Word.

Observation: We have this odd tendency to translate the phrase "Word of God" as "Bible." For instance, in this often-quoted verse, Hebrews 4:12: "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." In every sermon I've ever heard, the speaker inevitably uses this verse to talk about the power of Scripture.

Which isn't a bad thing. The words recorded in the Bible do have the potential to have immense power in our lives, as we learn and obey and allow the truth of the message to align us with God's heart. After all, the Bible certainly fits into the category of God's Word. But what I'm trying to wrestle with is this: there's a lot more to God's Word than just the Bible.

(Now before you call me a heathen and burn me at the stake, give me a chance to explain.)

The Bible wasn't always around, you know. God's Word, however, was (John 1:1). God spoke the world into existence with His words. Jesus healed the sick, cast out demons, and forgave sin with His words. And His followers did they same, commissioned by the words of their teacher long before those words were recorded in what we now call the New Testament.

And God is still speaking today. He is still speaking to and through His people, with the same power that we read about in Scripture. That is why many Christians who live in countries without access to the Bible remain strong in the faith, far stronger than us. They are listening to the words of God. They are speaking the words of God with power. And though we, here in America, have access to a vast store of His words through the Bible, through books, through sermons--we have stopped listening. We have stopped speaking. We may read God's Word, but we do not experience it.

It's time that we get desperate to hear God's voice. To pray, "Speak, for your servant is listening," (1 Samuel 3:10). To remember that as His children, He has called us to be the vessel through which His words are proclaimed.

Maybe it does mean taking some time to spend in Scripture, digging down deep until it soaks into our Spirit. Or maybe it means sitting in the quiet, waiting for Him to speak to us directly and specifically, believing that He will. In whatever form it takes, His Word is powerful and true. It will change us. And through us, the world.

Let there be light. 

Dear God,

Thank You for the successes of my brothers and sisters. The human heart has a tendency to resent the happiness of others, especially when it is bound in its own moment of unhappiness. But You have shown me something beautiful: The fulfillment of Your promises to them, the outpouring of Your goodness in their lives, is confirmation that one day, my own promises will be fulfilled.

We are all children of trials, of suffering and pain. When someone shines in the light of victory, we do not always know the battle of sorrows that led them there. And because of this, Father, I believe the stories that should bolster our faith instead cripple it.

Won't You open our hearts, to mourn with those who mourn, and rejoice with those who rejoice? Rip out this bitterness that churns up our soil like so many weeds, the selfishness that assumes our problems are deeper and our victories fewer than everyone else's. This is not a body, working together. This is not love. It is a single, and fatal, insistence on loneliness. Give us the strength to fight it, a vision that encompasses so much more than these specks of dust transfixing our focus.

God, thank You for a world that is bigger than me. Thank You for the constant reminder that I am not at the center of it.

Mirror, Mirror.

I once read a quote from a woman who had been blind her entire life. She stated that she was grateful for her blindness, because it allowed her to focus on God rather than her outer appearance. When I read it, I thought to myself: Dang. She's way more spiritual than I will ever be.

But really, what she said is true. More than ever, we live in a culture of the self-obsessed. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere. And I'm not just talking about the one over your bathroom sink.

A mirror is anything that keeps us so focused on ourselves, we are oblivious to the world--and even more tragically, to the people--around us. Caught in the reflection, we work, work, work to make the image staring back at us as pretty as possible.

My latest distraction of the sort? Facebook. It's taken me a long time to confront the issue head-on, but there can be no denying that Facebook is all about appearances. Uploading the right photos, posting the right statuses, judging by the likes and comments which parts of your life to adjust to maintain the best image. We spend so much time making our lives look good, we fail to stop and consider whether or not our lives are good.

I don't know about the rest of you, but my happiest times are the times when I am out living life, not posting statuses about it. We could be using Facebook, and all the other mess of social networks out there, to impact the lives of others, encouraging them, loving them. Instead, all too often, we're too worried about coming up with our next witty status to even consider what we might do for someone else who is struggling.

Believe me, I'm more guilty than anyone in this area. I'm still trying to work this out. All I know is, the only time I'm a decent human being is when my focus is outside of myself. When I'm loving others, or resting in the beauty of the world around me, or worshiping the God who created it.

This is why we were instructed to lose ourselves, dear children; for there is something so much greater left to find.

Game Over.

We say letting go instead of giving up to provide the illusion of control. So afraid of defeat, we pretend we have a choice. But sometimes, we simply don't. The cards face-up on the table, our choices at an end, this is the place where we have lost.

Our dreams bleed American, tinged the red-white-blue of competitive individualism, Puritanical roots that crave work like alcohol, because work means success and success means better than. The most toys wins, only choose your brand name: career, marriage, academic standing, house square-footage, community volunteer hours--we are all collecting, our own marks of significance.

We use different coins, but we stack them up just the same. These are our towers to heaven, we build and babble like idiots. Stack stone upon stone, but there is no one left to live there. Our castles stand, beautiful and empty and waiting to rot.

If we are lucky, the castles will fall in time for us to realize the game is up. Did you know that it's okay to lose? That flash across the screen, GAME OVER, in bright red.

Thank God. I'm so sick of playing games. Outside these walls, life is waiting to be lived.

Life: A Bridged Version.

It happened yesterday, on my morning run. I was crossing a bridge, mentally promising myself that once I reached the other side, I would slow down the pace and take a breather. That was when God spoke to me, with words startlingly clear and profound. This is what He said:

You're on a bridge.

(…Thank you, Captain Obvious?)

The thing is, He wasn't talking about the literal bridge beneath my feet. After years upon years of lessons, I’ve learned that God is a big fan of metaphor.

So when He told me I was on a bridge, I knew exactly what He was talking about: this place I'm at in my life right now. This frustrating, confusing, suffocating place. This waiting room that I've been whining about for months. 

It's a bridge, linking the past I loved to the destiny God promised. 

I have this impulse. To run away, to escape. To jump off the bridge and swim, doggie-paddle until I reach the shore, or drown. It is because I am impatient. It is because I fear this bridge has no end. It is because I cannot see the other shore. It is because most days, I don't even feel like I'm moving at all. But, I’m learning: the impulse isn’t the answer.

I've had a lot of people tell me that after college, life is all downhill, but I refuse to believe it. I've still got plenty of mountains left to climb. I'm not ready to set up camp and spend the rest of my life wasting away in the valley. No. This is not the end. It is only a bridge. And by the grace of my Father, I'm going to reach the other side.

This is Me, Free.

Happy and knowin' it is not a matter of hand-clapping or foot-stomping; it's a matter of fight. Fight against the lies that bind, anxious thoughts like the angry buzz of bees, spinning always. Their honey is poison, I will not drink deep, anymore.

They say happiness is circumstantial, but I don't believe, that it is so far gone from self-control. Our happiness does not sit on a set of circumstances carved in stone, but on our perception of that writing on the wall, the fix of our focus. It comes down to a choice, it comes down to a will, it comes down to which detail we exalt above the rest.

That is why I [am learning] to be satisfied with the things I have and with everything that happens. I [am learning] the secret of being happy at any time and in everything that happens, when I have enough to eat and when I go hungry, when I have more than I need and when I do not have enough. [The secret is this:] I can do all things through Christ, because he gives me strength (Phil. 4:11-13). 

Sorry, pity. The party's over.