500 Miles Later: The Flint Hills and What I Learned Along The Way

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I am about to open my journal once again. This was recorded over a two-day period back in November. The words of a man searching and journeying to far-reaching, never before visited lands. Please be careful. Fasten your seat belt. And please keep your feet inside this blog at all times. Here goes...

11/8/09
Dear Papa,
Sometime after 11am. Sitting at a rest stop, basking in the sunny skies above. Beautiful day for a drive, but that is not why I am here. I have traveled 150 miles so far, in my forest green Saturn wagon. My destination is not the point, but I do hope to make it to El Dorado, Kansas, sometime before the sun begins its trek downward to its resting place for the evening.
A good breeze blows its imaginary tricks against tree limbs laid bare from unconditionally cold days past. It has been a cold Fall, and today may be the last chance to sit at a picnic table with no jacket and feel the sun hard against my back and neck. The freeway behind me roars and growls as semi's, fancy sports cars out for one final "Hooraaay!," minivans chucked full of antsy kids on their way to visit Grandma for Sunday lunch, and any other wayward travelers pound hard against its concrete and asphalt veins. And I am here to breathe. To step away from the little country house where I live with my family. I need to get away from those four walls and from such noisy inventions as TV and computers. I have been crumbling these past few months. Like this road behind me, so much mental traffic has destroyed my once smooth, quiet ability to think straight. I am confused about everything it seems. And I want to hear Your voice. To listen loudly to what You've been trying to say. I need help opening my heart to whatever You want to say and do.
I intend to drive to Kansas, spend the evening seeing the Flint Hills, quieting myself while surrounded by new beauty, begin heading back yet tonight, and sleeping at a rest stop in my car. I have never done so before. Tomorrow I finish my drive back to Iowa and work at 5pm.
Let me hear You, please. Help me make sense of the mess. Keep me safe. Fill me with joy!
Every moment, if we're seeing, words on invisible pages are being written down, filled with every thought, every sight which You have ordained before creation for us.
My journey continues...
12:32pm. I have made it to Missouri! Never been here before. South of Des Moines and Hwy-80, the land in Iowa shifts to rolling hills of corn fields and pasture. The freeway winds its way up and down and around the little hills. Now here in Missouri, the rolling continues, but the bed has changed from farmland to livestock pasture. Beautiful hues of green climb their way around the hills, like two lovers enjoying a night of God-designed passion on their honeymoon.
The temp continues to inch up the thermometer. A warm breeze now moves along, tickling the grass and brush. These jeans may prove to be too much by the time I lay hold of Kansas. However, they will come in handy tonight sleeping in the car.
My mind still does not comprehend this trip. The radio has remained off since leaving Grundy County, IA. My thoughts seem stuck in hiding, as if to say they do not yet trust to come out - like a young boy hiding from a thunderstorm, not yet ready to accept its passing. It is still cloudy up there (talking about my mind). Still my soul feels grasping for air.
But I will continue...
3:36pm. I have been driving now through Kansas for over an hour. I am sitting at a rest area near Ottawa, KS, along Hwy-35. Clouds have moved in, and a chilly breeze sweeps along the prairie. That is all I have seen so far - prairies with cattle grazing. So far little to write home about. The sun is going down and soon I will lose any ability to see the land around. I still hope to catch a glimpse of the Tallgrass Flint Hills. We'll see...
Not sure the time. Nor do I care. I am sitting on a stone wall, overlooking a sunset preceded in beauty by only the hills which roll, rise, and dip, playing tag with one another. Browned Tallgrass surrounds me. It is peaceful here. The only sounds coming from the occasional car passing behind me, a tempered wind blowing in from the Gulf, and crickets... singing their praises to the One who created them. Thanking Him for making them. It had become dreary for much of the drive through Kansas. But as I approached these hills, it was as if the sky opened up only to show off the beauty! As if to say: "Hey, look what I can do!"
To think... I was in Iowa this morning! Never before have I driven so far west. Or south.
There is much yet for me to do. I have made it to my destination, yet still there are thoughts to wrestle with. I am in awe of where I sit. But that is the extent of what I know right now.
How did I get to this point? Where have I been and where am I going?
Papa, help me to make sense of this mess. Do whatever it takes. Meet me here, on this trip. Why do I not feel You? How can I know You?
The sun chases away the coldness during its peak hours of the day. And now... the coldness fights its way back, with each passing moment of the sun's journey downward. You have your paintbrush out! This sunset is breathtaking! Purples, pinks, blues, oranges - all stretch themselves across a light blue backdrop. It is amazing how a few clouds enhance the beauty of the scene! Like fire in the sky, that is what I am seeing! It is getting colder. My nose begins to water. Yet even this coolness is refreshing.
Sometime around 7pm. Sitting in a Subway Restaurant in El Dorado, KS. I made it. Wasn't sure I would. With the creeping darkness, hides lurking animals ready to pounce into your path. It is a scary thing - hitting a deer. I wish not to experience it again - not here, not now. I am eating a Buffalo Ranch Chicken footlong sub. Food tastes good. From here, I head back - back onto 54 and, turning north, the long journey along 177. 177 is the route which cuts its way through the Flint Hills. The route which makes the little hairs on the backside of my neck stand on end. El Dorado is a cute town. They have a whole line of places to eat and seem rooted in some sort of history.
From here on out, I don't feel rushed. I am no longer in a race against the sun. However far I can make it yet tonight will, Lord willing, put me that much closer to home. As I sit in this green booth, looking out a pane of glass at the traffic moving aimlessly about, I begin to ask myself why I came? Why did I leave this morning? What has it gained me? Why do we always have to ask that question? I have seen two new states. I looked upon a most beautiful horizon, full of color and wordless-cut hills, bouncing about like a child with too much energy.
Papa, the thoughts are not coming. The clear-headedness not arriving as scheduled. I need to feel at peace. To rest in You. Help me to do that. To make sense of all the thoughts which have been. To understand who I am. To know You. To feel You. To move beyond all the comforts, into a realm of the unknown life lived in the Known. So again, why am I here? What did I drive all the way to Kansas to learn?
I am excited to sleep in my car tonight. To make bed and sleep. And to wake up, finding myself yet on the road, on a journey.
And so I am off - back to Iowa. It is now, at 7:19pm, that I begin. Please keep me safe.
11:10pm. I have stopped for the night. I am in Holt, MO. At a rest stop along 35N, exit 33. I am more than half way home, or at least I should be. I should only have around four and a half hours tomorrow. This is a nice little set up. I laid the back seat down, unrolled a sleeping bag for exact padding and hung a shirt from the handle above the leftside, rear door to block one parking lot light shining right into my face. One red Ford Contour is parked about 5 spaces to the north of me. I think they intend to sleep tonight as well. I feel a bit jumpy, having never done this before. For the longest time I did not even realize people did this - sleeping at a rest stop. I think it will take awhile for me to trust that any cars parked around me for an extended period of time are nothing more than fellow travelers on their own great adventure. A cell phone (void of minutes and good for only a call to 911) and a jackknife lay next to me. It is really warm in here. That may change, but for now it is bearable.
This drive home has gone much faster than the trip down. My mind distracted by staying alert and watching for those pesky deer. I had one close call back in Kansas. A deer jumped out only nearly 15 feet in front of my car. But all is well.
It has struck me, having been to various parts of the country now, just how alike people are. This really is a small world. I remember when I used to believe that people living in different states would seem so strange to me if I ever met one. That they would smell different, wear different types of clothing, even their faces starkly deformed from my own and those others blessed to call Michigan home. So I thought. So I was wrong. People are people. No matter where they call home. Even street names repeat from state to state. I drove by a Burlingame Rd. in Kansas this afternoon. You wouldn't think this to be a common name, yet a road near my Grandmother's house in Grandville, MI, is spelled the exact same way. Strange. Who copied whom, I wonder?
Kansas City smells like coffee grounds. I'm not kidding! Both times driving through, filled the car with the aroma of coffee. How hip is that? Makes me want to live there, just so I can small coffee all the time.
I will rest now. I intend to wake up and write more. Perhaps read some too from my Bible. I don't want to rush off in the morning. Goodnight.
11/9/09
Dear Papa,
7:20am. Just waking up. Definitely cooled in the night and made waking up that much harder. Everything inside you just wants to stay there, cocooned in the blanket, head nuzzled deeply into the pillow. My eyes bounced about like a child on a po-go stick. There is movement outside, as cars and trucks awaken from their slumber. I laid here with my feet pressed against the tailgate, laying somewhat sideways, and my head reaching to the back of the driver's seat. It took a few hours for my body to adjust to a base of a trunk space never designed for such an activity as sleeping - at least not for a man who extends to 6' 2''. Looking out the windshield, only one trucker remains from the night along with me. He drives a Volvo cab with a trailer reading Koch Transportation. I hope he slept well. When I woke up only a few minutes ago, the sky looked pissed - grey clouds moved about everywhere I could see. But now, they are easing back, opening up to reveal a sun also just climbing from bed, pushing back his covers, and stretching his back. Partial blue skies fill my panoramic view out 5 of the windows. It will be another great day for driving and finishing my trip. For only the second time since leaving home, the other came overlooking the Flint Hills last night, I feel a very slight peace. I feel in no hurry to leave this 33rd exit from the Kansas-Missouri border. It almost doesn't seem real that I was in Kansas yesterday. Where is Toto when you need him?
Looking out the rear window, over my legs, I see a house just past a thin line of trees. They have a couple barns and what appears to be a lot of land, all covered in a deep green grass. Livestock probably begin their daily routine of chomping on some tasty, dewy grass. That house has probably stood there long before this highway or rest area were even imagined. I wonder to myself how the family must have liked when the state bought up the land in their front yard and opened the door for careening cars and noisy trucks to barrel by their peaceful little crescent of a homestead. I wonder if their small children awoke each morning to the sound of a rooster, only to see large yellow machines destroying their playground and thinking to themselves: "Mommy is not gonna like letting us outside to play today!" I feel a bit sad for whoever must live there. Peace disrupted is annoying.
The sun is finding itself and shining bright, like a police officer's flash light, through the tailgate window. It has rewon the battle of dominance with the clouds, at least for right now. That Koch truck still remains. I hope he is dreaming sweet!
9:19am. Still sitting here at the stop. Enjoying the morning. The sun is out in full now. Beautiful day. The Koch truck yet remains. I wonder to myself: "Has this trip been a distraction from the trip?" I wonder if I focused too much on "getting there," that I paid no attention to why I left. I left to listen. To escape, although I now wonder if that is possible, and if it is, if that was my problem? I needed to clear my thoughts. I do think it has helped in those regards. I do not feel so heavy - my mind is no longer sounding as if it were the old van from Donald Miller's book, Through Painted Deserts, trying to climb a hill with a clothes-hanger holding its transmission together. I do think, however, that I had been too focused on arriving in Kansas yesterday. I have not taken time to slow down. To just be. To breathe. Isn't that how it goes though? We work and work to get somewhere. We hurry. We rush. We make bonehead mistakes. We end up stopped at a railcrossing, which we never would have had to deal with had we not missed our turnoff and had to double back, now forced to slow down, yet still in a race with an imaginary opponent. Do we even understand why we are in such a hurry? What was the point of "getting there" last night? What did I miss out on elsewhere because I was so set on seeing my destination through? Life truly is about the journey to the destination. If we cannot learn to enjoy the journey, will we ever possibly enjoy the destination? How could we, if we were rushed to arrive? If we can learn to slow down, enjoy the adventure - every little step, road, trial, sunset, sunrise, hill, annoying deer, sleeping in the backs of station wagons, coffee-smelling hip towns - then all the more glorious will the destination be. All the richer the color and hues. This is why I left. To learn this for real. I drove 500 miles to learn this truth. And also this... one needs more than just a journal for these journeys. One needs also his Bible. It felt good to read this morning. First three chapters of John. "In the beginning was the Word... the Word became flesh and lived among us." The servants at the wedding staked their life on a faith in Jesus' words - that the water WOULD become wine for the master of the banquet. What would have happened to them if they handed the man a ladle, he sips and tastes only water? What would he have done to them?
All a man needs in this life: food, water, shelter, journal, Bible, a companion, and complete trust in a living God whom he will never fully understand. One last thing a man needs: a journey to enjoy.
I continue and finish mine now.

