what was meant for evil, God uses for good.

I've been thinking a lot about a certain sentence from the Bible. I haven't read the Bible in quite some time I must admit, but there is one scripture that keeps replaying over and over and over in my head. It's Genesis 50:20.

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good..."


It hits me. 
It hits me like a ton of bricks and I am wrecked and I am humbled. 


We all carry grief, dear friends. Brokenness, hate, resentment, anger, fury, spite, whatever it may be... We are human and we have a great capacity to hurt. And even though our pain can seem overwhelming, unfair and even cruel at times, our capacity to love is far greater than that.

I read this scripture of Joseph's story and I feel whole and I feel honest.

And it's hard as hell to get here....to where Joseph was. Humbled and subservient to the Lord. But I can tell you one thing, he didn't get here because he tried hard enough or cared enough about it. He got here because of who God is in Him. He got here because he sat in the presence of the Lord and he gave up. He saw His heart. He felt His heart, and despite all of Joseph's anger, righteous anger at that, he wept (Gen. 50:17).
He forgave.... and he loved.


May we all seek to be humbled and feel God's love like Joseph. May we seek to touch the Lord's glorious redeeming robe.

"I could hear my heart beating, 

I could hear everyone's heart.

I could hear the human noise we sat there making,

not one of us moping, not even when the room went dark."

                                                                   

                                                                            - Raymond Carver, 1938-1988

Where are your affections?

I've become more and more aware of the battlefield in my mind. I have to constantly check myself and see where my affections lie. For the most part unfortunately, they're where they shouldn't be. I find myself focusing consistently on the wrong things. On things that damage my self-esteem, on things that fail to promote good tidings in my heart, and on things that are really just ...pointless.
All too often we worry like this. Some more than others, but I indeed find it true that our innate human nature is not to trust, but to disbelieve.
My goal and challenge to all my friends is this; discover where your affections lie and make sure they're where they should be. Ask yourself "What do I want my life to be? What am I scared of? What do I consistently worry about and how can I change my thinking? What do I believe in and how can I manifest more of it in my life and less of what i don't believe in? How can I keep my mind on the bigger picture and what is that bigger picture for me?" I think most of us believe in love. I think most of us believe in happiness and good morality. And yet I also think that most of us forget that we can not only have all of these things, but have them abundantly.
So there's my challenge to myself and to you. Make a list if you want. Do this challenge with a friend or just do it daily in your heart and mind.
And hopefully your life will become a little brighter.

living above your circumstances.

i was reading this morning and came across a line that said, (read as if God was speaking directly to you) "Thank Me for troublesome situations; the Peace they can produce far outweighs the trials you endure." i started thinking about how terrible 2011 was, and i imagined reading that sentence and wanting to know what it would mean to me if i didn't know God. how confusing it would be or how meaningless.

it's one thing to build up strength from a situation and say, "Well, if i can make it through that, I can survive anything." but it is another to find Peace in it. strength and peace don't always go together. in fact, my strength fails me quite a lot.

the Peace that God offers us is engulfed in the understanding of how to live above your circumstances. to be frank with you, it's learning how to let go and embrace the truth that your ultimate purpose of being on Earth is not for your own happiness, but for God's. (though i am fully aware that God loves for us to be happy). this gospel liberates. and i know that many Christians in the past have abused the Gospel and have misunderstood it. Westboro Baptist church comes to mind immediately. but the freedom in this whole story is that God loves us enough to give us a choice to love Him back. and that means we can choose not to love Him and we can choose to do things while on earth that are quite horrific and bring sorrow to God's heart.

i know this blog post might ruffle some feathers, but to be flat honest, i'm really tired of Christians treating God like he's a genie in a lamp. if i sit here and profess to be a Christian running round with Jeremiah 29:11 on my lips and yet cannot embrace that same Promise when my father dies in front of my face and i am utterly betrayed by the man i thought i was to marry, then i am a hypocrite and something is radically wrong with my understanding of who God is.

if anything from the trials i have to endure, i want to learn how to love other people well because that's what Jesus commands us to do, friends. not to judge. not to ostracize. not to be double-minded and weary in our beliefs, but to love and to love unconditionally. when i let go of always needing to be the happiest person in the room, i am free to enjoy other people's happiness and value the bigger picture. i begin to live above my circumstances and cherish more and more the grace that God turned His face that fateful hour, so Love could win.

