sometimes we just have to search in spite of our foolishness to find that good. The good. Sometimes we have to dive deep. And it may burn, there is no question of that. We have to use our foolishness and whatever connotation and consequences that may bring with it in order to find wisdom. Otherwise what are we but fools wading in foolishness and hopelessness. And we are given this choice: to act as fools and fools only, or to strive to be more than such. And this choice is ours and ours alone. For love is the consistent underlying purpose behind it all, and without a choice love cannot exist. But that's a whole other spiel entirely (and oh how I so look forward to it!).

Peace within confliction.

I am a fool.

Originally Posted 5/29/08

That's My King

These are the thoughts of a man by the name of S.M. Lockridge who in 1976 delivered a message that came to be known as "That's My King". I have here transcribed the words and also found an audio link (definitely recommended) if you click here. It may be slightly lengthy, but I promise it is most definitely a quality composition, and probably one of the closest ways to accurately describe in words the God I have come to know and love this side of paradise, implementing an incredible tone and style. Even if you have no idea who I speak of or who Lockridge attempts to depict, it is quite remarkable. Plus maybe it'll give you some sort of idea why many find so much worth in giving their lives to the notion of worshiping a man who was crushed by the Jews and Romans in one of the most brutal of manners known to humanity two thousand years ago (though as the story goes, I hear it just was not enough). But those who have met this guy before, this King, our King, you'll know what's being talked about. And I believe you will quite enjoy it.

My King was born King.
The Bible says He’s a Seven Way King.
He’s the King of the Jews – that’s a racial King.
He’s the King of Israel – that’s a National King.
He’s the King of righteousness.
He’s the King of the ages.
He’s the King of Heaven.
He’s the King of glory.
He’s the King of kings and He is the Lord of lords.

Now that’s my King.

Well I wonder if you know Him. Do you know Him?
Don’t try to mislead me. Do you know my King?

David said the Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament show His handiwork.

My King is the only one whom there are no means of measure can define His limitless love.
No far seeing telescope can bring into visibility the coastline of His shore of supplies.
No barriers can hinder Him from pouring out His blessing.
Well, well, He’s enduringly strong.
He’s entirely sincere.
He’s eternally steadfast.
He’s immortally graceful.
He’s imperially powerful.
He’s impartially merciful.
That’s my King.

He’s God’s Son.
He’s the sinner’s saviour.
He’s the centrepiece of civilization.
He stands alone in Himself.
He’s honest.
He’s unique.
He’s unparalleled.
He’s unprecedented.
He’s supreme.
He’s pre-eminent.
Well, He’s the loftiest idea in literature.
He’s the highest personality in philosophy.
He’s the supreme problem in high criticism.
He’s the fundamental doctrine of proved theology.
He’s the carnal necessity of spiritual religion.
That’s my King.

He’s the miracle of the age.
He’s the superlative of everything good that you choose to call Him.
Well, He’s the only one able to supply all of our needs simultaneously.
He supplies strength for the weak.
He’s available for the tempted and the tried.
He sympathizes and He saves.
He’s a strong God and He guides.
He heals the sick.
He cleanses the lepers.
He forgives sinners.
He discharges debtors.
He delivers the captives.
He defends the feeble.
He blesses the young.
He serves the unfortunate.
He regards the aged.
He rewards the diligent and He beautifies the meek.

Do you know Him?

Well, my King is the key of knowledge.
He’s the wellspring of wisdom.
He’s the doorway of deliverance.
He’s the pathway of peace.
He’s the roadway of righteousness.
He’s the highway of holiness.
He’s the gateway of glory.
He’s the master of the mighty.
He’s the captain of the conquerors.
He’s the head of the heroes.
He’s the leader of the legislatures.
He’s the overseer of the overcomers.
He’s the governor of governors.
He’s the prince of princes.
He’s the King of kings and He’s the Lord of lords.

That’s my King. Yeah. Yeah.
That’s my King. My King, yeah.

His office is manifold.
His promise is sure.
His light is matchless.
His goodness is limitless.
His mercy is everlasting.
His love never changes.
His Word is enough.
His grace is sufficient.
His reign is righteous.
His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

Well. I wish I could describe Him to you, but He’s indescribable. He’s indescribable. Yes.
He’s incomprehensible.
He’s invincible.
He’s irresistible.

