words

It's time to shut up.

I've been reading some blogs (myspace, xanga, blogger) of old college friends and acquaintances. Many indicate growth, talk up their faith as if they've finally made it. And in a sense, they have. They are starting to have faith and joy, kinda like me. And I think it's totally real, and it's cool. But here is the thing: the world doesn't take our words seriously. (Incidentally I probably won't either.)

We are in an age of quick fixes. Quick-fix diets and microwaves and feel-good spiritual fads. I've seen people say almost the same thing my Christian brothers say on their blogs in non-Christian terms: "I've grown, experienced great change for the better, come closer to achieving that positive spiritual aura I've always wanted! After _____ happened my life was better!" Do you think that someone reading your blog or hearing your words is really going to believe you've discovered something exceptional? They hear this all the time!

And the thing is, we're telling the truth. We really have seen God's faithfulness. But in this age of blogs and email and talk-shows and more words flowing through this worldwide mass of cables than we can process, words aren't going to be taken that seriously. At least not my words. Not your words. Because we're young. We haven't had to prove our words with our lives.

Maybe you have changed, grown, are experiencing spiritual renewal. I've experienced some of that too. But the world doesn't care. Anyone can have a spiritual experience. Anyone can achieve a quick fix. Anyone can love unlovables - for a few days. Anyone can love their spouse while they're young and beautiful. Does anyone have anything to brag about?

Paul bragged about scars on his body, the result of years of serving and suffering for Christ. Paul had something to talk about. My grandparents spent their lives passionately serving the church. I listen to what they have to say. But I haven't suffered. There are only a few people my age (I think of two) who I am willing to say have had to suffer for their faith.

Christians who have learned what it means to serve and suffer through a lifetime of following Christ are exempt from my advice: temper your blogs and speech with a few years of servanthood. After you've been under the beating hot sun of life for a few years, when you have discovered that following God means seasons of tedium, dryness, loneliness, raising an ungrateful family, loving an annoying and flawed spouse, and that your suffering won't be glorious but obscure and unnoticed, when you come out on the other side of all that and say, "I've been through it and I've tasted living water!":

When you do that, and then say that, you can say anything you want to, and I'll listen. In a blog, on the phone, behind a pulpit, whatever, I'll pay attention.

But for now, it's better not to take ourselves too seriously. Let's be listeners. Let's "preach Christ always, and only use words when absolutely necessary" (Francis of Assissi). My friend Ric Eimers worked for a year in sales before mentioning Christ; after that first year, he couldn't get through a week, and then couldn't get through a day, without people wanting to talk to him because he was so different. He never had to bring it up. Do I like to talk so much because I don't think my life has much of a testimony, without a cloud of words to back it up?

Doggy Habits

Dogs are like people. I don't mean your looks (mostly). I mean they have quirks. Strange little habits they develop. Take Shadow, the very big English Labrador of the Upham family. He doesn't chew stuff. But he picks up shoes, socks and hats. He picks them up and just holds them in his mouth for hours. He once swallowed a sock whole on accident. It's sort of quirky. I've never seen him pick up a t-shirt or pillow or anything else out of the room we share. But while saying hello this morning, the first thing he did is pick up my baseball cap off the sofa. By the way, that's yucky.

My dog Lucy in Michigan has her own quirk. I have green shag carpet. She thinks it looks grassy. Grassy as in, hey look an in-house lavatory. If I ever forget to block the entrance to my room, she wastes little time marking her territory. I do believe that Lucy is short for Lucifer. She's still a good dog I suppose.

I wonder if I'm quirky? Off the top of my head I can't think of anything.

Make your own title up, punk.

I read Eugene Peterson's interpretation of Psalm 42 this evening after a really trying day. At one point I was a ticking time bomb towards my Dad; God's grace intervened and my Dad defused it. That has almost never happened that way before. There is a lot in this Psalm, and the one before (that is 41 by the way) is awesome too, but 42 was so beautiful and helpful that I'm going to present some of it here.

"A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek'
I want to drink God,
deep draughts of God.
I'm thirsty for God-alive.
I wonder, "Will I ever make it--
arrive and drink in God's presence?....

"These are the things I go over and over,
emptying out the pockets of my life.
I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd,
right out in front,
Leading them all,
eager to arrive and worship,
Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving--
celebrating all of us, God's feast!

"Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God--
I'll soon be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He's my God.

"When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you.
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night.
My life is God's prayer..."

You know what? After reading that, I don't feel blue, I feel STOKED! STOKED! But don't go thinking I'm getting all spiritual, I'm still cranky about this bloody headache. Geez.

Roll on

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Home in Michigan. Tested Dad's Canon S2 - awesome. Play hours on guitar daily. Birthday balloons floating behind me. Sufjan Steven's "Avalanche" outtakes - great. Liz and Luke (sister and her husband) staying till Monday.

I have a friend named Mark Bolser. Or, had. I'd like to go looking for him. Today we watched "The Labyrinth," a David Bowie movie which Mark brought over and we watched at my house several years ago. He gave me the book "No Compromise", the biography of Keith Green. It had a huge effect on me. He then introduced me to Keith's music. On my myspace profile, I wrote this concerning who I'd like to meet:

"Mark Bolser. He was three years older than me, and was my number one friend and mentor in high school. One day, two weeks after he graduated, his grandma died. She was the only Christian in his family. He had grown up in foster homes, and she had been the only person who had loved him throughout his lifetime. He left all of a sudden, gave up on Christianity and disappeared somewhere in Detroit. Someday I'm going to find him."

Today a reliable source said he had overdosed and was dead, but the source can't completely confirm it.

One time at Cedar Point, after getting out of the car, my sister banged his head in the van door (double dutch-door style). He was out of it for a couple minutes, and was just following off and when Liz turned off to go into the ladies bathroom he wasn't paying attention and followed her in. It was the funniest moment of the trip.

I was with Mark when he became a follower of Christ. Whether he is dead or alive, I know that what happened to him was real. In earlier years, he went through things most of us can't imagine. I guess something broke him. No one is really to blame, but some environments just aren't able to help some people in the ways they need it. Mark may be a broken man, may even be a dead man, but I am going to see him again some day.