From "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis

You asked for a loving God: you have one. The great spirit you so lightly invoked, the "Lord of terrible aspect," is present: not a senile benevolence that drowsily wishes you to be happy in your own way, not the cold philanthropy of a conscientious magistrate, nor the care of a host who feels responsible for the comfort of his guests, but the consuming fire Himself, the Love that made the worlds, persistent as the artist's love for his work and despotic as a man's love for a dog, provident and venerable as a father's love for a child, jealous, inexorable, exacting as love between the sexes.

A Naked Bush

"Without training and pruning, fruit trees will not develop proper shape and form. Properly trained and pruned trees will yield high quality fruit much earlier in their lives and live significantly longer. A primary objective of training and pruning is to develop a strong tree framework that will support fruit production. Improperly trained fruit trees generally have very upright branch angles, which result in serious limb breakage under a heavy fruit load. This significantly reduces the productivity of the tree and may greatly reduce tree life. Another goal of annual training and pruning is to remove dead, diseased, or broken limbs. Proper tree training also opens up the tree canopy to maximize light penetration. For most deciduous tree fruit, flower buds for the current season's crop are formed the previous summer. Light penetration is essential for flower bud development and optimal fruit set, flavor, and quality. Although a mature tree may be growing in full sun, a very dense canopy may not allow enough light to reach 12 to 18 inches inside the canopy. Opening the tree canopy also permits adequate air movement through the tree, which promotes rapid drying to minimize disease infection and allows thorough pesticide penetration. Additionally, a well shaped fruit tree is aesthetically pleasing, whether in a landscaped yard, garden, or commercial orchard."

FOCUS--Fellowship of Christians United in Service--is a ministry GWU offers where teams of about 10 or so college students go out to different churches and lead weekend retreats for their youth groups. This past weekend, I went on a FOCUS trip to Wake Forest Baptist Church. Last year, I went on the same trip to the same church and loved it. It made such an impression on me that I made sure I went back again. This year, it was even better.

The focus of our weekend was John 15--the vine metaphor. Verse 5 is on the back of our t-shirts: "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." We talked a lot about God's command in this passage: remain in me. I think that's where we miss it as Christians; we focus on the fruit. God's command is not to bear fruit but to remain in Him. The fruit? a byproduct, a symptom of relationship, something God creates, not me. My friend in the grad school here at GWU told me that in Greek, the word for "remain" is meneo, which refers to a dwelling place, a home. Our command is to dwell in God, to abide in God, and trust that S/He'll take care of the rest.

Verse 2 talks about a gardener, the one who comes around and prunes the vine's branches so they can grow more fruit, better fruit. Imagine what this looks like. You know, you're driving down the road and see a gorgeous house with clean, freshly-mowed grass, maybe some red and yellow tulips, several young, lush trees... and then the bushes right there in front, the ones that have just been pruned. And they look bad. I mean absolutely terrible. They ruin the whole scene. Bereft of their green robes, they've been stripped of all their leaves, all their dignity. Naked and exposed, they kind of hunch and crouch, trying to disappear, like they're embarrassed. Their limbs amputated, they look like they're in pain, and all that remains is a bunch of harsh-looking nubs.

And that's how I've felt lately. An ugly, hurting, embarrassed, pruned bush.

The past few weeks have been hell. I can honestly say they've been some of the most difficult and painful times in my whole life. I've never struggled so much with feeling rejected and betrayed, with feeling unloved and unappreciated, with feeling abandoned and deserted. I've felt naked and alone, punished even. Hurt, embarrassed, ashamed, ugly; and mourning the loss of my once emerald leaves, my once lush branches. I've been hunching over, crouching down.

God destroyed that this past weekend, and S/He used a bunch of high schoolers to do it. Fyodor Dostoyevsky says: "The soul is healed by being with children." I have found that to be too true. I think my problem the last couple weeks has been an issue of focus: my plans, my expectations, my hurt. I talk a lot about what I want, wanting to pursue my PhD, wanting to go to these places, wanting to meet those people, wanting to do this, accomplish that, have this title, win that award...

"Bro--you wanna do all that stuff? Fine. We can go that direction and do all those things, and I'll use it if that's what you want. But this--this!--is what I made you for. This--pouring into youth, investing in what matters, loving what really matters--is the passion I gave you, the passion we share. All those gifts I've given you? all those lessons I've taught you? all those branches I've pruned? it's all been for this. This is your purpose, your fulfillment, your love. This is the greatness I created you for."

