.: the elaboration of our finiteness :.

The hope of any interaction that might take place between you and I is not just authenticity for its own sake ("I say who I am and that is enough?'). Rather it is so that our hearts and lives might lay exposed before the Gospel that implicates us all, and liberates those that come. We do not put everything on the table so that we can either feel better or worse about ourselves, but it is so that God might be seen more clearly amidst our situation, whatever the case may be personally. We ought not gather together so that we can know more about each other, but ultimately so that we might know more about Christ and be encouraged to know Him at even deeper levels. You see, there is a great difference between "being honest" so that we might wear the badge versus being honest about who we are so that we see our great need for a Savior. The journey of unwrapping the layers of our lives hopefully arrives at a place far beyond just being able to say that we are genuine creatures. We ought to be far more concerned with arriving at a place where we are closer to the heart of the Father Himself. All that to say, my story is insignificant apart from the reality of Christ's work in and through me. If my goal is to simply subtly elevate myself through public defamation, I cannot help but think that we have missed the point of gathering as fellow members of the Body. The parts must soon give glory to the head lest they believe themselves to be independent of Him completely. No doubt you and I have all experienced those occasions where we are called to be more truthful, only to feel that much emptier because of our selfishly inward bent and focus. Each moment of time holds the possibility of being released. But that cannot happen until we see the heart of the Christian life beyond our own experience of it, though it is not as if it does not concern it whatsoever. The Spirit has been at work in my life far longer than I have had the hope of making sense of it all. So when I leave it at that, the victory of the Cross remains untold in and through me. It is almost as if we fail to see God and His work as significant in our lives, all the while remaining content to fill our time with each self-effacing motion. The goal of our salvation is not our being repeatedly trampled down, but His being continually lifted up before us all. My moving deeper is only begun so that I might soon move outward and upward. At the heart of us all are conversations between the Spirit and our own, most of which revolve around our passions and fears. But the telling of those elements is only one part of it all. Realness does not end with our gut-wrenching "oneupmanship", all in the quest to see who has a more sordid past. Realness begins and ends with our rejoicing in things no longer being as they used to be. We cannot see ourselves clearly until we see Christ for who He is. And we cannot see Christ clearly until we see the bit parts that we play in the larger story of history and eternity. He is not just Savior just to us individually, but communally as well, as far as the ends of the earth. So to disarm self through giving up the facade of our makeshift existence only proves beneficial when we then enter into the fullness of our lives in Christ. It is not so much about our coming to Him as it is about His glorious coming to us in the moment of our greatest need, the event of His greatest sacrifice. The bearing of our souls with one other must culminate in its bringing to light every way in which we find our design fulfilled by its Creator. Everything else is simply aimless chatter about our shortcomings, as if that is still our state of being; apart from Him. For we are those that know so much better, and are known far better than we might admit.

.: ran the race :.

Yesterday my wife and I had the privledge of running in the St. Patrick's Day Dash in downtown Seattle. We were two of the 15,500 people that showed up for the event, all of which made for a beautiful "sea of green". The 5K (3.5+ miles) fun run began at the Seattle Center and stretched all the way to Safeco Field. It was a blast being able to run down streets that we normally would only be able to drive on. Our favorite parts of the race included the Battery Street tunnel (where a number of runners/walkers were scribbling their names into the dirty walls), as well as all along the Alaskan Way Viaduct. Despite my throbbing ankle, which had been aching for most of the week leading up, we finished the race in 46:20. We both can say that we ran for most of the race (at least 80%), outside of the hills that we used to catch our breath by walking. This run will stick with me for some time as an example of the need for encouragement at times in our lives. Kelly is the reason for why we finished the race as well as we did, at least from my perspective. Her promptings kept me going, even when my tendons were screaming and my feet had gone numb. But there is nothing like coming around that corner on Royal Brougham Way and seeing the finishline in the distance. My mind shifted from begging my body to stop running to suddenly shouting to keep moving as fast as I could. In fact, I seemed to move even faster once I saw all the freebies they were giving away just beyond the end. What a wonderful adventure for both Kelly and I to have taken part in! We are looking forward to doing more of these kinds of runs, as well as taking part in larger races in different parts of the Northwest.

.: hard to behold :.

I have been caught up by the wonder of all these pretty little things. These days, I find myself wandering from town to town - a place where I can find safety and comfort. Every time it plants that unsettling seed within my heart, I am moved to try and do nothing at all. But it is not like I have been dying all these years, simply growing satisfied with who I am and where I belong. Nevertheless these things keep coming to me. Their effect cannot help but be that much further behind. I would prefer that they move along. Maybe find another soul to antagonize. All around me, there stand the graves of souls that were probably just as weary. Do they really have nothing better to do than to steal these precious moments from me? They come at a time when I cannot collect my thoughts. Where do I find the courage to take my stand, or at the very least plan my escape? Did they plan to move in as subtly as they did? There is a beauty far beyond it all, if only I can see this for what it truly is. I fear that I have misplaced the notion that the most dangerous cries are those that come as softly as these. Just behind the paradise that they offer lies a trap waiting for me to throw myself upon. But could I really pull it off? Or is all this simply the reflections of the hope that I am still a person of substance? These trials come in pairs. But it scares me how I almost recklessly thirst for them, as if they make all the difference. I would love to make a clean break from what lies before me, so that I could be salvation to even ones such as these. But it truly is not that simple. My hands are stained by the foolish pride that pushes me to continue forward. Soul, listen closely... there is nothing for you here!