Would You Read This If The Title Intrigued You?

September 20.
11:00am.
Pleasant Valley Reformed Church.
The date, time, and place. A big moment for me. I have felt many convictions regarding Christ's Church for many years.

It was right here. In this very spot. On the couch in my basement apartment at my parent's home. I was probably on HSA, checking out people's profiles or responding to a message. My dad walked down the stairs (his footfalls against the carpeted steps acting like the peek hole through a door, into which announces the presence of the person approaching) and asked to come into my room. His words would change my thoughts for the evening -- and my thoughts for the looming days ahead. He began: "People are getting excited." I was confused. What people? And why are they excited? Did gas prices come down again today? That would be exciting, indeed! He continued, "I sort of mentioned to a couple people your thoughts about youth group and church and they are getting really excited. They want to hear your thoughts directly. They have asked to have you come speak with them about this idea." Ummmm... errrrr... *cheesy grin.* I couldn't help but smile. I tried not to. This was all happening so very fast. Maybe too fast, but that has yet to be determined.

What my father was referring to, was a conversation he, my mother, and I had had the night before. They had asked if I would be willing to help with the youth group at his church. I hesitated with that. I had my face kicked in at the last church I served at in youth ministry. Undoubtedly, I have grown timid of the idea of returning to such position. And there remained something else... something I couldn't quite squeeze from between my lips. I wanted to say what I was thinking but felt scared. An emotion I have come to know all too well as of late. See, my time at Trinity Reformed Church last year was a time of trials mixed with triumphs. I have never been so pushed in all my life. Many questions developed over the 15-months in my white brick, book-filled office. What is this all about? Are we being effective? Page upon page worth of questions.