Well damn, God. I get it.

"For you are God's Masterpiece. He [She] has created you anew in Christ Jesus, so you can do the good things He [She] planned for you long ago." --Ephesians 2:10

It's a new day, and it's a good one.

Hello hurricane, you can't silence my love.

The Great Iconoclast

Only Hope

I just finished C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed, and it was a really moving and easy read. At one point, Lewis talks about all his efforts, everything he's ever felt or worked for, in the end amounting to a castle of cards, a castle the world--and even God sometimes--destroys over and over and over; but it never keeps him from building another card castle.

I guess we all are like Lewis: building castles with feeble cards, only to watch them crash to the ground, and then start building again. I must love building castles, because, frankly, I cannot stop. I think the last castle I built up must have taken me a long time. Lots of levels and decorations and stuff. I think I was really proud of it, too, and probably even felt safe inside. But like always, my card castles end up spending their time collapsing. Now, awake in the infinite cold, looking at the ruins of that castle, it's amazing that I thought it would ever stand up. All the pieces look so weak. They were new pieces, though! Pieces you could really get excited about! Crisp, clean, brand-spankin-new pieces! But paper.

"My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence?" (Lewis)

Damn, I sure hope so.

Mixing Metaphors

I read earlier about an interview with Toni Morrison (a Nobel Prize author). The interviewer asked her why she had become a great writer--who has she learned from, where has she studied, what has she read, and so on. In response, Morrison just laughed and said, "Oh, no, that is not why I am a great writer. I am a great writer because when I was a little girl and walked into a room where my father was sitting, his eyes would light up. That is why I am a great writer. That is why. There isn't any other reason."

I have this theory about the individual man or woman. I think each and every one of us has limitless potential. I know we throw that word around a lot--"limitless"--, and so it's kind of been watered down. I'm talking about a potential that is bottomless, that has no confines. An incalculably infinite potential. A boundless and incomprehensible potential. Limitless. A potential for greatness. Every one of us, man and woman, child and adult, have been divinely composed, structured by some greater hand, each of us unique, distinguished, extraordinary. And for what? For greatness.

I don't know what it is, but something is holding us down. Sometimes, I force myself to look at people. I mean really look at people. When I take the time to really gaze into someone, I always see something, some fire hoping for the slightest breeze and a chance to burn like it was created to, to consume this world. It's especially visible in youth. I swear, it's like God makes their skin glass, that's how visible the fire is that's turning over in their bellies. I think the older you get, the harder it is to see that fire, though. It's like some people have been told to ignore the fire for so long, keep in hidden in your belly, and hopefully it'll digest like a piece of poorly cooked food and pass right through your system with only some slight discomfort toward the end.

There's something holding us down.

Every once in a while, I'll glimpse a fire that has been unleashed and given the world to feed upon. It is beautiful. Souls like Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr... I've even met a few of those souls, and the fire you encounter when you meet someone like that is dangerous. It's hyper-contagious, threatening to deeply infect you, penetrating to the bone, stoking and unleashing your own fire. Damn, it's so exciting! I know I've been made for more than this. I start feeling that rumbling deep, deep down inside of my belly. And it hurts. The fire has been caged, and it was created to breathe air and feed and consume everything, and it wants out. But there's something holding us down.

Donald Miller said, "Maybe a human is defined by who loves him." I think he's right. I think maybe that's the thing holding us down. We want to feel loved. We need to feel loved. We have to feel like someone really loves us if we want to go on, especially if we want to reach our potential. And it has to be a love that isn't dependent on what it gets back. Independent and unconditional. A love that makes a lot of room for failure and disappointment and setback and pain. I think it's only under the sky of a love like that that we can really reach greatness. Maybe that's why it's so important for so many of us to believe in God.

But whatever it is, whether it's feeling loved or not, we can't deny the facts--something is holding us down, and we were fashioned for more than this, for greatness. The ability to create; the ability to imagine and dream; the ability to recognize beauty; the ability to love. But why? For what larger greatness were we bestowed these gifts? To be doctors and lawyers, astronauts and physicists, authors and politicians. Or maybe Donald Miller was right--maybe the greatest desire of humanity is to be known and loved anyway. If so, to be the source, the provider of such a love-- that is really the highest purpose, the greatness we were created for.

