A Shield About Me

Some kids have special blankets, maybe a teddy bear or some other trinket of comfort. At the risk of being perceived as completely "loopy," you might be interested to know that as a child I had the incredible ability to avoid all trouble in a moments notice. I had an invincible force that was always with me and provided reliable comfort and protection in most any situation. I was so reliant upon this source of security it was never more than an arm's length away. It was my thumb.

You see, if I were being readied for discipline and I didn't want to bear the rebuke, I'd simply hold my thumb up in the air, pull it very close to my face, proceed to close one eye (that is the really important point and critical to the effectiveness -- with both eyes open, there's no protection!!!) and then "hide" behind my thumb. If no one else is around as you are reading, go ahead and try it. That's pretty cool, isn't it? It takes much practice to block out all peripheral attacks and concerns. Most people will find they can still see a little around the edges of the faithful protector, but with practice you can be really good at it. In fact, closing both eyes works well, too, but can be seen as a form of denial.

It wasn't long before people were on to me, especially my parents, and the power of "the thumb" diminished shortly. Today, I will rarely break it out and deploy it again, but only for my own amusement.

Once upon a time, King David had reason to flee from his son Absalom (you can read about it in 2 Samuel 15:13-37). It was an extremely emotional and vulnerable time for David and he sought solace and peace from a constant and reliable source.

O Lord, how many are my foes!
How many rise up against me!
Many are saying of me, "God will not deliver him."
But you are a shield around me, O Lord;
you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.
Ps. 3

When, even if for a moment, we think we have to handle the strains, stresses and struggles of life alone, it would be good to stop and believe David's opening words to this Psalm. So often I know God is there for me, but I forget that He is there for me! God is in the moment and on location in the middle of my pain.

Thinking we are alone produces all kinds of dysfunctional reactions and behaviors, but trusting God's presence and relying on His deliverance is one of the greatest blessings known to any human being.

Next time you feel alone against your struggle, hold up your invincible "thumb" and see just how silly relying on yourself can be. Remember the words of David, because "from the Lord comes deliverance."

A Generation (or two) Apart

Four years shy of being twice my age, in the 60's they would have called what we share a "generation gap." He preached for 60 years, 16 years longer than I've been alive. He still has the opportunity to speak on behalf of the Lord, though generally now it is at the funeral of a friend and there aren't many more his age left running around. He's a modernist through and through. I'm a post-modernist who's still trying to figure out exactly what that means.

He is still greatly passionate about the Lord and preaching the Word. If you care to listen long enough, you'll hear it in his voice. Though the eyes are weak, the ears harbor double hearing aids and his hands clearly show the wear of years, his gentle spirit shines through. He still gets around fairly well, is still able to safely drive his car (someone rear ended him the other day -- no fault of his own) and is still driven to stand for what is right. He is a great big man in a rather diminutive vessel.

In many ways we might as well live on different planets, he and I. His style of preaching radically differs from mine. His audience was much more linear, much more driven by the need to be "right" rather than experience and a good narrative. He would rather write a letter or pay you a visit... I'd likely call, email or send a text message. He'll tell you how it is, I'll likely try to show you. We're different to be sure. From a worldly measure, we're miles apart and yet there is something that draws very little distance between the two.

He's an 84-year-old , I'm 44 and we both live every day in light of a profound truth: "For God so loved the world that He gave His One and only Son..."

Frankly, I love spending time with him. He thinks I'm just being nice when we share an extended conversation, but I'm really not merely being nice. Truth be told, I'm probably being selfish. I love hearing how preaching was "in the old days." I love the fact that he still gets excited when he talks about the power of God's word. I love seeing the emotion his generation typically tries to hide, when his eyes fill with tears as he speaks of his sweet late wife. I love that he cares enough about truth to question me when he wants to assure I'm staying true to Scripture. I love it when he struggles to understand the role of contemporary storytelling and exercises in spiritual formation. He often apologizes and stresses that he's not criticizing. But even if he were, it would be okay with me, because I know his heart. There is no malice, only love.