When my father confronted me with the question of helping with the youth group, many memories came rushing back into my head. All the questions returned. All the evening walks around Holland -- wandering alone, walking hand-in-hand with my thoughts -- flashed like lighting somewhere deep in my mind. Oh Lord, would I have it in me again? Do I have the passion for just one age group of church goers? That nagging "something" that I spoke of earlier began to rise to the surface. "I... uh... don't know that I can do that anymore. I don't know what to say to them anymore." This was the best that I could mutter. I knew there was more. After a moment of silence, I proceeded to wring from my soul what I was feeling. "I don't know that I agree with separating youth from the rest of the church. I think there is more we can do." There, I said it. And I meant it. I felt a bit embarrassed doing so. My dad has been so elated about a youth ministry at the small, country church. I was worried I would look up from the ground and see him holding a hand over his chest, and see a grimaced look on his bearded face from the gun shot wound I had just inflicted. But alas, no gun shot rang out. Instead, there was an intrigued look on both my parent's faces. So I continued. "I believe that ministry -- life in Christ is what I really mean by that word -- could better happen across the ages. Grandparents, parents, twentysomethings, teens, and children all engaged in a time of God-centered, heartfelt worship. Worship in the form of relating, of struggling, of honesty. Grandparents sharing their wisdom from years of trials and joys. Parents sitting down with their children and relating personally the realness of God in their lives. Children engaged in listening to the God-stories, soaking up the realness of God and active members in the life in Christ. No separation. No sunday school teachers or youth pastors relaying the message which should come from their parents and families." (That is a paraphrase of all I spoke.) There is yet more to my thoughts, but that best describes the main point of the discussion.

Next always in this discussion, comes the questions. People have questions for this idea. We have operated as a church for so many generations with one way of thinking: The church is responsible for the spiritual health of my family and will speak the utterances of God directly to each in the safety of their peer group. We'll call it sunday school because we're educating our kids in the way of God. We will search high and low for the most hip, current teaching curriculum and let that be our guide for our kids understanding of God. We'll prod them to attend youth group each week because they will come back on fire for God (that youth pastor dude seems so in touch with those kids and only he can truly teach them about who God is in their life). But I believe this has been a sad mistake on the part of the church. People are so incredibly disconnected from a life lived with other believers in Christ! We have shot ourselves in the chest. Despite all my "shooting" talk, I really am not a violent person. Families are falling apart. And God is no longer glorified. The latter must be the bigger sadness. We are not living in a right understanding of who God is. We do not seem interested in drawing each breath from Him. For many, their "walk with Christ" is limited to a Sunday morning service from either a bare-wood pew or a padded chair.

And so... the lingering question illuminating from my soul the past few years has been this: What if there could be more? More to the God we serve? More to our life in His Spirit? More to our life with other believers?

What if?

For right now, I will leave you with that question.

And the importance of September 20? It will be my first opportunity to share these thoughts with a group of people. Please pray I am able to speak clearly and passionately.

Gideon's $1.29

Judges 7.
Gideon defeats the Midianites.
If you get the opportunity, read that chapter. It is fascinating. Gideon is fascinating. And even more fascinating is God in this story. The way He strips down the comfort of Israel. Israel had grown to find much safety in her armies. Since their exodus from Egypt, God had been mustering her armies for battle many times before. If God fought with them, they won. If God was not with them, they lost. And ran. And hid. And were taken captive. And plundered.
But on this occasion, God has called Israel to do battle with the Midianites. And there is a catch of sorts...
vs. 2 says: "The LORD said to Gideon, 'You have too many men for me to deliver Midian into their hands. In order that Israel may not boast against me that her own strength has saved her, announce now to the people, "Anyone who trembles with fear may turn back and leave Mount Gilead."' So twenty-two thousand men left, while ten thousand remained."
Once more, the LORD said there were too many men for Him to deliver Israel. And so again, the LORD sifts the army and this time...
vs. 7 says: "With the three hundred men that lapped I will save you and give the Midianites into your hands."
32000 men. Gideon's army.
300 men. God's army.
God sifts. God whittles. God removes the obvious comfort of having 32000 men armed and ready for battle. And God knew, knowing the heart of men for which He created, that a defeat with that many men would have meant Israel seeing her own glory. And so, God being the jealous God that He is, removes any chance that Israel can look to herself anymore. He wanted the glory for Himself. He is God, after all. He is more than worthy of all glory. Glory was created for Him and Him alone.
Here is my story. I left my job as the Youth Director at Trinity Reformed Church last December. I left with my 2001 Saturn wagon (which I still owed money on). With less than $2000 in my savings (in March, I had to pay a $950 car insurance payment). And with the need to do some healing.
Eventually, I ended up in Duluth, MN. By this time, I had $800 to my name. This was in April. (Now mind you, I still have that annoying car payment each month. I have been trying to sell that vehicle since April.) I settled into the school bus and began searching the city for a job. Any job. Just something to help put food on the table and gas in the car. The job never came. I had found one, at The Edgewater Hotel and Resort as a housekeeper, but the Lymes Disease I had back in June prevented that from working out. I have applied to restaurants, hotels, retail stores, group homes, etc. Nothing. I have had a few interviews. But nothing has worked out.
I sit here, August 12th, and have yet to find work here in Duluth. And my time is drawing to a close. God has been whittling down my comfort. He has been sifting. I have tried to be responsible with the money I had this year. I have bought nothing frivolous. I have taken my girlfriend out to eat a few times and we've been to a few movies. I bought wood stain for my growing carving passion. I bought a new basketball. I have filled my gas tank just enough times to get by. I have kept just enough food around to survive off (in addition my girlfriend has helped tremendously in this area -- so a big thank you to her). And that is it. Besides the car payment. Having just written out my check for August's car payment, and making sure my checking account had enough to cover that cost, I will have $1.29 remaining to my name. By the goodness of my parents, I do have $42 in my wallet for gas for making it back to Iowa soon. A trip I will have to make, as a job may have come available down there. But there it is. If you would like to rob me, you now know how much I would be able to offer you.
I understand a huge difference resides between the importance of Gideon's story and my own. One deals with the safety of a nation. And God's glory through her. The other story deals with one man's trying to survive. One very small man. And God's glory through his story. God loves that one small man. And I used Gideon's story to begin, only because in a much smaller way, I too have had my comfort and safety sifted. Whittled. And God wants me to trust Him. With whatever I have left. And so I must. Even if I must walk everywhere. And eat wild berries from the side of the road. And pee in the woods (which I had been doing while living on the bus). I will strive to trust.
It is one of my biggest weaknesses right now. Trusting. I have been awful at it. And that may well be why God keeps whittling. Why my funds are being sifted. Because they do not belong to me. They never did. They have always been His. And He wants me to understand that and trust Him, to which they belong. He can do whatever He may please.
He still deserves the glory. He must have it. No matter what we do. God is glorified. It is the joy of the LORD that His creation should bring Him glory. He doesn't need it from us. He is awesome, incredible, perfect, loving, compassionate, good, and a host of other words which fail to all-encompass Him. But I want Him to be glorified through my little life. My small existence. If I am not, God will simply get it from somewhere else. For He may cause the very rocks to cry out His name!
Amen.
There it is. Gideon's $1.29.

