Descent

Alone.
He leaves Monday morning, and I descend once again.  Into the dark and quiet.

In between seasons, I feel like a leaf that's fallen from the tree, but hasn't reached the ground yet.  Suspended; like I'm supposed to see something from here, but I keep closing my eyes.
A leaf isn't supposed to be on the ground, it's meant for the tree!
     But it has a purpose on the ground, too.  It feeds the soil.
It doesn't do it alone, it can't.

*************************

I'm clinging to my crutches for dear life.  Maybe because I know something new is around the corner.  The anticipation is killing me.  I light another cigarette.  Frustration sets in, because I can't see it.  Light another cigarette.  It tastes like shit, and turns my stomach.  Whatever it is that's around the corner is going to be unlike anything we've ever seen.  My head spins, either from what this "new" means, or the rush of tobacco.

Never seen before.
Never existed before.
Never imagined before.

What the hell does that even mean?

*************************

Stupid cigarettes.

I glance at the lit cigarette between my fingers.  I've been smoking for half of my life now, the original intent so far in my past it doesn't even seem possible to recall, yet I do.

I was a kid, just emerging from under the protective proximity of my childhood.  Bound and determined to do something new, something productive.  In the perfect mix of arrogance and ignorance that we call fearlessness, I was gonna make something of myself.

Sitting in a park at my training base in Texas, with my new best friend, and the guys we're trying to impress.
I still feel the dry heat of that Texas sun beating down on us at that concrete table, sitting on that concrete bench.
I don't remember anyone's face but hers.  I remember the path of the sidewalk through the park, I remember the sprawling trees strategically placed in that park.
She smoked, why didn't I smoke?  It seemed like everyone around us smoked, so why not then?  I choked.
At least, that's what I remember.

I've never been a non-smoking adult.  I don't even know what that looks like.  That would be something new, wouldn't it.
Never in my adult life have I been free from the grip of these damn things.
I've gone through what seemed like transitions to different lives, but never free from these.
I stare at the wooden cross on my wall, and the smoke tendrils that curl in front of it.
Transitions from base to base, job to job, relationship to relationship.  All requiring discipline on my part, if I could muster up the can-do, fearless attitude.  My trusty cardboard pack and lighter never leaving my sight.

*************************

I focus on the church, I focus on community, I focus on learning, but all seem like sustained distractions; just a grander version of me sticking my head in the sand.

God's talking to me; afraid of what He might say, I keep covering my ears.  With Pinterest.  With games.  With books.  With social media.  With my own striving.

I keep running, I keep hiding; timidly crying out for purpose and clarity, but afraid of what that might look like.  Frustrated because others see what I don't.  Getting more and more pissed at myself for using my crutches to put up a smokescreen, so I can slink back into my descent.
My discipline absolutely sucks.  I'm rebelling against it for some reason.  Is it for the sake of rebellion, or am I rebelling out of fear?
I don't even know anymore.

*************************

My hometown is getting hammered by lake effect snow right now.  The pictures flooding social media and the national news are making me nostalgic.

I remember building forts and tunnels in the snowdrifts at the end of our driveway as a kid, I remember sledding at the golf course, snowball fights and snowmen.

The innocence of winter, not yet realizing that the white blanket covered real life.

Snow days and hot chocolate, rosy noses and wind chapped cheeks thawing, gloves and boots and hats and snowsuits all dripping their melting accumulations onto the basement floor.  Strategically shoveling the driveway into one gigantic pile in the yard to play on, dreaming of a pile so large we could reach the roof of the garage, then we could slide down the entire thing.

The days before responsibility, (other than not getting frostbite,) would rob us of these hours of imaginative and fearless play.  Before high school, before extracurricular sports and clubs, before driving, before jobs.
Before we grew up.

We can't ever go back, can we.
It wouldn't be the same.  The experiences, the lessons, the maturity gained along the way cannot be forgotten.  The perspective of "before" is forever altered.  We can long for it again, but we know, deep down, that the process of coming out of that was painful.  Lessons and mistakes I'd rather not repeat.

I can appreciate the innocence of those days, the blissful ignorance of life yet to come.
I can also recognize that every stage of my life has been marked by "I just didn't know any better."
I'd be a fool if I didn't acknowledge the same could be said of me right now, as well.

