Thoughts from a Plebian

I feel a certain amount of unrest. Recent events bring light the bitter gall of my ambitions, and my perceptions. It's brought to me, and I am sore. I don't want anymore. Yet I know it's gonna be okay. Patience, that which is so hard to obtain and keep, slips away at the slightest provocation. Reflections of my selfish nature, my shaky foundations, my shallow and tacked-together floor on which I stand. I hate it. I can see that it is not my surroundings that bring the churning guts and sickly taste, and I despair at times of finding cleansing. Or I meditate on that which is hard for me to see and obtain, and that in itself is poison--the thought of what I do not yet have. I have to cling to the hope--it's there, He has said so--the hope I have in hand is sure, but not over-riding. It doesn't rear up and proclaim itself, as the despair and desolation does. That hope, it's quiet. It's not as heart-wrenching and immediate--it's a knowledge--and that in itself is difficult. My eyes are not accustomed to focusing on that hope; my sight is almost affixed to the poison, and my ears almost tuned to the key of that acridity which whistles its melody most cheerfully.

I must fix my eyes upon that which has been set before me--but oh, how hard! What I perceive is filth, and ways immovable and circular. What He perceives--what? I am not who I am perceived to be. I can't be. I strive against it. Yet it slaps me in the face; my efforts to change seem useless, my pursuit of understanding, fruitless. Desolation claws at me. I look in the wrong places, I am aware. But that which is unseen is farther away than that which is seen--or less easily accessible. How I wish I could hear the voice I know that I need to hear from! I want Him to voice His thoughts--His opinion--His affirmation--His view of me, from the inside out! I read His letters to me--but sometimes I wish I could see Him face to face and hear from His lips all that He says in His word.

And so I continue on in my perception of despondency and desolation--though I know it will pass. That hope which is so quiet and meek is still warm and alive in my hands.


higher sight, He sees
a temple, golden and shining.
a vantage, lower and despondent,
not able to wipe the mud away.

What is my fate?

Isolation often encourages reflection. So does a brief look into another's life, I think. In a way I wonder that much of Bible college holds us in naivity regarding the nature of pastoral life. I am slowly seeing that those who are emerging from college into a life of active ministry, within the bounds of a church, find the latter much different from what they might have expected. And from what I glean from them, I take and appraise my own life and where it will take me.

When I was younger, I believed that there was no other occupation I would rather do than spend my life in ministry. I thought I was to be a youth pastor. Then as a couple years passed by, I thought I might rather minister to young adults. Now I am not sure of either. Everyone needs to know the love that Jesus has to offer, from children to seniors.

And as I peruse the tale of others' lives, I observe that most or all of it centers around a church, a building. It involves boards, and elders, and other pastors, and while that is great, I get the sense of hierarchy, and climbing ladders to get to where one really wants to end up. I feel a bit of unrest at this. Is it unrest that I do not know the goal of my calling--to what exactly I am called? Perhaps. Is it unrest that I see a shadow of ambition and competition, an undercurrent our sinful nature beckoning us toward envy and the lack of sober judgement of ourselves? Maybe. Though perhaps it is the stirring of a different fate for me. Maybe I am not to be a pastor in a church, to grow from children's ministry, to youth, to young adults, and so on.

But what is it then? What is it that I am supposed to do? I feel frustrated with the apparent lack of direction, though I know that God reveals what he wants when he wants, because he knows exactly when to do it. Any sooner and, as I've heard on many a lip before mine, I would refuse from either terror or disbelief. Still, I feel a mite shamed when, even approaching my fourth year in Bible College, I don't know the core of my calling. Oh sure, I have ambitions. Go to secular college afterwards, get an education in art and languages. Meet the man of my dreams and get married, and be firmly planted in ministry before I have kids. But what is my ministry? And what of these ambitions of mine? Perhaps they are not to be?

I say this out of a restless and hardened spirit, I think. I am not eager to return to Bible college, where I must be around people constantly. There I must learn to quell any disunity and rebellion, and submit myself to the Word in standards of community living. (Here too, I think I must apply those standards.) And I am not eager to return to the books and the papers where, I feel in my spirit, failure awaits me if I continue in my lacksadaisical manner. And it is facing this challenge and overcoming it that daunts me particularly. Yet I know that I must, because I know that I have been called.

But what after? What am I called to? Am I called to a life of, excuse the term, professional ministry, or a life as an artist or teacher or anything else, with a heavy involvement in ministry? Am I to minister within the church building and system at all? I have only the vaguest of notions.