Bye Bye Blue Bird

Moving day.
After 3 months, to the day, in the bus, I am moving on.
At least for right now, a friend is letting me crash at his apartment. On his couch. Not far from his lizard, Wadi. The thing has a wicked tail with spikes. Yikes!
I cannot believe that I am leaving the bus already. I will miss it greatly. But I am excited for what is next. Whatever that may be.
Oh, one of the issues here in Duluth has been trying to find a job. I have applied all over the city and over the 3 months nothing much has happened. The one job I thought I had, began right as I had a fight with Lyme's Disease and was unsure how long the healing process would take.
But...
I have an interview this coming Monday at a group home for mentally challenged adults called, Our Place. I believe they are looking for a live-in. Someone who lives on-site and works on-call throughout the night. They provide housing, food, and a small monthly stipend. It would be great if this works out. Please pray that it does.
Next Tuesday, I will be heading to Fern, IA, to house sit for my parents while they are in New Orleans picking up my sister.
Just wanted to offer a quick update on my journey. I have much more to write, but it will have to wait a little. I had started a long blog a few days ago regarding a fun week and weekend trip Jenna and I had, but have not been able to finish it. Soon hopefully.
Thanks for reading.
Talk soon.

Grace Like Shampoo.

Saturday night. Jenna and I were to my home in Iowa, visiting my family. My sister Victoria and I were up watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie. It was around midnight.
Chara, my families dog, was barking to be let in. She is a black with white belly Britney Spaniel and Lab mix. Almost 11-years old. If she was a high school guy, she would fit right in with her shaggy fur and slightly curled up tail. Weighs around 60 pounds. Head comes to your waist, maybe a little above. She has been a huge part of our family since we got her as a pup. Very devoted dog. The sort that you can let off a leash and are assured she won't run away screaming. Victoria got up to let her in.
Oh the night we were about to find ourselves in the midst of.

Toria, as we call her, came into the living room where I was sitting, waiting for the commercials to stop their jabber, and said with a slightly distressed, slightly confused look on her face: "Chara is drooling from both sides of her mouth."
"What?" I asked.
"Chara has lots of drool running from both sides of her mouth."
"Ok. Well, let her in and we'll see why."
Just so you know right now, we never figured out why she had such drool coming from her mouth. But she was right because it was as if the fountain of youth had found its way through her insides and out her mouth.
But the story continues...
The moment that hound entered the house, I felt some terrorist group proclaiming war against my nose. Chara came in stinking. She smelled awful. The odor filled the house immediately.
Since it was my parent's house, I did the only thing I knew to do which was wake them. This began the long part of the night, as the three of us -- Toria, my mother, and I -- went to work trying to remove the stench. My mom tried a damp cloth and dog shampoo. Dry. Not going to work. We need more ammo. We need water.
Shower time.
So I stripped of everything but my boxers (yes, I just said my boxers... don't get your undies all in a tizzy) and beckoned Chara come into the shower with me. It was in that shower that I first began to realize the bigger picture of what this event was showering me... I mean showing me. There in the half-bath shower of my parent's main floor bathroom. With a solid fiberglass door and shower head on a hose. At 12:30am. Trying to hold my breath from the smell which was now locked up in the small space that Chara and I now occupied together. I scrubbed. Soaked. Rinsed. And scrubbed a little more. All trying to overcome the stink that Chara got herself into.
In that shower, wet and covered in clumpy black hair from Chara's coat, thoughts of God filled my mind. Thoughts that would not permit me loose until I had fought and thought and fought some more. God was taking another occasion to teach me truth. His truth. The only truth that is truth.
There are so many times we get ourselves into a stink of a situation. We wreak! We're dirty. And we don't even realize it. God has to take us by the hand and lead us into the shower with Him. We have to humble ourselves to letting Him wash our stench away. He strips down into His God-sized boxers (I don't know very well whether or not He has need of wearing boxers) and very gently and lovingly begins the cleaning process. The water runs down over us. We are a little scared and ashamed. We don't understand how we ended up in this place again. We keep our head lowered and breath very slowly, as did Chara in that shower. We figured last time would be the last time. But He just keeps washing away the odor that had so worked it's way into our heart. Grace is lathered across our souls. He works it in deep. To penetrate to the root of our thick fur, where the smell resides. The water continues to fall on us. He continues to work on our mess. A mess -- a smell -- we cannot remove ourselves. We try. Chara tried too. She came in from the outside and started rolling all over the carpet. She wanted the smell off her. So she did what she knew best to do. Roll around. But all it does is spreads. She is so very kind enough to share with everyone else. But all her rolling and rubbing doesn't do a thing. Neither does any of our own fixes. Alcohol. Drugs. Sex. The latest and greatest toy from Best Buy. A heavy paycheck. A new relationship or lover. A juicy romantic novel. A plate of french fries. Day time TV. Even our own pursuit of good health. It's us. Trying to fix and rid ourselves of our own stench. On our own. Without Him. And the carpet still stinks.
But still He remains. With such gentleness, He moves His hand across us with water pouring down to wash away the grit and grim of our sins and makes sure to rinse out well everything. Leaving no trace behind. He works in His own perfect timing. And finally, we exit the shower once again clean and smelling like some beautiful scent that the Creator of the universe could only dream up.
The stench and stink is gone. Wash away. GONE! Did you hear me? It no longer exists. What once was is now no more. No more. No more war against the nose. No more smelling like burning rubber mixed with skunk. We are free from the smell. He has made us clean.
This is grace. This is forgiveness. This is the God I am wanting to live for. Willingly jumping into the shower with us and our horrible smell of a mess we made and doing what we were powerless to do.

Grace Like Shampoo.

Who Is That Faceless Man?

What would life be like apart from facebook?
Facebook has been a huge part of my life over the last 3 years. I am glad that facebook does not publicize how much time exactly I have spent on there since my facebook "beginning." I think I might cry. Or perhaps throw my computer into Lake Superior. I don't know.

I remember being so excited to finally have it.
My college didn't have student email addresses. So for a long time I was not able to get it. But in the summer/fall of 2006 all of that changed.
And I was overjoyed. Ecstatic. Now I could be one of the cool "college twentysomethings" that were creating a life on facebook.
At my peak, I had over 600 friends.
Almost 40 photo albums were published.
600 pictures with my face tagged.
Top friends.
Bumper stickers.
I was cool.