What is the "any better" that I'm afraid of?
And why am I so aware of it?

*************************

'Tis the season for me to be writing.
I can't get out of my head long enough to transfer thoughts to paper, let alone put together sentences that mean anything.

There are general ideas floating around in there, like spots you can't focus on when you look too long at the sun, like helium balloons in the sky.

Beautiful, remarkable in that they're lighter than air, and yet they escape me forever when I inevitably let go of the string.

Glimpses of ancient and eternal realities, brilliantly shimmering before being encapsulated by the thin membrane that distinguishes the difference.

The more I learn, the more balloons float away; drifting higher and higher on an unseen current.

I watch them disappear all the time, unable to hold firm to the strings connecting them to me.

I want to hold on, I really do.  But I keep running from the one thing I know I need the most.

The awareness of my rebellion physically pains me, shaming me back into the descent.


But the light never stops shining through the window, surprising me, blinding me, reminding me.
Always there.

Gossamer

[This should probably be three or four separate posts.  But it's one continuous train of thought; conversation; and it's a long one, where the cars are in no particular order.  Better grab a snack.]


Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together.  Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home.  We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.

I'm not a super social person to begin with.  I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so.  "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me.  At all.

As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities.  I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner.  I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional.  I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.

I currently don't work outside the home.  But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night.  That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.

What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.

As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial.  It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized.  I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.

When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony.  Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.

I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like.  I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it.  I study it.  I dream about it.  I ponder my part in it.

I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun.  These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.

During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write.  When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.

We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope.  We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ.  We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.

These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.

I come home, I think.  I pray.  I think some more.  I wait.  I think even more.  I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess.  Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless.  Which drives me NUTS.

One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community.  Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well.  And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen.  Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends...  (Great.  More to ponder.)  For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again.  In the meantime, I've been missing my family.  I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance?  That's some bullsh*t right there.

Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.

Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in.  In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith.  It's catching on across Christendom, too.  At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.

By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person.  I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got.  So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.

Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight.  It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet.  Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.

I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community.  That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all.  Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role.  As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.

I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community.  I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc.  A rescuer, in essence.

I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.

By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end.  The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot.  I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??"  Silently, my humility was starting to crack.

I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way.  I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.

At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing.  I began to swirl.  I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out.  I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".

I'm learning that the details trip me up.  I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God.  But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.

Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up.  Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.

Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".

Oh, the humanity...

Waves

Waves rolling
     Across the sky...
Nudged & prodded & shaped by the wind;
     Ushering in the morning light.

Waves crashing
     In the form of time...
Rushing & slowing & passing me by;
     Relentless, unchanging.

Waves lapping
     At the shores of life...
Rhythms eternal in lessons we fight;
     Persistently shaping.

Waves rising
     From under the deep...
Surprising, upsetting, and tilting the vessel;
     Yet calm waters will no skills teach.

Waves swelling
     With destructive intent...
Swallowing those who attempt to conquer;
     Arrogance drives us to death.

We cannot beat them,
     We cannot stop them.
We can harness and utilize the waves;
     Only together.

Therapy

Cool mornings are therapeutic.

When the temperature drops below 60, and the sun still rises, it's the perfect prescription for coffee, flannels, paper and pen on the porch.

The morning noises flush out doubts; the clear sky going on for miles acts as the visual sign that the torment of thoughtful days is clearing away.  Not that the storms won't rise again, but as for now, it is well.

The shiver that sets in, I know is good.  Hot coffee can't or won't subside it; for that I am grateful, because the shivers shake loose the deep-set talons of the solitude and voicelessness that follows the Words.

The talons sink through the surface so effortlessly, unnoticed, and grip right into the marrow of my being.  they inject doubt, questions, near-apathy, and reminders of the idol of self like venom; bringing back the darkness of shame once again.

Routine and schedules are tossed into the wind, as the soul-focus is clinging to Life, and the hope that Life brings.

The cool morning brings strength.  It slows the black blood of the demons within, sedated by the songs of the birds in their excited chatter.

The Sun rises higher in the sky, warming away the shivers, piercing all the darkness away; reminding me of the Truth that cannot and will not escape me.

I am free for a new day.