"That's the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love--but to persist in love." --Sue Monk Kidd

The Secret Life of Keith

I wrote a poem a couple days ago. I love to write poetry, but I think I'm a prose person. Poetry really isn't where my talents are, so I won't post my poem on here. I will, however, at least prose about it (learned "prose" can be a verb. go figure.). I have this thing where I don't title my poetry. Maybe, if I give a poem a title, it boxes in the words and ideas, smothers them beneath some blanket, keeping them from breathing. I just don't like titling my poetry. (To be ironic, I now have to title this blog, I realize that.) The first line of my poem says, "this life's about hurt." For so many people, that's all we feel, that's all this life is: hurt. Living is overwhelmed by it--by pain, brokenness, grief, betrayal, lies, bitterness, guilt--hurt.

About two weeks ago, I started The Secret Life of Bees. (insert little superscript footnote "1" here)(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) Essentially, the book is about the life/development of a 14 year old girl, Lily. Gosh, the girl's been hurt so much and carries way too much for a child, for anyone, to bear alone. At times, Lily is heavy, at times withdrawn, at times bitter, at times angry, at times depressed, always broken, always hurting. The whole story is about diving into all of that hurt. Because that's what life is about: hurt.

It's crazy that I actually believe that sometimes. I've had some moments even just this break where I've been stuck in that. God always has a funny way of mending that mentality, though. I finished The Secret Life of Bees a week or two ago, and it spoke a lot to me then, and I mean a lot. Some of those moments of "life's about hurt" have hit me since finishing the book, though, but that book still has such a strong hold over me that it keeps changing me, refocusing me all over again. God has really used this book a lot to draw me out of those moments where I feel all depressed.

By the way, sometimes, I hate that I can't stay depressed. Sometimes, I just really want to be depressed and wallow in self-pity or self-loathing or self-whatever. Whenever I get depressed, though, and start thinking things like "life's about hurt" or whatever, I start to feel really melodramatic and pathetic. I mean really melodramatic and pathetic, so much so that I end up forcing myself to get over it and smile or dance or sing or eat or do something wonderful--something probably melodramatic and pathetic on the other end of the spectrum, but I like that place.

Like I said, God has really used The Secret Life of Bees to heal me over and over again the past week or two. The book really isn't about hurt. It's more about Lily discovering herself and her world and her hurt and dealing with all of those things. In the end, Lily finds love and belonging and peace and healing through mothers--all black mothers I should point out-- and through God--who in the book is also a black mother I should also point out. It's made me start seeing God in that light, too, as a mother (hopefully a black one, but I suppose I'll be okay either way). I just saw Avatar, and it did the same thing: make me think about God as a mother.(insert little superscript footnote "3" here)

But anyway, I've really needed the message God gave me through The Secret Life of Bees in this season of my life. Like I mentioned above, the book's not about hurt, but about healing. I think that's a message we all need to hear and be reminded of from time to time. Of course, I can only speak for myself, so that's all I'll do, but I hurt so much sometimes! Sometimes, the hurt is overwhelming, and for a time, it's all I see and feel. And like Lily, sometimes I feel alone, and I know I can't do this alone. No matter what I feel, though, I know I'm not alone; I have people in my life to help me, people that won't leave me even when I screw up big time, even when I bring hurt to those people. That's a gift from God, I realize that; and I realize that more than those people, I have a true Mother protecting me, forming me, loving me. I hurt this Mother so much, but the beautiful thing is that She isn't going anywhere. She'll always be there, always loving me, always healing me. Because life is about hurt, but it can be about healing, too.

I wasn't sure how I would end my poem when I started writing it. For a long time, I ranted and ranted about hurt and how cruel and painful life is, but, like always, I couldn't stay in that place. I began marinating thoughts of healing in my mind, because that's what was consuming my heart, and those thoughts flowed out into my poem. The last line is, "yeah--life may be about hurt, but living? living is about healing."

"Behold, I will bring it health and healing; I will heal them and reveal to them the abundance of peace and truth."
Jeremiah 33:6

*(insert little superscript footnote "1" here) --I decided that the best thing I read in 2009 was this book. In the words of one of my favorite people, "It is beautiful and soul touching." I strongly recommend it, and it has established itself in my all-time top 5 books list, a list that includes the 7th Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia and The Shack and Uncle Tom's Cabin, a list that's very competitive and has lots of books fighting bloodthirstily for a place.
*(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) --dear blogger, please add a superscript option. sincerely, Keith.
*(insert little superscript footnote "3" here) --I decided that the best thing I watched in 2009 was this movie. It was crazy awesome.