"Too much of a good thing is... bad."
And how true that is?! I recently tried to put just a little more water into my bus' water tank. SPLASH! Bad idea. The hose and jug got backed up and water went everywhere. I learned right then and there that "too much of a good thing is... bad."
The same goes for facebook -- and anything on the internet.
I got sucked and duped into the world of "staying connected."
Like for many people, facebook was a second home for me. Whenever I felt alone or like I just needed a friend, there was facebook.
This created so many other problems for me. Depression. Frustration. Real loneliness.
Oh, how many late nights I spent wishing someone would get on to talk to.
How I would think about facebook all day long. Wondering what my friends were upto.
Looking at all the photos of fun that people were involved in and wishing I was included. Commenting on those photos just to let people know I was there.
Making groups to see how many people I could round up -- then staking my existence on the success of the group. I remember how excited I was when one of my groups -- Yeah! I'm A Hopeless Romantic -- reached 5000 people. I am a success. People love me. Yea!

Facebook is too easy.
Connection with people we care about shouldn't be this easy.
We should have to work.

So I am about to try again.
To try again to live life without facebook.
I wonder what it will be like?

Walking Against the 7-Grain Bread.

Grain.
I carved a boat today.
Took me five hours.
First 3-dimensional object I've carved.
It was relaxing. Encouraged me to get outside. Breathe some fresh air. Use my hands.
Cut my finger really badly though.
That hurt.
I was sitting down by Lake Superior, on a rock jutting out into the water when my hand slipped and the blade sliced through my flesh like butter.
One of those learning curves. Whatever that means.

Have you ever carved wood before? Or chopped wood? Have you ever seen the lines running through a piece of wood? Grain. It is where we get our cliche: "Going against the grain." You would not understand that cliche unless you've ever worked with wood before. Don't try it. Do not go against the grain. Bad things happen. Like cutting off your finger. Or worse... wood fray!

I was thinking about grain today. This was after I ate my 7-grain bread this morning. But my thoughts had nothing to do with my breakfast. I was thinking about how Jesus went against the grain of the culture He had been born into. Everyone was walking in this one direction. They were all running after godliness by their own power. Man, if I do good and pretend to follow this law then I'm set for heaven. Bring on the pearlys! Everyone was trying to make it on their own, thinking they were honoring God. Then Jesus comes and starts walking the other direction. I'm sure at very first people did not take much notice. The dude probably just dropped his wallet back there and wants to find it. Quick, whoever finds this dudes wallet before He does gets a free goat! But it did not take long for this "other direction" to get people's attention. This was completely different. You mean, this guy, Jesus, is actually walking... the other way?! WHOA! "Hey hey, Jesus, you know man, you're walking in the wrong direction buddy! It is this way to God, man!" But Jesus was God-man so He paid no attention. Jesus wanted to show people the perfect way to the Father.
All throughout the history before Jesus' time, God kept showing people who He was. He kept wanting them to see how totally awesome and beyond understanding He was. He wanted to talk to them. But they were too busy building towers reaching to the sky, walls wider than Shaq's feet, and seemed obsessed with swords. But God had meant for them to live IN Him. To draw everything they were from Him. And so to get the message across, once and for all, He inacts the plan He had been making since before the world even came into being ("being" is a big fancy word meaning: God spoke and then there was...). Jesus. His Son. Man's son. "The Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood." God intrudes. And has a little something-something to say. "All these things you're doing will not save you. I do not care about them. I just want you to know me. To know that it was I who created you. I breathed into your very lungs and gave you My breath. It was I who chose Abraham to father all of you -- and in a way you don't even understand. It was I who spoke with Moses and gave all these laws. Because I wanted you to see that you could not do it without Me. And so I AM here." So Jesus came both in fullness God and fullness man (do not just simply read over the word "fullness," think about what that is saying), to point people in the direction they were supposed to be walking in before. They just didn't know that. And apparently they liked the direction they were walking in (if only they understood that if they turned around, the other side of their face would get a little Son too!).
It's hard carving against the grain. And apparently hard walking against the grain too. But Jesus calls us to follow Him. In the direction He's walking. And that means we must walk against the grain of those around us. It will be hard. Maybe it already has been for you. You constantly have to be watching where you're walking -- where He's walking. Bumping into people is unavoidable. Just a word to that though: Jesus loves it that way! Because you have their attention at that moment and you can tell them why you just bumped into them. And it means that with each step you and those you were walking with before are getting further and further apart. And that may be the hardest part for some people. Having to walk away from those closest -- to follow Jesus, to have fullness of life (there is that word again). There is a cost. For some people, that may just mean losing your finger. But Jesus commands that you follow Him against the grain of the world. He wants to have you as His companion along the journey. He'd even die for that possibility.
Sometimes in wood-carving, it is enivitable that you must work against the grain. And you must. Through the cutting off of fingers and wood fraying. When it is finished, something beautiful appears. God had a similar result. ONLY A GAZILLION TIMES MORE BEAUTIFUL: YOU!
Isn't it fitting that Jesus was most likely a carpenter? I wonder if He had trouble carving against the grain?

I Saw God Today. Observations From My Walk.

Not sure what time it is.
Judging by position of sun in the sky, somewhere close to 4pm.
Sitting on a green bench down by the pier out to Lake Superior. Sitting in the shadow of the Canal Park lift bridge, to my right 100 yards. This is where man belongs. Outside. Seagulls fly around my head. This is their home. On my walk from Rose Garden to Canal Park, I observed many a beautiful thing. Not too long ago, I would have seen these things. And kept going about my merry little life.
This time I noticed them.
My observations:

God Takes Care of Seagulls.
Walking towards the pier, a young girl of maybe 8-years old, still so much in innocence and in awe of everything simple, stood in a field of grass throwing bread crumbs to the seagulls who surrounded her in numbers not easily counted. She giggled and looked excitedly at her mom -- who was preoccupied with something in their car. The seagulls swooned about and spoke to her. In their own way thanking her for the food. As I sit here thinking of the girl with the seagulls, my mind wanders to Your Word where You spoke about even the sparrows having their needs met. The young girl was meeting a need of the seagulls while also feeding her own wonder. You take care of us just like the girl and the seagulls -- standing in the midst of us with a bag of bread crumbs enough for all of us, food which does more than satisfy hunger. You take care of us. In simple ways. In ways not under our control. And you take joy in doing so. You stand there in amazement of Your creation. And (I have to believe) You even let out a little harmonious laugh as You wonder over the simple pleasure of the food which you offer. Well, I say thank You! It's yummy.

Water-Locked Rocks.
I also observed on my walk some rocks just off shore. Probably 20 of them. Large. Separated from the shoreline. Sticking up just enough to be above the water line when waters are calm. But the waters were not calm today. As I watched, waves were crashing against the little patch of rocks. CRASH CRASH CRASH!!! The rocks found themselves surrounded and alone. The water would roll in fast and smack the rocks, shooting upward and falling all over the rocks. If rocks needed oxygen they would barely have enough time to catch their next breath before the subsequent wave arrived. As I thought through this scene, I let my mind wander to those times in my life when I was one of those rocks, with waves crashing against me, making it hard to breathe and stay above the suffocating waters. The waters of life and events which seem to pick up from nowhere like a westward wind off the lake. Things out of our control. All we can do is sit there and take it. CRASH CRASH CRASH!!! Sitting separated from my shoreline. Exposed. We get pounded sometimes. But You showed in Your Word that You have power even over the wind and waves. The rocks that I observed never budged. They never moved from their place. They stood their ground. This is what You can help us do when we're one of those rocks. How refreshing even the nastiest wave can be.

