Dear God,

Scoop out this cruel and toxic organ, hidden in my chest with its parasitic grip. A fountain of selfishness that fills my body to bursting, a desperate wickedness cradled in deception. This black creature that presses heavy against my lungs.

So sever the skin, layers of tissue, until You reach the heart of the matter, elbow-deep in blood. And crush that withered muscle into the dust it was once formed of.

And in its place, Daddy, this is my request--give me Your heart.

A heart that burns with jealousy for Your people. A heart that breaks for every wandering lamb. A heart that remembers the least of these. A heart that embraces the prodigal. A heart that does not become weary of doing good. A heart that will spend everything, and spend itself as well. A heart that intercedes for the weak. A heart that is pure. A heart of love.

I cup my hands beneath Your cross and catch the crimson drops that fall, a thick and sticky rain. I drink deeply, my lips stained dark red. This blood, poured out for me, now rivers coursing through my veins. This heart, it beats so loudly, new and perfect and strong.

Anything, You Can Do.

We talk a lot in our society about our tendency to put others down in order to build ourselves up. But there's an opposite extreme (as there so often is) that is rarely discussed: building others up to such a degree, it leaves us feeling miserable and inadequate.

Don't get me wrong. We should be encouraging each other. Seeing the beautiful in our brothers and sisters, and calling it out. Believing great things for them, praying great things over them.

But there's a line, and we cross it. We start putting the people we admire on pedestals. We start attributing their goodness to their own selves instead of to God in them. We turn them into an idol. We place them high out of our reach, and then make excuses for ourselves. I can never be like them. I'm not as spiritual. I'm not as loving. I'm not as good. And on and on and on. Each lie bringing a new poison: envy, resentment, frustration, despair.

So here's the truth: There is no one better than you. The Spirit in them is the same Spirit in you. The grace available to them is the same grace available to you. The freedom, the faith, the power. These things have been promised to us as children of God. When we see a brother or sister in whom these gifts are strongly manifested, we should not be intimidated--we should say, Yes, God! Give me that! I want more! 

Because the lives of the faithful are not impossibilities for us; they are testimonies, the evidence of a God--our God--through whom all things are possible.

Poop.

Among a group of friends recently, the topic of changing dirty diapers arose. The general sentiments were ones I had heard many times before.

Ugh. I'm not getting anywhere near poop. That can be someone else's job.

Maybe it's because I grew up around babies. Between my younger siblings and the infants from my mom's home daycare, there were always plenty of foul-smelling garments to go around. I don't remember the first diaper I changed, and even if I did, I would surely have lost count of how many I've changed since. So the idea of cleaning up baby poop doesn't bother me in the least.

But I've noticed when I've heard the repulsed reactions of others over the years, it stirs something up inside of me. As if I wanted to argue the benefits of changing a baby's diaper--especially if the baby was one's own child. Somehow, the idea of someone shying away from it bothered me. And finally, I took some time out of my mental musings to consider why.

Yes, poop is disgusting. It smells (especially, it seems, when it originates from an infant). It also has a tendency to come in all manner of sickly colors. Sometimes, it smears on your hands, or your clothes, or the carpet. Essentially, changing a diaper is one great big mess. But what an act of humility and intimacy and love it is to clean off that mess from one who is helpless to take care of it themselves.

Intimacy is messy. We live in a broken world, and getting close to someone inevitably involves heartache and bruises and tears. Just ask God, the Father who so longed for us to be restored to Him, He entered our mess Himself. He trudged through the suffering and pain and temptation and betrayal. Wooden beams drank His blood so we could be whole.

And the mess goes both ways. When we allow the Spirit to enter us, He gets all over the place. He completely wrecks our "perfect" little worlds--all the things we thought we knew, all the things we thought we wanted, all the things we thought we were. He covers us with blood and anoints us with oil until we're dripping everywhere. This is how Heaven meets Earth: in a flash and tangle and flood. But through that mess, dear children, He makes us pure and clean and white.

Thank God, we have a Father who is not afraid of dirty diapers.

Under Construction.

Is it a time for you yourselves to be living in your paneled houses, while this house remains a ruin?

How quickly we are caught up in our own little lives, our own personal problems, that somehow loom so much bigger in our eyes than the Kingdom of God. How enthusiastically we strive after our own desires and dreams, while the Father's heart breaks for the lost and hungry lambs we have stopped searching for. How contentedly we gorge our bodies with food and drink, as His Body wastes away, weary muscles wilting from the brittle bones. How easily we question God when things don't go our way, how suddenly we are reminded of Him, just long enough to shift the blame.

Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it.  

For six months after graduating college, I lived in complete misery. The degree I had spent four years pursuing seemed suddenly useless to me. Nothing I did eased my unhappiness. Filling out job applications came to nothing. Writing did little to soothe me. I couldn't find a way to escape the town I hated. I beat my head repeatedly against unyielding brick, begging God to give me a reason why.

You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why? Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with his own house. Therefore, because of you the heavens have withheld their dew and the earth its crops. I called for a drought on the fields of the mountains, on the grain, the new wine, the oil and whatever the ground produces, on men and cattle, and on the labor of your hands.

Four years ago, God told me to pray for rain. Revival for His Church, a restoration of the Holy Spirit that we so desperately need. But I became caught up in myself, swept away in my own selfish troubles. I stopped seeking after His Kingdom. I paid little attention to His people, unless they directly impacted me. I forgot about the bigger picture. I forsook His House to build my own. And I wasted away in the drought.

But in December of 2012, God spoke to me, just as He did to His people through the prophet Haggai. He told me that I had been selfish. That He had a calling and a purpose for me among His people. It was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and start building His Temple (Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple? 1 Cor. 3:16).

On that night, I obeyed the voice of the LORD, and He reminded me, I am with you. He stirred up the spirit, that I would be strong enough to accomplish the task He had called me to. He surrounded me with others whose hearts are bent on building His House. And I have never felt such joy.

Be strong, all you people of the land, and work. For I am with you. And my Spirit remains among you. Do not fear. In a little while I will once more shake the heavens and the earth, the sea and the dry land. I will shake all nations, and the desired of all nations will come, and I will fill this house with glory. The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house. And in this place I will grant peace.

*Italics from Haggai 1:3-6, 9-14, 2:4-7, 9