The Fullness of Vision

When we catch the Vision of what God is doing; whether it's in the world as a whole, in our states, or in our neighborhoods; we have to realize that we don't hold every piece of that Vision.

Just as it takes all of us to express the fullness of God, it takes all of us together to bring the Vision to clarity and understanding.
     We all have a role to play in the Vision.  Some cast it, some protect & defend it, some offer details and possibilities of how it's to flow, and others carry it out; we are all participants.

It is a humbling movement, to realize that I don't hold all the pieces to accomplish something, and it requires the fluidity of faith to keep moving anyways.

To give something, to offer something, to pour yourself into something: an idea, an effort, a community; to empty yourself and yet see that what you give isn't enough.
     But then faith shows you it's not supposed to be enough.  That it takes a whole community emptying itself, sharing ideas, building upon them and contributing, in order to clarify the Vision given.

The Vision we're given isn't a task to be accomplished, it's a process of transformation.
It's a change in mindset.  It's getting over ourselves, so we can participate in the restoration of dignity, and the reconciliation of humanity.
It isn't the end goal, or the target we shoot for; rather, it's what happens along the way. 
That's why "mission accomplished" should never be in the church's vocabulary.

Coming to the understanding of this gives us the freedom to not jump straight into it with intentions of "doing".
That means slowing down long enough to gather the troops, to train and equip the saints; a process which, incidentally, never ends.

The slowing down gives time to share stories; time to crush the shame that cripples people into inactivity, or running away, or judgment; time to share and understand the perspectives that define how we each see the Vision;  and the time it takes to pray and piece together how we each have an important piece of the puzzle - how each perspective is necessary to what the Vision entails.

The Vision requires participation from people who don't even know they're part of it, let alone, going to be playing key roles.

If, as an established group of people, we jump right into the accomplishment of the Vision as a goal, we'll strive to accomplish everything on our own.  We'll completely miss the lessons, the connections, and the relationships intended along the way.
We'll bypass the baby steps necessary along the way, baby steps that will  allow us to actually see the Vision played out before our very eyes: lives changed, perceptions shifted, focuses changed, leading to communities restored and transformed - from the visual appearance of an area/ neighborhood/ community to the mentality of the people who make that community home.

It has been said that taking on a giant project requires an extraordinary leap of faith.  And that can be true, when speaking individually.  (But that leap of "faith" could also be taken as a leap of foolishness of epic proportions, especially if pursued without a sense of accountability from the community.)
   
But the Vision demands exponential faith.  Not from just one person, but from the entire community.  Just as it takes all of us together to express the fullness of God, it takes the faith of the community, driven by the heart of God, to see the Vision come to life.

Who We Are

Who are we?  Who am I?  Who am I, in "we"; this thing called "us"; this "in Christ"; this "Body of Christ"?

As a community that God has put together, we are united in Christ.  Shouldn't we know each other?  I mean, really know each other?

Paul openly tells us in his letters who he was before his collision with Christ, and he tells us how he can't boast in those things anymore.  He tells us he can't boast in those things anymore, because every single one of his accomplishments were from human hands, in order to glorify himself, to draw attention to himself, or to elevate himself in somehow, some way.

I feel the need to open up a bit of my life to you, to let you know who I was, before.
I don't tell you who I was before so I can boast on "how far I've come", I tell you who I was before to let you know that when Christ decided to pull me into His fold, He really had his work cut out for Him!
I tell you who I was before, so you know what it looks like for me to be on the Cross; so that if you notice me slipping, as my brothers and sisters, in the love of Christ that unites us, you can clear your throat, you can give me a nudge, and each of you can help keep me accountable.
Honestly though?  Your presence is the biggest help.

How can you do that, though, if you don't know what I look like when I put my flesh to death; if you don't know what me emptying my self looks like?  Accountability would seem pointless and powerless, and at worst, can be taken as judgement and attempted control.

So here's the gist of my story:
I was born into a big, loving family; parents devoted to each other and their children.  I had a very happy childhood, full of joy, and fun, and laughter, and love.  Nothing spectacular in that, except that it was spectacular, to me.