A Bee Resting on a Wall.
I also observed, while walking back from the pier to this bench that I now sit on, a bee sitting on the cement pier wall. It was strange. Bees don't just sit there. They fly. They always seem to be moving. And if you see them sitting on anything, it's a flower. But a cement wall? Good luck trying to pollinate that, buddy! Moments before I had seen the little bee, a Vista Star Fleet tour boat crossed our path, having just passed under a risen lift bridge and heading out into the depths of Lake Superior. I don't know what the bee was thinking, but he sure seemed to be watching the ship pass. And why not? The bee was tired, having fought a day of Northern Minnesota wind. He needed a resting place. To breathe. He seemed completely unfazed by my presence. Think about how small he is compared with us and the world-mindset we live in. It is humbling to note that in comparison we are not so much bigger in the world that we live. We just tend to think we are.
Sometimes we get tired. We need a resting place. And something to delight our two eyes (imagine having 5 eyes like the bee). God, You are like that scene. A wall to rest upon when the trials of moving about in the wind gets to be too much. And You want to delight our eyes every moment. With something way bigger than we are. Maybe a tour boat. Maybe a budding tree. Maybe a flower garden. Or a mountain range in a foggy distance. Or maybe some rocks getting hammered by waves. Or a little girl throwing bread crumbs to the birds. To remind us -- just how small we really are. And show us how flippin HUGE You are.

(Journal entry today while taking a walk along the lakewalk. The observations made. The little things noted. Trying to see things through different eyes. Trying to never get complacent with things even as small as a bee sitting on a pier cement wall.)

Sailing the Passion Waters

Passion.

I grew up in a very loving, Christian home.
My dad was ordained in the Reformed Church of America when I was 11. What an awesome blessing it was to become a pastor's kid at that stage in my life. I had gone through a rough period in my walk shortly before my father's graduation. It was discovered that he had a very rare form of cancer and may not survive through surgery. My dad had left a well-paying job with Ford to follow a calling to ministry and I began to question why God would allow this to happen during his last year of seminary (after all that he had left to follow God's leading).
I became bitter.
God walked us through that period, revealing His grace and love in so many ways.
My heart began to shift.
Back now to being a pastor's kid. My dad served at a small church in the Detroit, MI, area for the next 9 years. It was here that my journey with God was really about to begin.
Thrust into the position of PK was interesting.
People now expected me to be a certain way.
To act a certain way.
To dress a certain way.
To talk a certain way.
I wasn't too thrilled about this. Senior year of high school God really started to reveal Himself to me. I saw finally just how complacent I had become with church and God and my life. I was going through all the "right" motions.
I started to desire His Word. I couldn't put His book down. I had been very lazy and made some poor choices the first three years of high school, but now God was starting to become REAL to me. And everything I was reading about in His Word was contradictory to what I was seeing Sunday mornings, not to mention these strange human "expectations" that were placed on me.
I started to see that God looked at man very differently then our outward appearance -- how we dressed in "His House." I started to see the yoke (the word translated from the greek to mean burden) that "church people" had placed on its people.
This began for me a wonderful time of really seeking His heart for the church. And at the same time, a growing disliking for the church. I wanted out. I felt suffocated. I knew I was experiencing God on a real level outside of the building -- and dreaded going to Sunday morning worship because something was missing. I didn't feel God's presence there. My buddies and I began a guy's Bible study together each week. Again, I was experiencing a realness in that room with those guys that I had never experienced before in church.
Genuineness.
We would pray for each other and talk together.
It wasn't just everyone in a room facing the same direction listening to one person talk.
There was this God-dialogue.
I loved it.
I came to a place in my walk where I had to make a decision: either walk away from the church as we knew it (which I really wanted to do), or figure out if perhaps God had something to share with His church and be a tool to see restoration (a big word for me right now) come to His Bride. I decided to stick it out. And seek it out. I was growing in the faith. And in my passion for seeing the church be restored. Restored to what it was meant to be when Jesus left and built the church on the foundation of Peter and then gave freely the Holy Spirit. I started to see two very different realities: the reality of what man had made of church; and the reality of what I saw God desiring the church to be. And ever since then... I am still seeking, learning, listening, and wanting to see the church restored.
So my heart is for the church.
But more than that my heart is for Yahweh.
To know what it means to be a follower of Him and to do it within a community of other sinners like myself (for this is what the church is about).
Sinners experiencing God's grace together in life and wanting more than anything to share this life with others -- to invite them onto the trampoline (as Rob Bell would say).
I have no other aspiration in life than to love people, love God, and be a blessing. Last summer, while visiting a friend in Idaho, we were sitting around in her living room (my friend, her sister and brother, her mom and myself) talking about life. The sister went around and asked each of us: "If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?" My reply was simply this: "To love people and affect some change." I don't have any great plans for my life. I have lived a life thus far of putting my sail into the wind and letting God take it. That is how I ended up in Duluth.

My Passion.

Sand Castles and Department Stores

I need you.
Yes you.
I need you to be bringing somethings before the Lord for me. I have some big decisions that are being made right now. And I just need support. Prayer support. I need wisdom and boldness and peace. Oh, how I want peace. Godly peace. And I want to have joy again. To breathe, knowing that every breath is possible because God Himself breathed into the man the "breath of life." And I want sure footing. I guess I thought my house was being built on cement. The contractor called me a few months ago to inform me that there was "a large quantity of sand" found beneath where my house was being built. The cement crumbled away. The house caved in. It's not even lakefront property. WHERE DID THE SAND COME FROM?
I feel like the little child lost in a department store wondering how he got lost. "They were right there a second ago -- I just turned around for a moment to push the 'Try Me' on the cool firetruck with real firetruck sounds and they are gone." Oh the sinking feeling that brings with it. Your heart begins to race. Your head spins. The volume of sounds around you gets turned to it's highest setting. My Papa wants me to learn something from all of this. He is asking me to trust Him.
I have to make a decision on a big issue in my life. It feels like when I most need His voice, He remains silent. But I need to make the decision. Then honor God through it. That is part of what I am learning. God does not always function by telling us to "go here" or "do this." He is smarter than that. You do not learn much from being always told what to do. God waits for my decision and then wants to see how I bring Him glory through it. That is all He cares about. That I bring Him glory! And I want to. I want to so much.
My walk the last few months has been strangled. My joy is hardpressed to be seen. I have pushed some of my best friends away. And I have been left feeling the deepest loneliness I have ever known. There is so much going on inside my head. And my emotions have been similar to a golf ball if I ever attempted to play the sport -- let's just say shouting the word "FORE" in golf was created just for me.
God has so much work to do on me. And I... I... just need to allow the time to allow God to do that work undone in me.
If things go unchanged. I do not know how much longer I can make it.
I am just trying to be real right now. Sorry for all the emotional jibjab.
I just ask that you be praying. Go before our Great God and Father on my behalf. Please. Thank you for reading and listening and praying. I wish I could give you a hug right now... ok, I admit, that was just creepy... :)

