Friday, September 20, 2013

All In.

I was singing the words, out loud, but I knew they weren't mine. The words were God's, and He was singing them to me.

I'm all in--are you?

It's a common phrase. The meaning seemed self-evident, but I wanted a deeper understanding. So I looked up a few definitions, and found:
at the card table, to be broke (that is, out of money), because you already put all your money in the pot, so you can't play anymore;
having all of one's chips at risk in a single hand;
to be tired out, exhausted, as in I can't walk another step;
To be all in is to risk everything in a single, desperate act--after which, there is nothing left to give. It's what God did when He clothed Himself in flesh and poured out His blood on a nail-pierced cross, an act that spoke more loudly than words--

No more games. I don't want to play anymore. Win or lose, My cards are on the table. 

And here we sit, across from Him in the low light. Utterly broken. Battered, threadbare, weary. Clinging to our last, few, worthless cards. We hold them tightly, afraid of what it will mean to let go. Knowing we'll lose.

So, we prolong the game. Or, we walk away.

But, what if the risk is worth it? What if, in giving up everything, we gain more than we ever could have imagined?

What if we don't understand the rules of this game, after all? What if our defeat turns into the most beautiful of rescues? And in losing, we find our greatest victory?

God is all in, for you. He always has been, since the very beginning. It's your move--your final move--and only two options are left to you: all or nothing.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

When I Looked Through Better Eyes Than Mine.

What do I think? I think there are bigger, more beautiful horizons ahead, love. You will paint them yourself, in bold, brilliant strokes, with the colors that even now drip from your fingertips, honeycomb golds and deep-water blues--a hand-printed portrait of your heart's spillover.

I hope I'm close enough to see the mess you'll make. Blossoms of beauty erupting on everything you touch, spreading from your smile that reaches up like a flower to sunlight (stretching higher still). And everywhere you walk, green shoots springing up from once-dirt, cradled in the shadow of your footfalls. I'll smile as they, too, curl their newborn heads toward the sun.

But time is twin to change, and distance more than darkness takes its toll on the eyes. So if I cannot watch as you wade knee-deep in beauty (drifting deeper still), at least I know I'll hear you. Because the sound of glory reverberates for miles, sprouts wings and leaps oceans to enter the ears of the listening. And I'll be listening for you, love. I believe I'll recognize your song.

It will be much different than the faltering, hesitant melody you started with. The colors a blend of something new. But I'll recognize the beauty, love. And I'll know it belongs to you.


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

When Dying is Gain.

The bitter, holy night that I surrendered, it felt like loss. Dreams, slaughtered on the altar.

(There was no angel to stop me, and all around the thornbushes were bare.)

I did not stay to watch the blood collect in pools, did not wait for it to curdle in the heat of the coming day. Though, when I turned away, that knife-twist of pain--the final heart-spasm of mourning.

(Having not-quite forgotten, yet not-quite the ability to believe: I never give anything to my God that He does not return a thousand times over.)

After years of holding on, it took only a moment to let go. And from that dead seed I buried, in awe I watched a garden grow.