Love is a natural consequence when you've spent as much time with the Savior has he has. Though the world around him changes, Jesus Christ is the "same yesterday, today and forever."

Too often the "ancient" preachers of our day get brushed aside. They're not "hip" anymore and are thought to be irrelevant. While they've maybe lost a step or two, too often they get marginalized and discarded and I find that sad and tragic. They may no longer command attention on today's biggest stages, but they are still good godly men who served long and faithfully. They have my honor and humble appreciation.

I'm thankful for my "old" friend and pray that if God gives me the years, when I'm 84, maybe some "forty something" will still be willing to give me the time of day.

God, please bless my dear friend. I thank You for the blessing he is to my life.

Fulfilled

Not quite the same as a child looking forward to his first-time visit to Disneyland, I did have strong anticipation for my first opportunity to sit in the presence of one of my heroes. Periodically on the drive down, I found myself quietly preparing for what God might have waiting for those who had elected to meet at the Renovare Conference in Austin and benefit from the wisdom and experience of author Emilie Griffin and renowned spiritual formation author Richard Foster.

The conversation with my friend on the 3 1/2 hour drive was rich enough to merit the time and expense of our trip but upon arrival I knew a blessing would await us. I found this church campus where we met to be quite inviting and full of spiritual intention. Fine art, much created by the children of the hosting congregation, adorned the walls of several hallways. Thoughtful architecture, textures and finishes were welcoming and serene. Walking into the space, I realized my spirit was in need of rest and renewal.

Griffin spoke first and her gentle spirit was most striking to me. She does not possess an impressive oratory style, yet her wisdom and depth of knowledge are evident. What speaks most profoundly is her familiarity with God. Though a Roman Catholic, she fit well in this mainstream gathering. Foster was second to speak... also a gentle spirit, a Quaker by affiliation. Unassuming, save a disclaimer of his mid-back length salt and pepper colored ponytailed hair. He has native American in his bloodline and grew his hair as a means of honoring part of his earthly heritage. I have similar bloodlines and have always had a strong affinity for the native American nations.

As with both Griffin and Foster, both fit well into the by-gone era of "Hippie-dom" as well as would the majority of those in attendance. The 20-30 year old demographic was obviously absent. My friend and I represented the "younger set," both in our early 40's. But I saw this as benefit for the amount of life experience in the room was palpable and I've grown to appreciate those who have more mileage on them than I.

What did I find at the feet of a hero? Difficult to quantify, I would suggest one of the important lessons for which I was reminded is that God is full of love and grace. Grace defined as "unmerited favor" (of course), but practically as "God working in us." God's grace affords us the opportunity and ability to experience that which is far beyond what we can do alone. How true! Listening to Foster, I gained the sense he only spoke of what God lead him to say... but there was much more "in the tank" that he did not feel "at liberty" to dispense at the moment.

So often I've attended conferences and the lead speakers present like a blasting fire hose and seem to empty their depth in one or two addresses. Foster gave only from the overflow -- only what God commissioned for the moment.

Foster confessed he'd spent an entire day in prayer over our time together shortly before his arrival to the conference. Offering a prayer over the audience at the close of the first night, he invited those to come forward for whom God had laid particular prayer needs on his heart. Not calling individuals by name, I still sensed he possessed a strong awareness of whom would come. It was a powerful time of prayer.

That was followed by a Julliard-trained worship leader who played an emotional rendition of It Is Well With My Soul on solo violin. Coming from a tradition that typically worships with words sans instruments, it was striking to have the opposite -- instrument sans words. Nonetheless, the "words," "my sin not in part, but the whole" struck my heart strings with crescendo as the strings were bowed. Not just the sins I think are worthy to be forgiven, but the WHOLE of them are "nailed to the cross and I bear them no more. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!"