Play-Doh: Modeling Compound

Something is off. I don't know what it is. For the past few days, something has not been right. I have not been right. This is partly why I have not written lately. So do not think that my mind has been quiet. It never quiets. Not anymore.
The next time you are at the store, walk over to the kid's toys section and find where the play-doh is sold. Grab a container. Read the front label. Play-Doh: Modeling Compound.
This past weekend was incredible. JUMP Retreat 08 at Camp Geneva with my Middle Schoolers (Fuse students). The speaker brought the truth of the gospel home to the student's ears. And in our small group time, amazing things took place. I had used the example of play-doh throughout the weekend to describe how Christ made us to be. Moldable. Moveable. Shapable. Soft. Able to look like the hands handling us. I even found some play-doh from a couple years ago that began to crystallize over. This was the example of living outside of God's intent for us. When we do not allow ourselves to be molded by the Creator, we just get hard and gross. And it is not an easy thing to become soft and moldable again. God designed us to be shapable. So that we could be continually transformed into His image. Oh what a beautiful image. The God who was, and is, and is to come created a being in His image.
Play-doh was designed to be shaped.
Somewhere along the way, we all gave up our play-dohishness.
In search of our own image, we have all become like dried out play-doh.
You and I were worthy of being thrown out.
Christ came to restore the dried out play-doh.
He came to restore His image into us.
And yet, we still run in search of our own image. We find other things to categorize us. All we want. All we desire. Is to find something bigger-than-ourselves to categorize us. We need to be found in something. And since God is no golden calf, we put ourselves in the hands of everything else but God-Creator. Problems arise. Unsatisfaction takes hold. Where JOY in God-Creator once existed. Now BITTERNESS remains. Where PEACE once stood. Now ANGER resides. Where LOVE was given. Now SELFISHNESS is all that is left. What once was created GOOD. Cannot escape being BAD. And HARD. And GROSS.
Two examples of things existing outside of their purpose: hard play-doh and sinful man.
Here is hope.
"It cost God plenty to get you out of that dead-end, empty-headed life you grew up in. He paid with Christ's sacred blood, you know. He died like an unblemished, sacrificial lamb. And this was no afterthought. Even though it has only lately--at the end of the ages--become public knowledge, God always knew he was going to do this for you. It's because of this sacrificed Messiah, whom God then raised from the dead and glorified, that you trust God, that you know you have a future in God. Now that you've cleaned up your lives by following the truth, love one another as if your lives depended on it. Your new life is not like your old life. Your old birth came from mortal sperm; your new birth comes from God's living Word. Just think: a life conceived by God himself!"
"They called him every name in the book and he said nothing back. He suffered in silence, content to let God set things right. He used his servant body to carry our sins to the Cross so we could be rid of sin, free to live the right way. His wounds became your healing. You were lost sheep with no idea who you were or where you were going. Now you're named and kept for good by the Shepherd of your souls."
What kind of play-doh are you?
What kind do you want to be?
If I am honest with myself. Lately I have been the hard, gross kind.
The words set free are stuck like bad plumbing in my mind right now. These words strum a cord on the guitar that is my heart. This dry chunk of play-doh just wants to be soft again. Oh to be soft again.
Play-Doh: Modeling Compound.

You Ate What You Are...Rrrrrrrrrr

Have you ever heard the phrase: "You are what you eat?" This phrase always confused me. I would watch people eat at restaurants and NOTHING ever happened to them. No great transformation would take place before my eyes. They just did not change into their food. They were people. They were eating food. "Maybe it takes some time to effect a person," I would think to myself.
If you stop and think about it, doesn't the opposite actually happen? For example, a really plump, juicy cheeseburger (with extra cheese -- STOP it Nat, you're making yourself hungry) seemed so much like happy food that the noises coming from the bathroom stalls shortly afterward never seemed to match up with the phrase. That burger was good. The results were not so pretty. Hmmmmmm...(I'm just gonna go grab a cheeseburger while I think on this some more... be back soon).
Before I go any further, I should probably tell you that this post has nothing to do with any weight loss programs. I am not trying to sell anything. I don't intend to make you feel bad about the extra large slice of cheesecake nestled sweetly (no direct pun intended) between your thumb and fingers. I see it. Don't panic. I won't tell anyone. Except for maybe your health care physician. No, I'm just kidding. I'm just a big kidder. Ok... back to the topic at hand.
Switching gears a little (don't worry, I will bring the cheeseburger... uhhh, I mean phrase back into this post). An interesting thing happened tonight. I was sitting at this very computer, listening to one of my favorite bands -- Relient K, when my phone rings. It turns out to be my buddy Steve. He explains that this is short notice, but he wants to invite me to a guy's worship time on the Hope Campus... happening basically right now. To understand why this matters, earlier today I was recounting to my friend Paul some of the feelings that I have been struggling with over the course of the summer and on into the school year. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness gripped my heart this summer and refuses to totally let go. And I told Paul how I needed to find a place where I can feel safe and be accepted and where I can be poured into, as well as pour into others. That was just this afternoon. Today. Like... a few hours before this phone call. Keep up with me... so I told Steve that I would appreciate going along.
So fast-forward to arriving at Durfee Hall, on Hope's Campus. I settled into my big comfy couch, wedged nicely between two strange guys. Name introductions begin the night off. Fourteen guys. Five couches. Two beanbags. One room. Not having to wear a funky nametag: priceless. The conversation gets rolling. Good stuff. Healings. Struggles. Last minute Jesus-embraces. Prayer breaks out thanks to the Spirit's leading in my friend Steve. And KAABLAAAAM! That is fun to type, just so you know. Thoughts in my head wander to our phrase: "You are what you eat." No, I wasn't thinking about food. At least not up until that point. A conviction began to well up inside me, like the water pressure becoming too great for a dam to hold back its fierce power. I am listening to these guys -- men, real men -- just praising God and acknowledging His Power to do anything He wants. Even using a nothing person to heal (yes, like a physical healing of somebody's body). My soul was reaching out. Trying to find itself at the same place these men around me are at. But my mind and heart and soul, which we are commanded to love the Lord our God with all of, have been eating all the wrong food lately. We're not talking Fudge Rolls, Pizza, or Salad with lots of Ranch dressing. I am talking about selfishness, negativity, anger, worry, and conceitedness. But mostly selfishness. And as a result, my relationship with the Creator of everything we see has been pooping out some nasty things. I have not been myself. I have not been focused on the right thing: GOD, YAHWEH, LORD, HEALER, SAVIOR, CREATOR! I have not been drawing my food from Him, the Source of Life. I have not been living a life of praise. I have been so self-centered that I could barely remember how to praise tonight.
So now I want to remember how to praise. I want to live my life as a song to the Lord. I want to honor Him with all that I do, fully aware of my inability to live up to this. And that is part of what I was reminded of tonight. "Hey, Nat, you are not perfect. Stop trying to act like you are too worthy of a person to be going through what you're going through." Because the fact is: I am a mess up. And that is what God is going to use way more than the self-righteous Pharisee I had become. God uses screw ups. Jesus came to heal the sick (Matthew 9). Let's just face it: If you are not sick, you do not need a doctor. There is no point in spending the copay if something is not a little off. But I have been sick. I have become what I have been eating: JUNK!
I need to begin a diet shift. I need to sit myself down at the table of the Lord.
Papa, I need your food. I need to live out life-praise to you! I need to see. I need to focus on you. Help me to focus on you alone. May the odor of my heart-life be pleasing to you, an aroma to delight your senses. Goodnight, Papa.
Goodnight everyone.

