To Die Empty

Aluminum foil our plates, fingers our utensils, and fire-roasted meat, potatoes, carrots and onions. Lawn chairs, tree stumps, and logs pulled close to the crackling warmth of a campfire. Shadows cast from the flames dancing against the thick woods coiling all around. Bright stars and moon sneaking through gaps in the autumn leaves. Homework left at school, cellphones without service, and the fast pace of civilized life put on hold. Seventeen grad and undergrad college students, men and nature coming together for fellowship.

Life goals, one by one, given words and thrown into the space between us brothers where flames lick and whip and point upwards:

"to graduate"
"to work with youth"
"to run a marathon"
"to be a good husband"
"to get into a good Grad school"
"to run a godly youth ministry"
"to complete a triathlon"
"to be a good father"
"to travel the world"
"to be a foster parent"
"to hike the Appalachian Trail"
"to provide for my family"
...
"to die empty"

All possessions, all ambitions, all emotions--everything poured out.

Everyone quiet, reflective, staring into a pit of now only ashes. And a silence occupying the space previously filled with words and words and so many words.

"to die empty"

A Wasteful God

God, I am so pissed off at You right now!

I just got a facebook message from one of my Camp Joy kids. I've spent only 5 days a year with him for 4 summers, and it's been over a year since I've last seen him. Yet, out of the blue, he sends me this message saying how I'm like a brother to him. That he remembers when we prayed together, just us two. That when his guardians yell at him, he remembers all the love he felt at camp. That no one's ever led him to You God like I have.... What the hell is that, God!?!?!

He says those things about me? It's been over a year, and I was only with him for 5 days a year before that. Where are the parents he deserves? Where's the environment and the neighborhood he deserves? Where's the school and the opportunities he deserves? Where's the security and the family and the constant love he deserves? Where's your church, God? Answer me! I'm so angry at you God! You mean you've put no one else in his life to love him and lead him to You, except the crazy white college kids he sees 5 days a year, college kids he's too old to see at Camp now? I don't understand God, but I will love these kids until it kills me, even if their maker won't.

I don't trust you, God. I trust you with Keith. You've done nothing but lavish blessings on me--education, family, opportunities, love. What I don't trust you with are all these kids I see all around me. Kids labeled high risk because they aren't first in anyone's lives. Because You aren't loving them like you're loving me. I see you bring Heaven to me, beneath my feet, here in this world everyday; but I don't trust you to bring about Heaven here for all these kids. Heaven here. Heaven now. I don't trust that one day You'll make all this okay, but that won't stop me from giving and working and hurting and dying and trying until every youth I meet knows and feels they're loved, and then lives in that love so completely that their lives become dedicated to the same suicidal purpose of persisting in love.

I don't trust you. I'm having too hard a time seeing past what I see right now. I see too many without any love, without any homes, without any hope. Too many with only the negative as influences. Too many that know despair and abandon more than joy and affection. Too many surrounded by only hatred and selfishness. Too many orphaned. Too many never hearing the words,

"I love you. I believe in you."

No God. I don't trust you. Not with that. They're too valuable, too priceless for flippant and reckless trust.

I don't trust you, God.

But I want to.

I read in one of Your scriptures today, Luke 9, that popular Sunday School story about Jesus feeding the 5,000 with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. I don't believe you, I don't trust you for miracles like that anymore. But I want to. I want to believe in a God that preaches healing and hope to hurting people, and a God that when others say it's time to send the people home so they can eat, says, "No. We feed them," and a God that then takes a meager meal and turns it into a feast, physically feeding and showing people what Heaven here looks like. A God that is verb-loving the people here, now. I wan't to believe in that kind of God. And how wasteful you were! There were 12 basketfuls of food left over!

God. Take the 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish that I am, and feed 5,000. Prove to me that I'm not wrong in wanting to trust You. Prove to me that you're still a wasteful God. Be wasteful in your use of my life. Show me what Grace and Provision and Love in waste look like.

where the heart will forever be...

Never thought I'd hurt this much being away from you. Guess I never realized that you have my heart. Now I can see it: you're my home, my sanctuary, my refuge. We fell in love so quickly, but we'll never fall out. You've held me through my lowest lows, danced with me in my highest highs. You've exposed all of life's wounds to me--in their misery, in their filth, in their shame. And when everything looks like it's drowning, you've thrown out just enough hope to keep me afloat, to keep me fighting. You've shown me the Kingdom, taught me what life was all about, walked me into my purpose. You've given me burdens, fulfillment, heartaches, joy. You've led me into relationships with the most beautiful souls that exist. Because of you, I'm better, stronger, more the man God created me to be. Because of you, I've never weeped harder, never laughed harder, never lived harder.

It hurts that, separated from you, all I can do is pray. But I trust that that's all that's needed from me right now, so I'll pray as hard as I know how. Camp Joy...my heart will always be with you...