So much gained by only a few hours with a "hero" of faith, many more thoughts and observations than I could have anticipated and more than I should post here. The reaffirmation that spiritual formation is a process that simply takes time - and lots of it - simply can't be rushed. The power of being in Christian community with people whom previously one has never met was refreshing. The value of experiencing things different than what is accustomed was unifying. The reality that Foster's mother was a member of the same fellowship in which I have been raised gave the two of us an interesting connection. Shaking hands and exchanging words with a sincere follower of God who's own writings have indelibly shaped my spiritual walk was in a word, priceless!

Were my expectations fulfilled? Yes, fulfilled! It is blessed to sit at the feet of a "hero."

Expectant

Today promises to be an exciting, if not compelling, day in my spiritual journey. In a few hours, I will be honored and priviledged to be in the presence of a spiritual icon in the realm of Spiritual Formation. Richard Foster, author of Celebration of Discipline (link), one of the most significant books on spiritual formation in the twentieth century, is participating in a conference I am humbled to attend.

I have no idea what to expect by this Renovare Conference. I believe by faith there is no measure to what God can do in an instant when His will and providential circumstances collide. Moses at the burning bush. Isaiah with a vision of God seated on the throne. Paul on the road to Damascus. Will this be one of those occasions to change a life forever? We shall see. I am certainly going to arrive with my heart and mind as open to the opportunity as possible.

I figure it to be a burden to be so influencial an author and have people arriving to hear you speak with high expectations. Yet, I've been around long enough to know that for someone to write so influencial a book and have it influence so many lives, the power isn't their own but belongs to a Spirit of inspiration. I'm also realistic enough to know that sometimes one's giftedness in writing does not equate to excellence in speech. Yet again, it is God exercising the power, not the individual. I pray brother Foster arrives as an empty vessel in the hands of God.

A friend and I will arrive (God willing) with expectancy... but the expectancy will be to encounter the Lord first and foremost. We just might get to meet a great author or two along the way, as well.

Shalom.

Too long gone

Apologies for those who have been coming to this blog spot the last few days only to find the last post being over a week old! Where does the time go? The longer I live, the more aware I seem to be that time passes much too quickly. Of course that is quite the misnomer as time passes at the same rate regardless of age. I grapple with the reality of space and time.

Too often life occurs like a continuous confluence of routines and cycles. Last Thursday seems like yesterday as life is consistently marked by the rolling of trash cans out to the curb and the cycle of lawn sprinklers running their course. Which reminds me it is Thursday and I need to roll the trash can to the curb again. Please don't let me forget!

What is the pace of life supposed to be? Writing this, I realize I've not spent an evening at home since last Thursday which may account for part of my life being lived at "blur speed." At times one has to wonder if we're living a life by divine design or if life is somehow designing us. Allowing the tyranny of life's routines and cycles to press us into something other than what we are created to be is more frequently the case. I often grapple with the balance between "being" and "doing."

Does Jesus have an intended "pace" for our lives? The OT prophet Isaiah indicates there is certainly room for silence in our relationship with the Creator ("Be silent before me, you islands! Let the nations renew their strength! Let them come forward and speak; let us meet together at the pace of judgment" -- Is. 41:1). The Psalmist exhorts toward periods of contemplation in urging the reader to "Be still and know" that God is the One who will be exalted among the nations and in the earth (Ps. 46:10).

Yet, it would be a mischaracterization to think all Jesus and His disciples did each day was to sit around and meditate or merely discuss spirituality. Just one occasion during Jesus' earthly ministry, the feeding of some 5,000 people, would have likely been no "easy day at the office." For Jesus to invest in that many lives with the creative energy necessary to feed that many people with only "five loaves and two fish," you can assume it was a significant outlay of emotional and spiritual energy. How did He and His disciples do it on a consistent and repeatable basis?

In Mark 6:31, the text indicates there were "so many people coming and going" that Jesus and the disciples didn't even have enough time to eat. Have you been there? I certainly have! Jesus says to His disciples, "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest." For me, that is a great picture... the disciples and Jesus perhaps rolling out a spot on a big boulder and catching a few "z's" in the warm afternoon sun. How cool is that?

