Reblog...

I'm Not a Christian, But I'm Coming to Your Church This Sunday

Thomas Weaver » 

Okay I’m not a Christian, but I’ve finally made the decision to come to your church this Sunday. Don’t expect much from me though. If something comes up I might not, but right now I’m planning on it. I feel like I need to go, but I’m not sure why. I want to tell you a few things about myself before you meet me.

1.  I’m not going to understand religious language or phrases so be aware of that when we talk. I don’t understand slain in the spirit, God is moving in me, covered in the blood, I need to die to self, you just need to be in the Word, what you need is a new life, etc. If we have conversation filled with religious talk, I’m probably not going to understand half of the words...and maybe think you’re a little crazy.

2.  When you ask me how I’m doing, know that I don’t trust you. I’m probably going to lie and tell you I’m fine. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; it’s just that I come from some pain and am not sure if I trust you yet. How about you tell me your story first? If I like you and get the vibe that you’re not trying to capture my soul or anything, I’ll tell you mine.

3.  I’ve got pretty rough language and I can be bitter and angry about some things. If I sense in you a mindset of superiority, I’m out. If you are just waiting for your turn to talk instead of truly listening to me, I’m not going to be interested. Don’t expect me to be exactly like you.

4.  Don’t make a big deal of introducing me to everyone you know. I understand a couple of people, but please; don’t set up a welcoming line. I’m just there to check it out; I need a bit of space.

5.  I’m going to be looking for genuine interest in me. I don’t want to feel like your personal salvation project or be a notch on your “I saved one” belt. If this Jesus is who you say he is, then I’m looking forward to seeing him in you. That’s how it works, right?

6.  I’m going to have questions. I need truth, not your preferences or your religion, so can you just tell me what the Bible says?

7.  I need to feel welcomed. Is there a time limit or something on my visit before I’m supposed to feel unwelcomed? I mean, I’ve been to other churches and there seemed to be a push for me to make up my mind or something. How long until I’m unwelcomed?

Thanks for hearing me out. I’m pretty sure I’m going to come this Sunday. But I might not.

Wise Words, from Current Friends and Ancient Sailors

You should listen to this while you read... (it was on my Pandora when I did)



I have to totally credit my friend Lindsey for posting this wonderful poem by Sir Francis Drake (her words at the end, too), but I had to repost it - I've been awol from blogging for a pretty long time - not necessarily because I had nothing to say, but mostly because so much was happening in such a small amount of time that I didn't know what to say, what to chew on some more, what to throw out there, and what to keep in my head for a later date.  I guess that the result (nothing) doesn't seem very productive, but it also meant I was just waiting for something that would sum things up, which I think this does quite well.  In as much of a nutshell as I can muster, these things happened:


The semester finished up.
Last dance concert (my choreography) at USC.
Final exams, presentation in Russian and Dance History.
I found out where I'll be from September-June: Hello, Belgorod, Russia.
(It's not Siberia!)
I also found out an interesting fact about Belgorod: this fun thing called an Anti-Missionary Law.
(more about Belgorod later)
I graduated COLLEGE.  Like, I'm done.
Anya came all the way from Russia to see me graduate and hang out in Greenville for a few weeks.
(Oh, how God handpicked that girl and her family for my life and His purpose, I am certain)
Last life group x2 - God is so faithful and good, but that's hard.
I said goodbye to people in Cola that I'll hate to not do life with all the time.
(I don't believe in ex-roommates.  I'll miss Monday nights, Tuesday mornings,
Wednesday evenings, and Thursday chats.  I'll miss Chinese dinners and walks by the rivers and 
homework nights and horseshoe days and Cool Beans and studio time and E-wood Sundays.)
The Lord gave a long-awaited answer to a question I'd been asking this semester.
(It was good, and our God is SO faithful - praise Him!)
God provided and grew and strengthened leadership for those taking my place.
I went to Charleston, took a nap on the beach, experienced the crash of waves with my eyes closed.
(kinda like following God when you don't see what's next, but you know it's there, you feel the wind on your back and the sand in your toes, and you trust)
I moved home.
I told my brother goodbye for the summer.
(He gives and takes away... I'm sacrificing without such a wonderful person for Woodlands Camp ;-)
It seems every sermon or Bible Study in the past two weeks has had to do with End Times, Heaven, and related topics.  
(another reason why this poem is so appropriate)
I sent in my application for Ballet Mag's Teacher Training Workshop, though it means I'll be pinching pennies all summer.
I've wrestled and settled and wrestled again with why this dance thing keeps holding on, what I'm supposed to do with it, confused how it all fits, but knowing that I'm not supposed to give it up...
I got on a planning kick for grad school.
(yes, already...)
And, I read Lindsey's blog today... 

Disturb Us, Lord


"Disturb us, Lord,
When we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.


Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
With the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life
We have ceased our dreams of eternity,
And in our efforts to build a new earth
We have allowed our vision
Of the new heaven to dim.


Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where loosing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.


We ask you to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love."

~Attributed to Sir Francis Drake, 1577


Dream. Live. Dare. Go boldly to answer God's calling. Stay thirsty for Him... To do without is like a ship in a sea of doldrums.

Daddy, your footsteps are far apart.