Where are the boundary stones of my life?

I am not a carpenter!

I hit myself in the face with a hammer yesterday. It hurt.

Why is the Christian walk so difficult? Why is the opposition so insinuous? It's not a straight-out battle, with recognized good and evil. It's a sneaky, biting, twisting force that slides its way through like a slick snake, only a snake that's costumed as a furry pet. it's a game of careful wording, filtering ideas, guarding oneself against the very ones we love. And our training to fight that is based on scholarship, meaning our own personal walk with God through reading the Bible and building a foundation of faith and relationship around what is said in those pages. It seems like the enemy is exceedingly more powerful and bats us around like we are nothing. And I know the key to winning the battle is knowing the battle belongs to the Lord, and that we must shelter in His love, His strength, and be obedient to His sovereign leading, but...maybe there is not but. Maybe that's all there is. But...it's so hard when the ones you love carry the words that seem to burn and worm into the ear--even to the point where the words are physically felt on the ear to which they were spoken. And those burning, worming, writhing words sear and seep right into the very core, into the heart, into the gut, twisting and churning the body with anger, and even hatred. How, how does one combat that, how does one persevere to bring the love of Jesus when it seems so distant even now? How does one let go of the anger and the malice that those words bring, the despair at ever thinking that any good will result? It blinds, those words. It takes the gaze that pierces through the mist and greyness and lights upon distant shores, and it cuts sight short, so only the thrashing waves are perceivable.

Yet we know that the enemy is a liar, and that there is hope--because the Bible tells us so. To that we must hold--I must hold--with the knowledge that though I might not always feel like that's true, it is, the least reason of all being that the Bible has proven itself true, and God proven Himself faithful, time and time again. So we carry on then, and let the Lord draw the poison from our wounds, determined by His strength to march on, obedient to his calling and ever hopeful in HIs promises.

Back in CanadaLand

Oy! Back in Canada, jotting down a few lines before venturing out into the well-known Lower Mainland to run a few errands. Had neither time nor motivation to further blog during my stay in Ireland. I was busy until well into the night--the night, I must say, that doesn't fully darken there until past 10:30 pm. It's wonderful. Did many, many things, which you, if you know me and will see me in the next few weeks, will get regaled with all the tales of my adventures in the Celtic wonderland, as long as you are willing to hear about it.
One thing I will say to sum up my trip: If I could transport to my part of the world the charm and landscape of Bray, then I would live in a veritable paradise. I was almost lost to it, and the only thing that kept me from staying was my friends and family back home. :)

All right. Soon to see those that read this. :):):)
Snafu

Top O' the Mornin' to ya!

I have arrived! I am in Ireland, the Emerald Isle, after being awake for over 24 hours, and I sit here at the computer weaving from exhaustion, feeling like my head is floating away from the rest of me. Woo hoo! But no, I can't sleep, or else the jetlag will be prolonged. Ugh.
Yes. Ireland. Gorgeous, old, bricks and walls and people driving on the wrong side of their car down the wrong side of the street. Tiny little cosy adorable houses, tiny little adorable cars. Lots of pasture and greenery outside the city. Ireland! Discovering that the North American world is not too far away; movies, advertisements, products followed us here, or were here waiting for us.
Ireland is a land to be discovered, over and over again! Can't wait to walk down the cobblestone streets (where there is cobblestone), dip into a pub for some fish and chips to wait out the transitory rainfall, chat up the locals and learn the stories behind the words, the customs, the very stones and earth and people that make up the beautiful country that now plays host to me.

Hm. More to come later.
Snafu.

Here's to you, Bro!

It just hit me that in less than a week, I am going to be overseas, in Ireland, getting ready for my big brother's wedding. My brother is getting married. Married! My brother, with whom I made tree forts, went tramping through the woods with, played GI Joe's, Lego, video games...haha I remember playing duck hunt with him, and we'd sit real close to the tv and try to shoot the annoying dog. I can remember in one of the houses we lived at, he had the top loft for his room, and one night as the sun was going down, we crawled out the window and out onto the shingle roof. It was such a cool sight to see all the surrounding pastures and the other houses silhouetted against the setting sun.
And I remember listening to him as he learned how to play guitar. He was the one who talked to me about Jesus and about persevering when my life was off track, and he stayed at home after he graduated to look after me even though situations weren't that great.
lol we still play video games together..and Carcasson.

I was blessed with him as a brother. He's not just my brother, he's one of my best friends.