I’m coming to tell you, the heavens of heavens cannot contain Him, let alone a man explaining Him.
You can’t get Him out of your mind.
You can’t get Him off of your hands.
You can’t outlive Him and you can’t live without Him.

Well, Pharisees couldn’t stand Him, but they found out they couldn’t stop Him.
Pilot couldn’t find any fault in Him.
The witnesses couldn’t get their testimonies to agree.
Herod couldn’t kill Him.
Death couldn’t handle Him and the grave couldn’t hold Him.
That’s my King. Yeah.

He always has been and He always will be.
I’m talking about He had no predecessor and He’ll have no successor.
There’s nobody before Him and there’ll be nobody after Him.
You can’t impeach Him and He’s not going to resign.
That’s my King!
That’s my King!

Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory.
Well, all the power belongs to my King.
We’re around here talking about black power and white power and green power, but it’s God’s power. Thine is the power. Yeah.
And the glory.
We try to get prestige and honour and glory for ourselves, but the glory is all His. Yes. Thine is the Kingdom and the power and glory, forever and ever and ever and ever.
How long is that? And ever and ever and ever and ever.
And when you get through with all of the evers, then,
Amen.

Oh yeah and for an abbreviated version with a little visual with it click here

And one last quote from to wrap up...

How can we know that what Jesus has shown us of God is the truth; or how do we know when we look into the face of Jesus that we are looking into the face of God? The answer is so plain and simple that it is a marvel how intelligent men can manage to miss it as they do. Look at what Christ has done for the soul of man: that is your answer. Christianity is just Christ - nothing more and nothing less. It is a way of life, and He is that way. It is the truth about human destiny, and He is that truth.
~R. J. Campbell

Originally Posted 4/17/08

Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Fence

Totally random thoughts to sort of go along with the spiel entitled "Paradox"...

There was a book I read once....kind of....that bears the title "Does God Exist?" One guess as to what it's about.
Basically what it consists of is a debate between atheist Kai Nielson and theist J.P. Morgan, and even in the very preface one can find an intriguing thought...

"The desire behind this book's undertaking was to bring to your attention many of the critical and life-changing issues that surround the question of the existence of God. We hope you will weigh the "pros" and "cons" carefully and rationally. Then make a decision--to choose a position or to engage in more reflection and study. But whatever you do, we hope you don't put the matter aside and press on with your life. This question is too great, too fundamental, too all-impacting to set aside. Indeed, to ignore is to decide--to decide how you will think and live...."

Then also later....

"Sigmund Freud's argument, though often shocking to believers, is consistantly logical: If religion is an illusion, it is the greatest of all illusions, in fact, a species of collective insanity, like the imaginary friend of a child who never grew up. The same is true, of course, about atheism if theism is true: It is the child's denial of the parent's existence."

And to wrap up something that may or may not really have anything to do with this...a little story to help you sleep at night

There was a large group of people. On one side of the group stood a man, Jesus. On the other side of the group stood Satan. Separating them, running through the group, was a fence.

The scene set, both Jesus and Satan began calling to the people in the group and, one by one - each having made up his or her own mind - each went to either Jesus or Satan.

This kept going. Soon enough, Jesus had gathered around him a group of people from the larger crowd, as did Satan.

But one man joined neither group. He climbed the fence that was there and sat on it. Then Jesus and his people left and disappeared. So too did Satan and his people. And the man on the fence sat alone.

As this man sat, Satan came back, looking for something which he appeared to have lost. The man said, "Have you lost something?" Satan looked straight at him and replied, "No, there you are. Come with me."

"But", said the man, "I sat on the fence. I chose neither you nor him."

"That's okay," said Satan. "I own the fence."

Originally Posted 4/17/08

Paradox

This is a great paradox of the universe:

Throughout history never has mankind failed, no matter culture or circumstance, to scour the heavens in search of some sort of Force or Higher Power, some sort of Being or Creator in the stars that is residing out there seemingly just beyond our reach. And throughout the millennia myriads of conclusions have been drawn concerning this peculiar curiosity, whether polytheistic, monotheistic, pantheistic, animistic, atheistic, or something that will here fall in the category of "other". Yet it never fails to astound me that despite all that searching never has one man, woman, or child truly found the One True God in those stars.

