To love is to be vulnerable: to hand over your weapons to another, remove your armour. Crazy. Who does that? Love. He gave us the keys, the will not to choose him, the knife to wound him. He did not defend himself. And where did that get him? In the garden he made for us, alone. While we hid. And we went into the wilderness to build machines, to survive without him. We fortified our weakness with iron and steel, shined to a holy gleam. Our machines are mistake-proof: effective, professional, strong. Clanging, powerful gongs. We give our mechanical monsters many lovely names: church, revival, community. Words, stripped of the power of a vulnerable God. We surrender our childlikeness to become little pegs in the machine—trading authenticity for professionalism. Some pegs don’t make it. Too tragically fractured to fake it, not useful or strong enough. The broken ones are tossed…Continue Reading
Risk for Reward
What is the cost of truly living? Risk. What risk’s reward? Living. It’s basic math. So, why is it difficult to move towards that which will make us most alive? What is it about giving our hearts to a person or a place or some thing that is so daunting it paralyzes us or causes us to run in the wrong direction and hide. What does it take to look at our fear in the face, take a deep breath, and jump in? I also accept that with the possibilities of pain, failure and looking like a fool, come the exciting expectations of love, winning and becoming a heroic example—becoming another story of a real person who jumped and did not regret it. Risk requires that I be ‘all in’. I must commit. Although my actions might not play out as I imagine, the reward is sure: living fully alive.…Continue Reading