Apart from me you can do nothing.
Abide in me.
You are the branches.
He prunes, that <you> may bear more fruit.
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.
If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.
These things I have spoken to you,
that my joy may be in you,
that your joy may be full.
Love one another as I have loved you.
You did not choose me, but I chose you...
... Appointed you, 
that you should go, and bear fruit that your fruit should abide
that you will love one another.
(John 15)

Abide.  #soeasytosay #sohardtodo #sogoodformysoul

Waiting...
Steadfastness, that is holding on;
Patience, that is holding back;
Expectancy, that is holding the face up;
Obedience, that is holding one's self in readiness to go or do;
Listening, that is holding quiet and still so as to hear.
(Passion and Purity)

Show me who I am, Abba -
apart from distractions.  As your child, as a woman, as a girl.  
As a student, as a graduate.  As a leader, a follower, a sister,
a friend.  As a daughter, as a lost sheep.  As a Mary, as I sit
at your feet.
Show me who I am.


"True oneness, true unity inspired by the Spirit will always
sacrifice preferences at the feet of the person of Christ and the
unity he wants, whether they be political, theological, or anything.
May the Bride find delight in the service of sacrificing for unity."
(RT: @drummerboyTJ, John 14)




#preBrazil.

learning to lament

Jesus, why is it so hard for me to carry your name?  God, my vision is so clouded by the film the world wants to paint over everything.  Your glory has been reduces to the feeble attempts at describing or describing away who you are.  We keep building towers of Babel and then celebrating in the climax of our confusion.  So many, God? So many are lost and believing this construction of false truth that we've made for and from ourselves, or that we've swallowed, begged, borrowed from generations before?
If grace is an ocean, we're sinking, but the avalanche of self-worship keeps plunging into the sea - it won't ever fill it but it still keeps coming - no one learning from before...
I know.  I know the ocean's not big enough to describe your grace.  I know, even, that the avalanche can't compare to how far we've fallen... but somehow the spring comes after every//single//winter... right, God?  The mountains move, the lame walk, the blind see, the dead rise... right, God?  You are a God of miracles. Of turning Babel on its knees, of extending the kingdom to the sinner on the cross by your side, of loving the tyrant, the rebel, the arrogant, the one who gets himself lost on purpose.  
But sometimes they don't come.  Sometimes the daughter they've seen grow up and cling to you just doesn't seem to be enough.  The friend who's loved them believes truth that's only for her.  The sister's example of 'religion' is just a drop in the bucket in a sea of hypocrisy, her earnest prayer seems not to be heard.  The husband that left has caused too deep a scar, the years of a misfed philosophy are too deeply ingrained.  
And the hope that I claim, the one I live by, has only been a shade of the truth.  I'm only standing ankle deep in that sea of grace - my body still whipped by the wind and the sun and the views of Babel towers on the shore - though not for lack of your invitation.  God, I want to swim.  Bring me in, deeper = may I not stop at my knees, my waist, my neck. But God, will they come?  Will they even come as far as their ankles?  Maybe they'll never come if they're not called by someone swimming.  So teach me to swim, Father.  Teach me to swim by drawing me in - may I not fear, may I not forget those on the shore, but may I jump in to the truth of your grace, your sacrifice, your salvation, your arms.  Catch me, Daddy, I want to jump in.


Matt (my worship pastor from home) spoke about the Psalmist's lament on Sunday, and that day, it didn't quite resonate... but yesterday, quite unexpectedly, I got it while I journaled and wrote this.  He said that a lament is different from grumbling or complaining, because a lament still places focus on God, and ends in giving him glory.  He cares deeply about our thoughts, and yet, we must see that all of our confusion and fear ultimately ends with Him, at the foot of the cross.  

beautiful things.

yesterday, i had a nice talk on the horseshoe.
today, my best friend Amie got engaged!
tomorrow, i'm going to Philadelphia.
it's been a good 72 hours.

hands

tonight, i worked at the theatre and got to watch a broadway show for free.
it was cool and all, but the best thing that i saw happened to not be on the stage at all...
a very old man (you know, one of those cute ones, all dressed up in his suit) was sitting next to me, and as we got into the show a bit of the way through, he so sweetly reached over and took his wife's hand in his.
it's something so simple, and i mean, walking around campus, you see kids walking around holding hands all the time, but it was just so golden to see this 70+ year old man make that gesture... after so many years with that one woman, letting her know that she was his, that she was special, that she was important to him in that moment.  what a difference 50 years can make in the meaning of a simple gesture, right?
so i don't really know the moral of this anecdote... maybe, i want that kind of interaction in my 70s, and maybe, never stop holding hands with the one(s) you love.

her.

Remember your word to your servant, in which you have made me hope. This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life.                         Psalm 119:49-50    

Father, hold her.
Help her to know she can crawl into your arms, that you want so desperately for her to come closer, to finally, finally relax, to let go, to let the scales come off, to let the mummified layers be peeled off to restore the life that lies shaking and crippled beneath.  So much pain for so long is kept trapped, wound so tightly as to never let it breathe, but it comes, seeping through the tattered layers, ready to destroy and disintegrate with a resounding wave of applause by the eyes that watch and taunt and wait.
Spirit, protect her.
Speak to her, that she may know you have already won, those eyes that taunt will forever be silenced, just not now.
Jesus, fight for her.
May she know and feel the freedom you bought for her already.  That grace that comes so freely, the sun, the fountain that flows your love... it hurts at first, I know - but let it crash in and melt the layers and soak the shivering bones and pale flesh that shrinks at the touch of life, the promise of sun.  Let the wind rush in to every hiding corner filled with sand.  May she know that she's in your hand, that her folded body can stretch and sigh and rest.
Father, hold her.