Now I qualify that statement: without doubt one may look at the stars and so be able to conclude that there is some sort of Deity or Power, to speculate about Him or It or whatever, and who can guess what mere observation may bring about in one's mind concerning the nature of that Power. But here I am talking about the Most High. The real deal. The answer to the question billions have asked themselves at least once in life. And who can deny that they have not also offered up even the simplest of prayers in the most the most desperate of circumstances? The thought of the existence of a all-powerful Being that is watching over us is a part of our humanity. So yes, the heavens declare His glory and majesty, as does all of creation. And it confounds me how any rationally thinking human could look outside on a cool autumn day when the sun is emanating radiance, the sky is the most brilliant blue one could fathom, and the trees are more grand a canvas than the most accomplished of artists' masterpiece, and yet fully reject the thought of a spectacular grand design composed by One whose only purpose in doing so is to declare His undying passion for His own, to illustrate how desperately He longs to hold them in His arms and wrap them in love that will stand and comfort for all eternity, even after the trees have lost their beauty and withered away to dust. How much He yearns for us to reject the same path our fathers have walked.

But those stars are not Him.

And yet even in our rebellion we declare His existence! What a thought this is! For how would one rebel if there was not one to rebel against? Yes, even our sin shows Him true! For why else would we call it "sin", or "wrong" or immoral" if there was not some sort of set standard that this fallen state of human nature urges we challenge? And why would man institute this measure of character if it goes against even basic instinct? Have you ever observed a child, how it must be reared in taught what is right and all the way it may do so only after strenuous struggle and perseverance, and still it will most likely rebel yet again! But still one can see Him if only they choose to look. And also does this resound His love, for our rebellion is yet another proof of the choice all humanity must determine for himself, for without choice how can love truly exist? Are we to be as mindless as the machines we construct? Or does the Almighty ache for us to return His compassion because we too ache to be with Him and declare His worth and honor to all?

But here maybe I have strayed slightly from my initial consideration.

This is a great paradox of the universe:
That throughout history mankind has scoured the heavens in search for the Most High. And whenever we think of some sort of Presence like this we almost always tend to look and think "up" and "out" there. And all along we need only open our eyes to the fact that He has been right in front of us the whole time, dashing for us with love that is unbounded; that He is all around us and we only need say the word and He will come into us as well, filling our hearts with His Spirit. An abstract thought? Maybe. But maybe also the greatest of realities one may come to discover.

To fully know the character of the Almighty and the true extent of the miraculousness of His love one may argue that man must also search deeper, for example into the Word that He has made available. But that discussion is not the one which I now address. Here is presented the most basic of ideas that the Creator Himself cannot be found in the skies. And yet of course He is there as He is everywhere. But never will we know Him just by staring off into space, for that itself is not Him.
The great paradox:
He can be found in our hearts. And then only when we allow Him to so reside there.
Only when we stop constantly looking up.
And when we start crying out.
And then begin to open within.
And then reach to Him as He is to us. And only right in front of us! Not across millions of miles, not only after we successfully navigate an impossible maze of set standards and rules and criteria that will make us "worthy". But He wants us as we are now. Anything else can come later.
The heavens in all their brilliance declare His glory and reflect His power, and yet they are nothing compared to He Himself; and it is what we do with the recognition of this that will ultimately make the difference.

Abstract? Yes.
Confusing? Most definitely it can be.
Worthy of thought? I think so.
One of the most astounding of realities? I leave that to you.

If nothing else, some interesting thoughts to consider.

"The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world..."

"Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

Originally Posted 4/17/08

A Story

I run. I run and run and run until I cannot possibly run any longer and collapse on the ground, curl up in a ball, and cry. And I cry and cry and cry until I cannot possibly cry any longer. I try to scream, to call out for help, weeping and wailing with all that is in me for comfort, but that same utter void that has engulfed me for so long now simply destroys my cries of pure agony before they are even formed in my throat. I am trapped. I've been trapped for...

for.....