"Peter, what did you do this afternoon?" "Ah, not much really, just took a little siesta with Jesus and the boys over near Gethsemane."

Too often we take some kind of sadistic approach to our schedules thinking that if we find our tongue hanging out and our bodies collapsing at the end of the day we have found "higher" ground. I'm finding my tongue hanging out and waking up at 2:30am on the living room sofa where I dozed off before finishing the chapter I was reading as a low spot in my week. There is much "higher" ground to be found, if we are but only willing to seek it.

While even just a week is too long gone from this blog, perhaps it is time I really get disciplined about my spiritual schedule before I'm too long gone? Being disciplined even two or three weeks in a row just simply isn't enough. I must find that longing to "rest in the Lord" as part of daily life, even when I'm most busy.

How is your schedule and what do you think Jesus might feel about it?

Wordless

I will admit to having a thing for words. They simply fascinate me as each one is filled with intrigue and wonder. When speaking, words paint simultaneous pictures (word pictures) in my head. Not being terribly artistic with brush, charcoal or clay, words become for me canvas and paint, color and pad, scalpel and mud. They are most often the tools of my trade.

When observed over the span of space and time, languages evolve and/or die. Even in my life span, the English language has undergone tremendous flux and change. Recently at dinner with my family, I used a word which in my youth meant something to me. My daughters looked at each other and then started laughing at me because the word now has "ghetto meaning" and it was "stupid" for a middle-aged white dad to be speaking street vernacular. Ahh... I see I've officially obtained "geek" status in the eyes of my children! Brilliant!

Greek (not geek) is a beautiful language but difficult to translate into English. The ancient Greeks had several distinct words for "love" but in English we have basically only one. Therefore we "love" our cheeseburgers and we "love" our spouse. We "know" there is a difference between the two. However, I don't recommend you telling your sweetheart you love them and cheeseburgers in the same sentence. You may find yourself eating your next one alone!

When Greek is translated, much of the beauty and reality of the original language is lost. I've read that even the word for the Olympic "games" isn't accurately translated into English. Barbara Brown Taylor relates in one of her books a conversation she once had with a lamenting Greek man who explained his language is dying. He recalled, "These [Olympic] events are not play... they are not sport... the Greek word for what happens at the Olympics has no English equivalent."

Interesting, isn't it? To have a reality within your awareness and have no reasonable way to communicate it. Could there be a frustration greater? To have a thought or feeling and have no "word" to communicate it! Ahh... welcome to my nightmare! Particularly when I'm tired or stressed, I have difficulty attaching the right "word" with the "word picture" in my mind. It really irritates me, to be "word less."

Today, in a prayer session, I was praying with a friend and was struck anew by an old experience. Praying together, we spent nearly as much time in silence as we did in verbal prayer. Neither of us were at all uncomfortable with the silence and words just didn't seem appropriate. I could feel his prayerful intensity and I believe he could sense mine as well. In some manner, it seemed as if the silence was as powerful as the words, if not more so. In fact, my friend confessed verbally to the Lord that he simply "didn't have the words" to express all he felt. When I did speak, I felt like an infant trying to form words for an experience beyond my comprehension. It was blessedly weird.

Being "word less" is appropriate in numerous circumstances. Sometimes a grieving friend needs only for one to sit with them saying nothing. Sometimes love between a married couple is so profound, all that can be said must be said without words. Sometimes tears will replace verbiage. Sometimes holiness demands silence. (See Hab. 2:20-3:2; Ps. 46:10)

Why do we typically feel our prayers must be filled with words? Even Jesus cautioned against the use of too many words (Matt. 6:5-8). Perhaps silence is simply too deafening for our spiritual ears? If I continue making noise, I may not have to listen to what the Lord has to say. But if I am silent, it leaves me vulnerable to the sounds, words and experiences I perhaps have yet to hear.

If languages must die (and they certainly do when there exists no words in the dominant language for which to translate them) then perhaps we would do well to let our own words occasionally "die" as well. Perhaps we need to become "wordless?"