Reconciling Revenge

today i thought i'd share a post on revenge by Jordan Green.


I would generally consider myself a pacifist. I say “generally”, because I don’t really know how I’d react in a given situation. If, for instance, a crazed hobo woman attacked my daughter, I’m fairly certain I would resort to physical violence in order to get her to stop. So maybe I’m a pacifist when it comes to larger communities, like nation-states and youth groups. Because of my semi-pacifist philosophy, I’ve always had one major hang-up with narrative morality, an idea this blog’s esteemed owner discusses in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. That hang-up is this: when played out in story, revenge is sort of awesome.
For instance, I’m reading through George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series right now, and there are plenty of characters in this epic, sprawling fantasy series who I want to pay. And I don’t want them merely brought to justice in a court of law and imprisoned for life. They are evil people, and I want them to die the most painful deaths possible. Most of them do end up dying horrific deaths, simply because (SPOILER ALERT) a lot of people die in these books.(END SPOILER ALERT)
Of course, the characters in Martin’s novels aren’t real, but real life has its share of bad guys. The latter half of the 20th century seemed to mark a turn away from Old Testament-style justice. Adolph Hitler: committed suicide to avoid capture by the Red Army. Joseph Stalin: died of a cerebral hemorrhage at 74. Pol Pot: died at home of a heart attack. Slobodan Milosevic: heart attack while under trial for war crimes. Saddam Hussein: hanged after being convicted for crimes against humanity. The point is, the deaths of some of the 20th century’s worst people were decidedly unlike that of your average Bond villain.
Then, in the last six months, Osama Bin Laden and Muammar Gaddafi died extremely violent deaths. The former, of course, was shot in the head during a raid by US forces. The latter was captured in a hole, beaten viciously, and, according to some reports, took around 30 minutes to die after being shot in the head and chest.
Now, I know I am supposed to love my enemies, to pray for them and even bless them. I know this because it is discussed pointedly in Romans, Luke, 1 Peter and 1 John. But what’s curious to me is how these deaths feel to me from a purely narrative standpoint. And, if I’m honest, the deaths of Osama Bin Laden and Muammar Gaddafi feel somewhat…well…right. As much as I tell myself the death of a human being should never be celebrated, I do at least feel some satisfaction knowing these men are gone. Gaddafi was a madman who ruled with an iron hand, who lived in unchecked opulence while his people suffered. Osama Bin Laden was Osama Bin Laden. One of the key components of Protestant Christianity is the belief we do not get what we deserve, that through following Christ all sin is absolved, but there is still a very real part of us that wants to see certain people get what’s coming to them, from cruel despots to schoolyard bullies. If narrative morality is ingrained in us by our creator — and I think for the most part it is — why is vengeance so undeniably gratifying?
The easiest answer is to say we want justice, and that’s partly true. We yearn for God to put the world right. But there’s more to it than that. One of my favorite stories takes place in Corrie Ten Boom’s book Tramp for the Lord. Ms. Ten Boom is lecturing in Germany when she is approached by a man whom she quickly recognizes as a particularly brutal Ravensbruck guard. Before he can speak, she forgives him:

“For a long moment, we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely as I did then.”

What we truly want is for villains to repent. Ideally, we want a villain to understand what he did was wrong, and redeem his horrible actions. When that doesn’t suffice, we want him to realize he was not as powerful as he thought. This is why, when a villain dies in a story, we are shown his reaction one last time as he plummets to his death or realizes a bomb is about to explode. We want to see him recognize he is a broken man.
The question from there is whether we want our villains forgiven, and I suspect that’s a matter of perspective. Did anyone really want Die Hard to end with John McClane forgiving Hans Gruber, grasping hands, and experiencing God’s love? Doubtful, but this is partly because Hans Gruber is not a real human. He’s an avatar for evil. Real people are a lot messier, with compounding factors like traumatic childhood experiences and mental illness.
Like all sin, we each have our limits. The tools God gives us to push those limits — empathy and a willingness to cede control of our lives — are crucial in determining our reactions. If I had known Muammar Gaddafi, or Osama Bin Laden, I wonder if that glimmer of satisfaction I felt would’ve been diminished completely, and a story read as justice served would more closely resemble a tragedy.