Was there really even ever a time when I was not lost in this abyss of emptiness and solitude? It is like a tunnel with no light at the end, where the walls seem to just keep closing in...even though there really are no walls. There isn't even really a tunnel. Just black. Nothing but endless black. So I lay there, wanting to scream but being unable to draw a sound, longing to cry but having no tears left to shed, yearning to run but being inescapably overwhelmed by the knowledge that I have nowhere to run to.

There is no way out of this tunnel that does not exist.

Suddenly, I feel the anguish, the bitterness, the solitude, the rage, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the darkness seem to compound all together with full force in the very pit of my stomach.

I want to die.

I want to die but know that even death will provide no escape from the black. So I just lay there, on the floor of the tunnel that does not exist. I bring my hands to my head and begin to rock myself back and forth.
Unable to run...
Unable to cry...
Unable to scream...
Unable to die.
I feel the sweat on my forehead mix with that on my hands. My entire body is saturated with sweat. But, then, I realize, in that moment of utter hopelessness, that it isn't sweat.

It's blood.

It's blood.

But I feel no pain.

Wait...
I feel no pain.
I feel no pain because I have no wounds. No wounds that would allow this cascade of blood.
Then I look down at my hands and see complete mutilation, right in the center of each palm.
But I feel no pain because I have no wounds.
I have no wounds.
So I peer down at the deformations in my hands that do not exist, and I see wounds that are not my own.

Wait...
I see the defacement of my hands.
I can see in the endless black that is the tunnel that does not exist.
I see what is not mine, but there nonetheless. So I peer frantically around this tunnel that does not exist.
Then in the direction I think is up, if there truly is an “up” in this tunnel that does not exist, there I see it. A crack. A crack in the wall that does not exist of the tunnel that does not exist.
And coming through the crack...
is light.

And coming down on that light, floating through the air, piercing the darkness of the tunnel that does not exist, is a small, almost impossible to notice piece of paper.
But also impossible not to notice.
The paper continues its descent until it lands directly on my hands, shrouding the maiming that is not my own. A flawlessly white sheet, but obviously nothing special... and at the same time the most awe-inspiring object that could be beheld. And on the sheet...is writing.
My eyes begin to slide across the page and see a message in ink.
Three simple ink words.

“I love you.”

Instantly, something else begins to come flowing down on the light: the most terrifyingly extraordinary sound that could ever be heard.
It is the sound of someone screaming.
And not just screaming; this is the sound of a man in the most complete of agonies.
...but I am still unable to scream.
Besides, this sound makes the screams I had so desperately longed to cascade from my chest seem like peals of thunderous laughter.
It is the most horrifically terrifying sound, going beyond any possibly coherent word, explicable only by the most utter of anguishes.
A living hell.
No.
Worse.
Much worse.

…But why am I laughing so?

…But why am I laughing so?

I can do nothing but lay on the ground, holding my sides which seem are going to burst because of the joy that is surging through my body because of the agony of the owner of the affliction in my hands that does not exist. And as I laugh, I begin to cry, cries of ecstasy and bliss because of the agony of the one whose agony pierced through the walls that do not exist of the tunnel that does not exist, the agony of the one I know sent that flawlessly white piece of paper down on the light that now carries his agony.
So I continue to laugh and cry, the sounds of overflowing and overwhelming emotions rebounding around the walls of the tunnel that does not exist, laughter and agony merging and reverberating all around me, all around the tunnel that does not exist.
After an eternity over, I notice something.

I still cannot make a sound. I cannot pierce the darkness of the tunnel.

Mystified, I sit up and anxiously search the darkness of the tunnel for the one who is able to penetrate this void.

Who is still laughing in pure joy, and yet still crying in utter agony?

But as I listen further, I notice that there is no scream of agony. Only those cries of ecstasy and bliss, ricocheting from wall to wall. The walls do not exist. The tunnel does not exist.

But the laugh. There is no doubt that the laugh exists. The laugh is real. So the owner of the laugh, the author of the note, he is real.

And I know. I know that he is the only one that can get me out of this tunnel that does not exist. Inexplicably, I know.

