our souls in our laps

"Graduation"
Dorothea Tanning

He told us, with the years,
you will come to love the world.
And we sat there with our souls in our laps
and comforted them.

I've been searching for this poem since I read it on the New York Subway a couple weeks ago. I think its beautiful. I'm not sure I'm supposed to think that since it was in an ad... But it's one of those poems that hits me in the gut when I read it. I love that. Maybe reading it on the subway was what made me like it. It's hard to forget the rawness of the world on a subway car in New York City. Surrounded by walls that, when first built, shined with glossy white tile - but they've been touched and smudged and dirtied by time into a rough, oily surface that even the most free person prefers not to touch. A dirtied yellow color appropriate for the underground of a city. It reminds me of a book I read in high school that talked about how, in rural Africa, white fabric doesn't exist. With the dirt and dust, nothing stays pure white for long. But it's not just Africa.

Sitting on the subway, reading Dorothea's poem, the thought of loving the world seems first like a horror. But maybe that's only if I try to love it for what its not. Or what its not supposed to ever be. I like subways for a number of reasons. One is that, when barreling through the underground tunnels of a city, there is no pretending that this world is supposed to be glossy and clean and pure. When you put a bunch of messy people in one place, clean white tile isn't going to last long. And I think that's beautiful, in its own way. It exposes the truth about us that we can't hide. We are worse than we think.

I don't, and never will, have it all together. The shiny, unblemished parts of myself won't last. Actually, they don't even exist. And the question is, how long will I pretend that they do? When will I believe that, in Him, the broken parts of me aren't shameful - they are human? And that accepting my humanity is a step towards healing? Healing my shattered view that I have what I need inside of myself. It feels too risky - but admitting my humanity is a jump into the arms of my Creator. And really there is no risk at all.

There is beauty in the worn, lonely places of this world. The places we have dirtied and battered with time. But maybe not for any other reason than that they catch us longing for something greater. Something that doesn't blemish. Or wear out. And isn't offended when we do. And we sat there with our souls in our laps and comforted them.

My neighborhood

I've finally started roaming the streets of East Atlanta with my camera in hand.

Composing through the lens of a camera settles my heart like few other things in this world.

family

I've been meaning to post this video for weeks. For some reason I almost cry every stinking time I watch this.



Renovation Church - Atlanta, GA from Verge Network on Vimeo.

the strength of my heart

Since I moved to Atlanta, I've been deeply burdened by the broken places within the city. It is hard to go anywhere without seeing someone in deep need. And although that forces me to feel, sometimes I feel like it bruises me. The city is raw. I love that about it, but it can be dark. Too dark for me to bear alone.

We lost a member of our church family this last week. A ten year old boy from Trestle Tree was run over by a car outside his apartment. I say church family and I really do mean it. The heart of our church was ripped open. I feel like I lost a little brother. I brother I didn't know well enough but I loved deeply.


I'm angry. The sadness is under my skin and I can't get it out. I went on a long walk today because physical exhaustion is the best way for me to keep it in check for now. I find myself wanting to shatter something, because it feels like the city around me is crumbling and there is nothing I can do about it.


There is nowhere to direct my anger. It was an accident. But I can't seem to let go of the truth that this sort of accident would never have happened to me. It makes me feel privileged and naive. And unworthy of mourning.


I think that is one of the strongest lies I believe in times of grief. I become convinced that I'm not supposed to mourn, when mourning is clearly good. I live in a broken down world with plenty of reason to mourn. If I ignore that truth, I ignore the grace that was given me to escape this place. And, in turn, I ignore the goodness of my God.


In the last three months, my deepest joy has come from my time with the kids from Grant Park. And now, my deepest pain. 
I don't dare ask Him why. I know He'll tell me when I'm ready to know. I don't dare direct my anger towards Him. He has proved to bring the most beautiful hope from my deepest grief. I know it won't be different this time.


But, Lord, this is not what I wanted. I hoped for so much more. I wanted Quay here. I wanted to watch him grow up in the church. Watch him become a man after your own heart. I wanted to know him, to encourage him, to rejoice and mourn with him. I never wanted to mourn over him.


I'm angry at the brokenness in this world. Everything within my spirit rejects this reality. 


But there is a glimmer of hope. I have not been this reliant on my God in a long time. He is the only one that can sort out this tragedy. Without him, Quay fades away. This accident wins and there is nothing left but striving after the wind. Without him, the city crumbles into dust, the darkness rolls into my life and into my soul. But He is the strength of my heart.


He promises hope. He promises that He knows Quay. He watched him grow up. He knew his heart, He encouraged him, He rejoiced with him and He mourned with him. And now He mourns over Quay's death. But only for our sake.


I don't know what the Lord is doing. And I'm finally learning to be thankful for that. Every day with the kids from Trestle Tree is an irreplaceable gift. The Lord is doing a great work in Grant Park. Without a doubt.

Please, Lord, continue to redeem the broken parts of this city. It is darkness in our hands and I can't carry this. We can't carry this weight.

saying goodbye to Quay - sending off his favorite color balloons

You don't need strength to be strong.

I often forget that, even in this shattered world, we are not alone.

There is darkness around us but there is Light within us. He hasn't left us without Himself.

There is this Willy Wonka quote that just popped into my head which seems incredibly relevant all the sudden. "We are the music makers. We are the dreamers of dreams."