A Man's (Cold) Story: The Underside of a Pillow

I want to tell you a little story. This is a story about a man. Now this man has seen many things happen in his life. Many changes have occurred. During this man's high school years, he had grown very close to God. He fell in love with God's Word. He wanted to read it. He wanted to understand God better and knew that the only way he could was to read more of God's Word. He understood that on every page, within every sentence, every word, God was making Himself known. This man began to see God's personality beautifully displayed on the pages. And he felt closer to God than ever before. He was learning. He was seeing. He was feeling. He was not without his difficult moments. He had his ups and downs. But these only served to drive him more to reading the Word. He read pages every day that filled him with hope and wonder and strength for the day. He pushed himself to read the Word cover-to-cover over a period of a year and a half. He needed to know what it said. He knew that there was more to life than what he saw everyday.
This man had many amazing things happen to him. He got involved in a coffee house ministry near his home where he met incredible people. These people had so many stories to tell. They were so honest. Real. They pushed the man to want to know more. They asked him tough questions about God and faith. He needed to know more. He continued to read. To learn. To study. To understand. The words on the pages became life within the man.
One summer, the man goes away to work with kids. The kids were so alive. They had so many great things to say and questions to ask. Dull moments were hard to find. Although he was physically exhausted each day, he found rest in continuing his reading. The God who had been revealed through the Word was becoming real in the moment-by-moment experiences of life. His God-tank was filled everyday.
The man, after the summer ended, got a job at a retail store. It was sometimes boring work. But very quickly, the man came to really appreciate those he worked with. They were real. Many did not know God. This pushed the man to want to know even more. He studied more. He learned more. He understood more. He was growing. And he was used. God used the man in the life of one of the people he worked with. God was working in this other person's life. Many nights of closing up the store together allowed the two to talk about God. The other person had questions. The other person had never read God's Word. The man bought this other person a Word of their own. The other person began reading. The other person began to have questions answered. The other person came to love God and God's Word like the man. The other person's family now knows God too. More pages of the Word became real to the man.
Some time goes by. The man now works in an office. He sits in front of a computer screen for many hours a day. The man becomes very busy. He has many other things to think about. Responsibilities to take care of. His Word sits on his desk. He looks at it from time to time. He wants so much to open it and read it. He wants to study it. He wants to understand it. He wants the deep need to return. He slips. He feels so far away from God. All he wants is to be with God again. To know God again. To study God's personality. To understand God. But he is busy. So many other thoughts take up space in the man's mind. He does not have time for God's Word. To read it. To study it. To understand it. He slips more. His head still knows of God. But his deeper knowing of God and His realness are slipping. He cannot see God anymore. Feel God. Understand God. The once passionate, nutrients-filled relationship is suffocated.
The man now sits in his office typing a story about a man who is himself. The man realizes that he cannot see, feel, or understand God because the once life-giving Word sits cold on his desk. The connection is made. Just as the man cannot know what hot feels like unless he has touched something hot. So too, the man cannot know God unless he reads God's Word and studies it. And the man knows that because God is so beyond words to describe, this reading and studying and understanding must be an ongoing life activity.
The man sitting in his office writing the story about a man who is himself has relearned something today. You cannot see God without looking through the glasses that God has given. God appears fuzzy and small without these glasses. The Word is the glasses God has given. The man needs to read it again. He needs to study it again. He needs to understand it again. Otherwise, he will never again see or feel God.

The Beauty of a Name

I thought I would very briefly explain a little about my blog's name. It's funny talking about my blog like it's a pet. But the name was chosen for very specific reasons. I believe in names. I love the meanings of names. I love how in the bibical times a person's name was who they were. The parents of a new born would take one look at their new child and give him/her the name they best saw fit. Or perhaps a particular situation at or around the time of the birth would determine the name. Perhaps too, I like names because my name means something very particular to my situation. My real name is Kevin Nathanael Vollema. This is the only time I will use that full name. But my name means literally: "kind and gentle gift from God."
11 months before I was brought into the world, my parents lost their first child shortly before he was due to be born. Not an easy thing for any young, newly-married couple to grieve. But 3 months after this painful event, news of another pregnancy filled my parents once again with hope. Thus, when I was born, a healthy baby boy, my parents could not think of any better meaning for my name.
All this is to properly lead in to the reason for my blog's name.
Restoration. This has been a word on my mind a lot lately. I like what it stands for: something was that no longer is and now needs to be brought back. It is filled with hope and wonder. But also sacrifice and time-effort.
Journal. This word carries with it a lot of weight. As I wrote in my first blog, I enjoy writing. And I am at a point in my life when journaling is quite important to my survival. There is so much going on in my head 24/7 that I just need an adequate place to "let it out." I finally brought myself to buying a journal over this past summer and have been exploring the fruit of its use ever since.
You might notice all the letters are lower case, save for one: the "J." The "J" stands for something very near to me. The "J" stands for Jesus Christ. All other letters take second billing to this single letter and the hope I have found behind it.
Hidden within this name -- restoration:Journal -- is everything I am about. And hopefully you will see that play out as these blogs continue.

Giving this a try

I've never done this before. I used to laugh anytime someone talked about "blogging." It was a funny word to me. And an even funnier concept. But as time has gone on, I now see some benefits to this.
I love writing. I love to form words together to process my thoughts. Many times my own tumbled mix of thoughts are confusing to me. Writing allows for an outlet to understanding just what I'm thinking. God has given me this passion for writing and it's time I used it for Him. It may take me a little time to get used to sharing on here. But I will attempt to be as honest as possible. There are many things on my heart. Things I want to share.
I have always been a short-story sort of person. The idea of writing a book intimidates me. I just want to write down some thoughts on a subject, and leave it at that. With so many books written today, I feel I'd only be adding to the noise. This just may suit me better. And just to warn you, when I get passionate about a subject, I find myself getting rather candid and maybe just a little scatter-brained. But I do hope you enjoy this.