The laughing still encompassing me, the light coming through the crack in the tunnel still slicing through the darkness and covering me, I allow this recognition to spread throughout my body, engulfing my heart and mind.
And just as suddenly as they had come, the cries were gone.
And in its place, another sound came. The sound of a cascading waterfall. I once again frantically search the tunnel, then my eyes fall upon the crack. Light is still pouring through it.

But something else as well.
And this thing does not hinder the light in any way.
In fact, it only magnifies it.

The sound I hear is like that of rushing water, but just as I knew it was not sweat that covered my body, I know that it is not water flowing through the crack.

It is blood

It is blood.

My first reflex is to run, for I know that inside this tunnel I will be crushed underneath the power of this red river.

A River of Death.
Pure Death.

But even as I begin to attempt to flee, the current of surging blood that is rapidly filling this tunnel that does not exist overpowers me and takes me under, and the further down I find myself, the darker it seems to become, until even the darkness I had always known in the tunnel that does not exist sees warm and comforting. I strive for the surface, for air, for my mind screams that even the blackness of the tunnel will save me from the flood.
So I struggle and struggle and struggle, fighting to hold on, even if it is only to survive and stay in the tunnel. I am frantic, heart and mind racing.
I struggle and I struggle and I struggle until I cannot possibly struggle any longer, and just as I begin to lose all hope and succumb to the darkness the blood seems to be bringing...

I hear a sound.

The laugh.

It is the laugh of the one who had created that crack, who had authored that paper. It is coursing through this river of death, more vehemently and thunderous than ever, crashing through the crash of blood against the walls of the tunnel and that which is still pouring through the crack until everything seems to be saturated by the laugh, every molecule vibrating with the joyous glee.
I forget my struggle for a moment, intently focused on the laugh. And I notice something.
Something I had never noticed before.

The laugh.
It isn’t just a laugh.

It’s words, a message. Three words. The same words I had seen flawlessly scribed on the white piece of paper. That simple phrase:

“I love you.”

Over and over, that message is echoed in the laugh. Over and over and over. I float, suspended, for a few moments in the pool of blood, mesmerized by the laugh, unaware of all else.

Then my lungs begin to burn, like the very fires of hell were clawing at them, trying to pull me down from the inside into the abyss. But the laughter only grows more intense, almost to a point of pleading, and that’s when I finally realize it.

This blood.

This River of Death.
No.

This River of Life.
Pure Life.

It is his.

It is the same blood that had covered me as I had lain in hopelessness in the darkness of the tunnel, the same blood that had flowed from the wounds that were not mine, from the lacerations to my hands that did not exist. As I allow this recognition to once again spread throughout my body, engulfing my heart and mind, I also recognize something else...

I must drown.

I must drown.

Without giving even a chance to a whisper of a second thought to enter my mind, I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with this death-bringing flood from the one who had broken through the tunnel that does not exist.

I inhale, and inhale, until my lungs become saturated with blood and begin to burn once more. I gag and sputter and writhe in pain, but I know that I must drown.

Above all else, I must die.

Then I drown.
Then I die.

My corpse lies there as, all around it, the blood rushes away, leaving the lump of flesh that once housed my soul lying on its back, limp.

Dead. Very much dead.

Then I lurch forward, sitting up and spurting and hacking the life-bringing blood from my lungs. Alive. Very much alive.
Then I notice something. Two somethings actually.

One: the laughing is still very much filling the tunnel, though the blood is completely receded.
Two: I am no longer in a tunnel.

The tunnel that does not exist truly no longer exists. There are no walls, no void, no tunnel.
Just white.
Just light.
And just laughter.
And so, I sit in the light, allowing the light to cascade over my body and the laughing to warm my heart and soothe my mind. And I begin to laugh.
And I really laugh.
And I laugh and I laugh and I laugh, for there is no end to the laughter where there are no walls, no void, no tunnel.

There is just white.
And just light.
And just laughter.
And my laughter merges and mixes with the laughter of the one whose wounds I had held in my hands, whose light had pierced my tunnel of anguish, bitterness, solitude, rage, helplessness, hopelessness, and darkness, whose blood had brought me death and set me free to life. Life.
Just White.
Just Light.
Just Laughter.
And in that laughter, there is just love