I think our God calls us to dream. And I think a lot of the time He brings us great joy by shattering those dreams. Shattered dreams can feel like failure and bring deep guilt, and feel pressure to deny that we ever had them in the first place.We can't lie to each other about pain. Hopelessness. Doubt. When we lie, we are saying that the Lord was not working in the details of the story.

I've written about this before - the power of our own stories. But I can't get it out of my head. So here I am again with the same words and the same heart, urging myself and the people I love to crack themselves open. To share their stories. Because when we don't we say a lot more about our disbelief in God than we realize.

This Sunday my pastor shared a little of his wife's story. He read a blog post that his wife wrote a year ago, not long after she was re-diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. She wrote of the Lord's sovereignty and love, and her love for Him even in her illness. Her words were beautiful and real and I couldn't help but be thankful for the Lord's pursuit of her heart. I am encouraged to know from her faith that the darkness in this world does not win with a God like ours.

My pastor's wife also leads music at our church, and I couldn't take my eyes off her during the last two songs as she sang of the Lord's faithfulness and the hope of eternity with Him. It was like a punch in the face. I left fully convinced that the pain and sickness and hopelessness in this world  speaks more about His love for me than anything else. When this world fails, we have lost nothing. This shattered world was never meant to satisfy.

the whole story

It is easy for me to be cynical in this world. To look at the poverty and broken families in certain areas of Grant Park and believe the statistics. Many young men that grow up without fathers abandon their families later in life. Many men and women that grow up below the poverty line live the entirety of their life beneath it. But our God is bigger.


Today we organized a day camp for the kids of Trestle Tree. We split up into four teams and the kids played football, made crafts, fought over plastic bats....


I spent my day with the red team. A team of delinquents, really. We were the trouble makers, the rowdy ones. By the end of the day I was covered in sweat and melted face paint. But we played hard and I pray that some day, if not today, each of those kids realizes how deeply I want them to believe... even though I lost my temper once or twice.


Walking into the cafeteria for lunch today, I overheard my co-leader Dan talking to a five year old girl on our team. He was explaining the gospel in words she could understand. Speaking of how Jesus took the punishment for us because he loves us. And that taking the punishment meant that he had to die for us.


A few minutes later, Dan and I found the little girl weeping unconsolably. I scooped her up and carried her outside where Dan took her from me, explaining that she was upset because Jesus had died for her. I can't explain exactly where her tears came from -  they could have been joyful because of his love, but they seemed like deep sadness, guilt even. Guilt because she caused the death of someone who did not deserve it.


She sat on my lap during lunch and I was able to ask her a few questions. I asked her why she was sad and she explained that she wanted Jesus with her. I was excited to tell her he's coming back, and she was excited to hear it. She didn't realize that not only did Jesus die, but he also lived. (And yes, I now realize this was the perfect time to insert, "But He lives in our hearts..."Dang. I'm still learning).


Anyway, that got me thinking....


How often do I tell the wonderful news of the gospel without telling the second part of the story? The part this precious girl couldn't grasp. The part where He defeated death, resurrected, ascended, and promised his return.


When you ask a child about Jesus, chances are he'll say, "Jesus really cares about us. He died on the cross to save us from our sins." That is beautiful truth, but if you're listening closely there is a huge problem with those words.  The sentence leaves us with a dead God.


Maybe, we are so used to telling the story that we forget sometimes it doesn't make sense. And that's how you get a five year old girl weeping over a Man she never got to meet. But I think this runs deeper than this little girl's tears. I think it plays out in everyone's life. I know it plays out in mine.


I often live my life stuck on the darkness of the crucifixion, burdened with guilt. I live my life on Saturday, forgetting that Sunday is coming and with it the ultimate victory. The ultimate grace. It constantly surprises me how hard it is to live under grace. To accept the Lord's sacrifice and truly live in the freedom of it. But... that's how we worship, I suppose.

lights will guide you home

There was this beautiful, gracious woman that helped raise me. I lost her to disease over ten years ago, but Tuesday we will put her body in the earth and I am realizing, for the first time, how deeply I miss her. And how blessed I was to love her.

When I think of my grandmother, my mind first flashes to a rest stop, somewhere between Birmingham and Atlanta, where my parents handed me off to my grandparents for a week. I remember there was banana pudding and I remember knowing I was safe.

My grandparents' house was pretty much made for kids. Acres of land and woods with two large vegetable gardens, a chicken coop and a stream cutting through the middle of it all. The first thing I'd do once I arrived was run down to the stream to see if it had been raining and the water level was high. Floating boats down the stream was the best way to spend the afternoon.

There were sticky pads in her tub the shape of flowers. The carpet in the living room was orange and all the appliances in the kitchen were avocado. She kept potato chips, bread and ice cream sandwiches in her freezer and we never left her house after a visit without a bag of skittles and m&m's for the car ride. She used to say with complete conviction that ice cream is good for you because, of course, it's dairy. And she is the without a doubt the reason I love coffee ice cream.

I've never thought much about legacy. How when we die we leave a little of us behind in the people that we love. But she definitely did - children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that long for the Lord largely because of the beautiful way in which she loved Him.

It's hard to write about her and feel like my words hold any meaning in regards to how deeply and how fiercely I miss her. She was there at the beginning of me and she is part of the reason I've known love. But for ten years I've longed for this day, in a lot of ways. And finally, the disease hasn't won. My grandmother is Home.