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Love.

The Cross

I wrote this a couple of months ago, but found it today while looking for a different writing. I just read it and decided to post it. Upon reading it I realized that lightening didn't tear the curtain open, but kept it in because I like the way it sounds. And because I don't edit. :) It's pretty haunting, but so was the cross.

While reading it, think about how much God loves you. Just try for a second to even think about that. It's so hard for me sometimes, so incredibly hard to fathom that fact, but know that he is crazy about you. He is crazy about me. He is crazy about ALL of us. The ONLY reason he endured all of that is because of this crazy all-consuming never-ending outrageous maniacal love he has for us. That's where the beauty is.

Love to you. So much love.

            March 8, 2011

There was nothing beautiful about the Cross. The cross was bloody and battered. It was dirty and dripping in sweat and tears and drops of Christ’s body. We think of the Cross as a work of art. All magical and lovely. Surreal and dreamy. We picture it in paintings hanging in galleries around the world. We configure it into silver and gold pendants and we hang them around our necks or from our ears. We shape it out of bronze, carve it out of wood, and mold it out of clay and then we hang it on a wall and decorate our houses with it. But the cross is not beautiful. It is ugly and dark. It is haunting and horrific. It stands there, on a hill shaped like a skull, which in itself already is very frightening and it forebodes us. It mocks us. It laughs at us.

            Jesus being tortured on a cross is not beauty. It is pain and lies and mistakes and betrayal. It reveals to us just how ugly we are. Just how horrible this world is that it could take a man, flawless and wonderful. The one who created us and stars and the ground we stand on, and beat him, chain him, and hoist him onto an instrument of murder.

            I often forget about how horrific the Cross is. I try to think back to that moment. Try to put myself in the shoes of Jesus’ friends or his family or his mom. Laying there beneath the cross, staring up at my dear friend or my brother or my son being ripped apart and dying before my eyes. It must have been loud there, but also so quiet. I’m sure the loudness was deafening but the emptiness of it all probably stunned them all to silence. It must have been so hot there. Living in the desert. But then also so cold. They must have all had chills, the kind of chills you get when you see someone’s skin being torn off. The kind of chills I have never experienced but can only imagine. It must have smelled awful. The stench of blood mixed with sweat mixed with intestines mixed with urine mixed with feces mixed with flesh. It must have been so bright there. With flames burning all through the night as onlookers stood around and stared at Jesus for hours. But of course it was so dark. Dark as the midnight sky, but also dark as the deepest pits of Hell. I bet there were no stars out that night. As they all hid their faces in shame from the sight of their tortured Creator. I know it was storming because the Bible says that lightning came down and ripped the Temple Curtain. But was it raining? I doubt it because then Jesus wouldn’t have been so thirsty. So instead it was dry. It was loud. It was silent. It was hot. It was cold. It was bright. And it was so incredibly dark.

            I think about the pain in Mary’s heart. About the unfairness of it all. About the hurt she must have felt seeing her tiny baby boy hanging on a Cross. She must have been so angry. She must have been so sad. I wonder if Jesus spoke while he hung from there. I wonder if his family spoke to him. I wonder if they all just stood there, staring at him, stunned to silence. I think about the embarrassment of it all. The embarrassment of being naked in front of his mom. The embarrassment of not being able to go to the bathroom and eventually having to pee on himself. The embarrassment of being torn open. The embarrassment of wearing a fake crown. I think about the women who inevitably had a crush on him. And how they had to look at him now and their hearts broke more and more by the minute.

            I can’t imagine that sight. I can’t imagine that noise. I can’t imagine that smell. I can’t imagine being there. Seeing my Savior, my Creator, My Brother, My friend being tortured and ridiculed and murdered in front of my eyes. I can’t see it as Beautiful. I don’t think in that moment I would have thought, “This is beautiful, someone should make a painting out of this.” I would want to get that image out of my head. I would want to burn my eyes to never ever have to see that again. I’d want to never ever be reminded of that again.

            There’s nothing beautiful about the cross. The beauty came afterwards. The beauty came from an alive Jesus. A renewed Jesus. A free Jesus. A resurrected Jesus. The beauty came from seeing him, the One whom they’d all just seen a few days earlier gashed and bruised and covered in blood, now bonded and healed and completely clean. He was no longer hanging but walking. No longer crying but laughing. He was no longer defeated but empowered. He was no longer the brunt of the joke but the overcomer of all odds. He was no longer the victim but the Victorious One.  He was no longer looking death in the eye but instead offering everyone who saw him new Life. 

His Strength is perfect

I might already have a blog with this title. I am brain dead right now having worked ten hours and 45 mins today. Standing! Wowsers! My whole body aches. But I did it, and I really didn't think I would be able to. Which leads me to the point of this blog. My God is always strong. And when my strength fails me His strength is always perfect.

I heard this song on my drive home, while my eyes struggled to make out the lines and my head drifted off into space. I looked over and saw a sunset with streaks of pink and blue and yellow and thought about how beautiful God is. How much he loves us. He just does things like that, makes beautiful sunsets, a gentle breeze, warm nights just because he loves us.

I wish I was sleeping outside tonight. Laying in a field of dandelions with the white fuzzy stuff floating all over me and staring up at the sky. Feeling held by God. Warm and rested.

Sometimes I hit a low. A point in my life where I just want to crawl underneath a rock and hide. Oftentimes I just want to RUN. Far away. I've always considered myself a gypsy. Here for a short while then onto the next stop. Traveling the line on a train and staring out of the window. Dreaming big dreams with a whole life stretched out in front of me. Lately I've had the urge to run. But God reminds me that it is through the pain that he gets to the best parts of me. It is, like my tattoo reminds me, through my brokenness that I become beautiful.

My life is like a mosaic. Broken pieces of glass that most would have tossed away. But my Dad picks them up and glues them into a work of art. Something so beautiful out of all of the broken pieces.

God is so good. He reminds me of who I am even when I forget. He picks me up from ashes and starts afresh. He calms my gypsy soul and begs me to "Please just stay. Even when it's hard. Even when you want to run. Even when California calls your name and the train whistles sing you a lullaby. Just stay. Right here. For a while."

Here's the song I heard on the way home.

Love you so.

Strong Enough--Matthew West

You must, You must think I'm strong
To give me what I'm going through

Well forgive me
Forgive me if I'm wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own

(Chorus)
I know I'm not strong enough to be
Everything that I'm supposed to be
I give up
I'm not stong enough
Hands of mercy won't you cover me
Lord right now I'm asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough
For the both of us

Well, maybe, maybe that's the point
To reach the point of giving up
Cause when I'm finally
Finally at rock bottom
Well, that's when I start looking up
And reaching out

Chorus

Cause I'm broken
Down to nothing
But I'm still holding on to the one thing
You are God
and You are strong
When I am weak

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don't have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength
And I don't have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

Chorus