As a teenager, looking back on it, I can see how the more I learned about the world around me, the more my flesh started building.  I became more and more interested in what I wanted, with my flesh reacting to that focus on myself.  As I tiptoed through my teen years, I was totally unconcerned with anyone affected by my selfish decisions.  Alcohol became my courage and I proceeded to drink myself right out of college.  God bless my parents; looking out for me, my mom took me out for lunch one day and suggested I join the military.  In one of the few moments of clarity in my late teen years, that's exactly what I did.

I rolled into my twenties with new habits, new friends, a new career, and a new false confidence.  Out to prove that I knew what I was doing, I chose a career I knew absolutely nothing about, and then made it my life's work to prove that I, a woman, could not just be an aircraft mechanic, but I wanted to be better at it than anyone around me, in every aspect and facet of the job.

I sought acceptance in this new world, no matter what I had to give up to get it... my humility, my self-respect, my softness, my compassion, even my dignity.  I took on a hardness, a callousness, that as it developed, it roughed up everyone I came into contact with.
I became a judgemental, manipulative, control-freak.
The persona that I was trying so hard to build left me vulnerable, because it had no firm foundation.
I took on the personality traits of those around me who I saw as "successful", or of people I desired to be like.  And believe me... they weren't the positive personality traits.  I did it all so I could achieve notoriety and accolades in my career, mistaking my career accomplishments and job performance for my identity.

Sure, there were Christians that I worked with.  But anything they said to me fell on deaf ears, because I was so embroiled in my own selfish ambitions that their "Jesus" was offensive and ridiculous to me.
Little did I know, though, they were planting seeds in the parched and cracked soil of my life.

It all came to a head one day, when I realized just what I had accomplished, what I had become:
I was a liar.
I was a thief.
I was a drunk.
I was an adulterer.
I was a murderer.
I would use people for my own personal gain.
I was quick to fly into a slashing rage, I was quick to cut someone down, and I relied on my murderous emotions to get what I wanted.  And I had the gall to be proud of that...
I was quick to kill "for God & country", because I hadn't yet realized that I had turned the country I served into an idol; elevated to that status by the monopolizing and deceptive emotions experienced so frequently during wartime.

I needed someone, or something, to save me from myself.  Because no matter how fast I ran, no matter how far I went, I couldn't outrun the monster I knew I was.

And Christ found me, hallelujah.

In a slow whirlwind of new friendships, new careers, and new priorities, Christ began His work in my life.
There not has been any instant transformation in my life, like we hear about so often.  Learning who God is has slowly revealed more about who I am to Him; and because I'm stubborn, I may or may not have had to learn a few of those lessons numerous times.

Taking time to learn who God is, I was able to shelf the monster in me for a time being.  I was able to come to terms with who I am inside, and learn who I have the potential to be; whether in Christ, or not.

I slowly came to understand that no matter what I did to appear 'holy', it was all driven by my selfish desires to appear righteous in front of others, or to try to appease God.  And by trying to appear holy, all I was doing was fooling myself, and placing unfair and incorrect judgment on others around me, as if I was the epitome of holiness others should be striving for.
I realized I need Christ, and I need the Cross, in order to deal with the monsters inside.  Any and all of my efforts outside the Cross of Christ were useless.

So now, me and God are good!  It took me a while to learn that, to fully understand that the person I am is exactly who He created me to be.  For me to try to change that, I would basically be taking everything God used to grab hold of me - to show me my own desperate need for Him - and say that it was worthless.
But I cannot stand in who I am alone, relieved that I am saved (Touchdown!); if I am at all interested in what God is doing in this world, in the lives of other people who are just as broken and confused as I was, then I need Him to show me.

He uses His Cross to show me.  Using the peace I experienced in knowing that "we are good", the words of Matthew 16:24 came to life, wooing me into a new depth of existence.  "All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me."

Christ showed me just how much He accomplishes through the agony of self-sacrifice; His and mine.

"Take up their cross", huh...
What does it look like when I take up my cross?

When I am on the cross, I am deeply interested in other cultures.  I no longer see my own culture as the answer to the problems of the world, or as the smartest or most superior culture.  I can see how Christ is everywhere, and how he can use other cultures to express Himself.  I can see a bigger picture, one that far exceeds the limits of my own imagination.