What do you think?

If you are willing, perhaps you will use words to communicate how you feel about it.

What about forgiveness...

Here we are, five years later to the day, and tears still flow. Not only from the eyes of the survivors but from the eyes of the average citizen as well. We are still moved by grief beyond words and a sorrow that will never leave our memories all our days. Tonight, the President addresses a nation as two blue beams of light thrust their way through the New York night skyline where two majestic towers once stood. It is, in part, a memorial to what we've lost.

Five years ago we tragically lost more than the lives of those who perished at Ground Zero, the Pentagon and Flight 93. We lost our innocence. We lost illusions of moving carelessly through the skies even within our own boundaries. We lost something we likely will never recover, even if all the terrorists around the globe are brought to justice tomorrow. We lost so much.

Fittingly, on this fifth anniversary of the United States' single-most tragic day, we've stopped long enough to remember. The media carefully prepares memorial broadcasts and news features of how the families are doing now, five years later. Some are still deeply grieving and can't speak without tears. Others are necessarily moving on... remarrying, rebuilding with the pieces of life that were left behind.

We've heard a lot about grief this weekend. We've heard much about heroism and patriotism. Anthems are played, memorials either created or visited as the nation itself attempts to pick up the pieces and move on. Yet, with all that has been said, I've not heard even a single word spoken of what might be our greatest loss of all.

Commentators disclaim the radical leftist extremism that brought the planes and towers down. They declare the need for a more moderate view to be held for those who inhabit the "mainstream" of eastern faith. Much is said about human beings understanding one another, but nothing is said of "forgiveness." What about forgiveness?

"Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; O Lord hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared."
(Ps. 130:1-4)

How much is being spent on overcoming this tragedy? War efforts, memorials, new towers to prove the resilience of the American people and our political assistance to bring democracy to oppressed peoples. Perhaps all is appropriately spent and worthy to every last dime. But can we recover our greatest loss?

When we truly assess what was lost that day, it will add up to more than thousands of innocent lives, symbols of freedom or even our innocence. We are quick to acknowledge our losses on that day but I pray "forgiveness" isn't one of them.

Lord... will we ever forgive? Can we ever forgive those who apparently have no remorse for what they have done? Can we forgive people who would do the very same thing again, given even half a chance? Can we forgive those who themselves don't seek forgiveness? Lord... can we ever forgive?

If God kept a record of sins, I'd be lost and so would you be. And so will they be.

Lord... please forgive and teach us to begin to forgive.

Live Like You Were Dyin

Country music singer Tim McGraw has a song that became something of a crossover hit a year or two ago that has really stuck with me (it had to be "crossover" because I don't listen to country music and even I heard the song enough to sing along) . "Live Like You Were Dyin" is about a guy in his early forties who gets word from his doctor he has a terminal disease. After the initial shock, the lyric asks, "How's it hit ya', when you get that kind of news?"

The response is a litany of things this guy might not have ever done but chooses to try... skydiving, rocky mountain climbing, going 2.7 seconds on a rodeo bull... The terminally ill patient then decides to "love deeper, talk sweeter, [and give] forgiveness I've been denying..." Another couple lines include, "and I became a friend a friend would like to have." A great lyric and great thoughts we should consider way before we face the inevitability of death.

I've had an amazing week this week. It has been one of those weeks of inexpressible joy that only God can generate. Nothing outwardly amazing has happened... we didn't win the lottery or anything like that... it's just been a spiritually very tight week for me. I've really felt God working on my heart and some junk in my personal trunk is continuing to get reorganized and cleaned out. Becoming the person God really wants you to be is a long, hard and often painful process. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Like working out in the gym really hard and then hardly being able to move two days later (it's always the day after the day after that is the toughest), the pains of life will most often work for the good if we let God have control of them. It is like we mess it up... then God cleans it up... then we let Him "work us out" through the junk to enjoy the healing only He can bring.