When I am on the cross, I am interested in, and focused on the ministry of reconciliation, where God no longer counts people's sins against them... so why should I?  And, more importantly, who do I think I am that I think I should be the so-called arm of God's judgment?
Being on the cross, in the midst of this ministry of reconciliation, I am now sharing in the compassion of Christ, that I am physically incapable of doing when I'm not on the cross.

When I'm on the cross, my perception changes.  I see people, and the world, through the eyes of Christ.
     (Side note - I cannot administer justice until I see people this way, either.)

When I'm on the cross, I express patience, I am slow to anger, and I cannot be offended; because it is Christ living through me, and I'm no longer worried about my self-preservation.

When I am on the cross, I am driven into community, because that is what God is doing.  No matter what that might look like.

When I am on the cross, I am not afraid.  I am not afraid of who God may put in my path, I am not afraid of what's to come, or what's happening now.

When I'm on the cross, it's not just the opposite of what I would do in my flesh, and it's not just reacting differently to what the world throws at me; it's more than that.
I'll give a hypothetical example.

I walk into a room, and inside that room is a man who is wigging out.  Totally losing his gourd.  My flesh reaction (based on self-preservation) is to leave the room, or take him out.  (I might even claim that the safety of anyone else in the room is my primary concern.)

But if I get on my cross, my first reaction is to see this man like Christ sees this man; here is a broken and hurting man, upset about something.  Because it is Christ living through me, and I'm no longer worried about my self-preservation anymore, I now have no reason to be afraid of him.
I'm not worried about judging this man for being upset, or angry, or destructive; Christ is the healer, restorer.  The expression of Christ in me, the Jesus-Chantal He made me to be, may approach this man with compassionate words that instantly disarm him; words that never would have come from me had I not been on the cross.
Instead of returning fear and hostility with more fear and hostility, Christ applies the balm of compassion and understanding.  Disarmed, this man now feels no reason to continue his raging fit.  It is then that Christ can apply the therapy this man needs.


There is no blanket answer for what "being on the cross" looks like.  It's different for everyone.  It's a growth process, a gradual transformation, custom-made for each one of us; and each one of us expresses Christ differently.  As Christ consumes each of us, we become a fuller expression of who we're created to be.

All of these, together, express who God is to the world around us:  The I AM, the Alpha & the Omega, the Beginning & the End... it is us, in Christ, who fills in that space between.

Every one of us has come to this community from a different place in life, from different cultures, from different countries, from different lifestyles, with different perspectives and experiences.  So we'll all look different on our crosses.

By understanding where we've all come from, and who we are with and without Christ, we can further build one another up; we can encourage and strengthen one another in our community, as a community, so that each of us can go to the places we're called to be.

God isn't fully represented by just one culture or by just one people; it takes all of us together to express the fullness of God.  And God has called us together, so that we may link arms, hearts and lives; encouraging one another, and standing beside one another, so that we may express the fullness of God to the world we all come in contact with.

Kingdoms

Kingdoms come, kingdoms go,
Ebbing and flowing in human control;
Tiny or mighty, warring or pure,
Can we ever be sure of intentions?

"Spreading" or "building", dominating by might,
Painting portraits of hostile takeovers;
Using only the black of our hearts,
We fill in the color-by-number.

Focused only on outward actions and appearances,
Using words to bludgeon into conformity;
Omitting "freedom" and "choice" from the grace that is preached;
Leaving no room for faith at God's pace.

We build kingdoms by our self-exaltation,
Leaving strewn bodies and our humility in our wake.
We offend, we castrate, we amputate;
Leaving no room for questions, no safety.

We compare instead of communicate;
We serve only to elevate ourselves,
(Even if it's in our own minds.)
Our personal ascent leaves no room for Love.

The Cross that we carry,
The Cross that we claim,
Isn't to be used on each other.

In one breath, through the grace we don't understand,
Our perspective is changed forever.
A new kingdom is ushered in...
By death.

Shaken and broken at our error,
Suddenly aware of our nakedness;
So far from holy, a chasm
That can only be bridged by a savior.

The cross that we wielded as a weapon
Turns and impales us into a new dimension,
Where our eyes being opened
Has silenced the noise from our selfish lips.

Love sticks His foot in the door of our preconceived notions,
Compassion pours from our wounds;
And even if it's just a few convicting moments,
We can experience the Truth of the Kingdom Unseen.