Back to the lyric... this week I was blessed with two extremes of friendship. Early in the week I was honored and blessed to spend time with a friend with whom we've shared life for 20 years. There has been pain on both sides of our lives... but our reunion this week just made more sense out of our past. Lord willing, we're going to get to spend more time together over the next few weeks. I am very thankful. Late night conversations with old friends is the best!

Then later in the week, my family and I spent an evening with another family we hardly even know. In fact, I had to introduce myself to their children as we entered the house due to the fact I had never met them. We had a conversation filled evening, but it was radically different than the one I'd had with my old friend. The contrast was stark in my mind... and then I realized how often my friendships have been on my terms. I've taken advantage of so many elements of friendships. Sometimes to the detriment of those friendships for which I am very sad and sorry. Sometimes I've just invested only what I was willing to give at the time, as if I was guaranteed tomorrow. But what if tomorrow never comes?

I'm resolving to pursue relationships (whether deep or merely casually social) as if each word could be my last. To live in friendship with anyone... as if we were dying... might be an even greater adventure than "going 2.7 seconds with a bull named Fu Manchu."

I want to be a better friend... "a friend a friend would like to have." How about you?

Divine Encounter

Today, good fortune and coincidence (okay, it might have even been providence) smiled on me as I lunched with two old friends. I believe our being together was much more than temporal and may have bordered on the "divine." One could feel the love in the circle from the moment we stepped into the same room... years of "water under the bridge" but seemingly in a moments time. Friends, true brothers even, were reunited together.

Our friendship goes back in excess of 20 years, while the last time the three of us were all together at the same table at the same time was no less than 12 or 13 years ago. All three of us served as similar ministers in the same lower half of a "left coast state" with two other close brothers in the Lord back in the mid to late 80's. Even back then, each of our ministries carried their own distinguishing marks but we shared one common thread... an intense love for Jesus Christ.

Mowing down a wonderful Schezwan buffet, I couldn't help but observe how life had treated us. All three of us can still "pack it away" in the food department, but what unpacked by way of conversation was how the years had taken their toll. Trials we never imagined could or would come our way were the appetizer, main course, second helping of main course (isn't it mandatory at a buffet to return for seconds?) and dessert as we unpacked the years. Had the years been good to us? That would be a matter of opinion...

Everyone is grayer on the head -- except for the one who has much less hair and his is still black as night (we think -- who can tell with "Bic" heads these days?). Plus or minus a few pounds each, we're still profiled about the same as when last together. But the real strains of life were the ones that don't necessarily show. One marriage that once existed doesn't anymore and another was stressed to the limits. One life saw pressures that gave the press something to feed on for a while. All three had health challenges they navigated, some for the first time after being healthy "forever." All shared emotional and spiritual injuries that came at the price of trying to do what God called us to do. There were stories of failure, disappointment and loss. Other relationships broken which may never be repaired.

It was a great lunch! No... really it was! Walking away from that buffet, I realized that we had shared in a feast beyond garlic chicken and crab rangoons. We had survived some of life's most harrowing events and still share the most important thing in common... we still share an intense love for Jesus Christ. "Could anything tear that away?" I wondered with curiousity as we drove away together. There is only one source I know who could hurt lives like this and so far, by the grace of God, we somehow survived his devilish schemes.

Have the years been good to us? It may be a matter of opinion, but to be with these guys again and to be reminded that we're still alive in Christ was a blessing. I'd say even the toughest times have been good to us and I'll offer that alone is a divine encounter no matter what you may think of it.

Breath of Life

I am fascinated with human breath. Not whether it is pleasantly good or disdainfully bad (by the way don't catch me before the morning brushing... it ain't pretty), but by the fact that we breathe at all. Breath, until it is gone, is highly under-rated and overlooked.

From the moment we draw our first breath, we will continue to do so with staggering regularity until we draw our last. There is an amazing sense of finality in breath even from the moment of our first inhalation. We are much too young to appreciate it at the time, but from our first inhalation we begin to draw our last. Considered by some a morbid thought, each breath we breathe is one closer to our final exhalation. Breathe in, breathe out... breathe in, breathe out... an amazing cycle of which we are often not even consciously aware. However, the number is constantly counting down... raising disturbing manic tendencies if we dwell too long on the point. The sobriety of the thought is healthy, dwelling excessively on it is not! In fact, excessive attention to the point could send one into hyperventilation! Does anyone have a paper bag?

I remember the first time I ever had the breath "knocked out" of me. On the football field as a junior high school student I was returning from running a pass pattern and an inadvertently kicked ball headed straight for my gut, hitting me squarely in the abdomen. I never even saw it coming and had no opportunity to react. I merely hit the ground as if I'd been hit by a truck!

I remember lying there on the ground thinking... "Okay, time to breathe..." and nothing happened. All I could manage at best were little tiny short bursts of air. Not having previous experience with it, I thought I might die right there! A coach ran over, kept me on my back and pulled my waistband away from my abdomen. He then coached me through increasingly deeper breaths until my normal breathing pattern returned. I was running pass patterns again minutes later none the worse for wear, but much more appreciative of normal breath! Fascinating.

As kids, we often played a competitive breath holding game to see who could go longest without breathing. Sometimes the stakes were raised as we'd play at the bottom of the deep end of the pool but it was the same premise nonetheless. Who can hold their breath the longest? Being a woodwind musician at the time, I had comparatively good lung capacity and won my share of games. Isn't it fascinating that we can hold our breath, but we will only pass out before we can take our own life this way? Amazing. I wonder if, in a sense, we find ourselves "holding our breath" from a spiritual point of view?

The last song of the psalter exhorts in its closing line, "Let everything that has breath praise the Lord." The psalmist reminds the reader that breath is something all living creatures have in common. We all breathe. We all, in our own unique sense, have been created as living creatures before the One who made us. And as precious as breath is to life, I wonder how many breaths I have wasted in things less than praiseworthy efforts? How many have been given to praise? How many breaths have I effectively withheld from praise?

I've been thinking lately what it would be like for "every" breath to be devoted in praise. Of course, to be conscious of every breath would require an intensity of meditation few could maintain and even then would be an incredibly demanding discipline. But what if a few segments of each day were devoted to the praise of God through the human breath? Would those breaths take on a richness transcending all others? Would the practice bring us into a deeper appreciation for the breaths we take so easily for granted? Perhaps so.

Conscious breathing has been part of my meditations for some time. But to move closer to every breath being praise is a new discipline for me. Would you be willing to try it? I wonder what your experience will bring to your awareness of the breath of life?

Please share...

Stepping into Worship

Today, the time of worship at my home church was especially meaningful. From the downbeat of the first song to the final hallelujah, the worship ministry worked diligently at making every moment of the 75 minutes meaningful. It was almost as if we could not afford to "waste" a single breath. Rather, every word of every song was filled with meaning. Every spoken word was intended to "hit" with purpose and intent. Scripture was read, Good News was preached, communion shared, sacrifices of giving were given... every element of the morning pointed with purpose toward our being in Christ. I was tired when I left, but renewed at the same time.

Of course, living a life of worship is to transcend the time and limitations of the corporate worship "assembly." That point is not often missed. But to step into worship as a constant motif or quality of our daily life sometimes is neglected.

This morning, it was as if worship preceeded the worshipper. There was a presence welcoming all who came to give praise to the Creator of all things good. It was as if there was an invitation sent out to all who would come, welcoming them to participate with something (and Someone) who is Great! Great it was to be in His presence. It always is.

Every word filled the worshipper with nearness to God. It was as if we stepped into something beautiful...

This week, I'm going to see if every word (literally) I speak, can be spoken with that level of intention and praise. I'm going to try and lift every portion of my life as an expression of praise to the One who is worthy! Every song, every prayer, every gift, every thought... may they be pleasing in the sight of my God.

It may be I will find myself stepping into life altogether new... or I will be quite familiar, stepping into worship once more.