Abandoned By God

Over this last year during times of prayer, I’ve come to realize how much God craves to be with me. When I pray for ten minutes, God is present each minute. When I pray for 20 minutes, God again sits with me throughout, speaking, teaching, comforting, listening… When I pray a full hour, God dwells the full hour. When I pray for two hours, I walk away with two hours' worth of interaction with God. (How exciting might our life become if we truly learned to live lives of "praying without ceasing"?) John 3:34 says that God gives the Spirit without limit, and I’m starting to understand that experientially. I’m beginning to see that I have great responsibility in my relationship with God… that God doesn’t impose himself on me, but that he is waiting for me, every moment. If I come, I see he will be with me. I just need to come. It is up to me to determine how much I want to be with this good God who loves me, seeks to redeem and restore, and eventually use me to touch a hurting world.

I’ve also experienced the dryness in prayer. Last Sunday I prayed, “But God, what about the dry times? How does emptiness fit with these impressions I have that you are always aching to be with us, and will abundantly dwell with us when we come to you?”

I saw a picture of a mom and her daughter walking. As they cheerfully sauntered, hand-in-hand, the mother let go of her daughter’s hand without warning and begin to walk ahead. Then, as if in a Choose Your Own Adventure Book, the story diverged, each story focusing on the daughter’s response.

As the mother released the hand of her daughter in the first story, the young girl began to tremble, a look of abandonment and rejection on her face. She stopped, whimpered, and eventually plopped on the ground crying with a look of stricken confusion and grief on her face. Her mother, now far off, heard her, stopped and returned. She held her daughter compassionately, helped her to her feet, and they began walking again at the original pace, hand-in-hand.

In the second story, as the mother let go of her daughter’s grip and began walking faster, the young girl looked up, and promptly uickened her little legs to match her mother’s new pace, soon hand-in-hand again. This was beautiful to me.

I’m beginning to see the dry times in prayer and in our relationship with God in a light of beautiful invitation rather than a light of abandonment. I believe, when the dry times come, God is saying, “You’ve been doing good, but there is more. Come, walk a little faster with me, run a little harder, dig in a little more. I want to introduce you to unforeseen dimensions of the width, depth, and height of my love.” In dry times in your life, I challenge you to consider that God is not leaving you, but encouraging you into deeper intimacy with him. In the same way that your thirst and your desire for water increases in the desert, I believe God wants our desire and thirst for Him to increase in our respective spiritual deserts.

Notice that both stories end with the mother and daughter hand-in-hand - God's sweet presence in our lives. Should we not be ready to walk in the Father's invitation to deeper interaction, our compassionate father will return, he will scoop us up, tell us he loves us, and begin walking with us again as did the mother in the first story. But I do believe that in His walking faster and in His making it seem we are alone, God is actually moving in love as he promises. I believe he is the wise Father inviting us to greater maturity as he sees our little legs grow stronger.

History Maker

Is it true today that when people pray
Cloudless skies will break
Kings and queens will shake
Yes it's true and I believe it
I'm living for you

Is it true today that when people pray
We'll see dead men rise
And the blind set free
Yes it's true and I believe it
I'm living for you

Well it's true today that when people stand
With the fire of God, and the truth in hand
We'll see miracles, we'll see angels sing
We'll see broken hearts making history
Yes it's true and I believe it
We're living for you

(Selected Lyrics from Delirous' song History Maker)

Amen and Amen

Down with the Wisdom of the World

Tonight was a learning experience. I had been scheduled to speak tonight at Scum of the Earth, a church here in Seattle of whose leadership team I've recently joined. I'd had my sermon fully prepared for about a week now - my heart and recent experience around sacrifice and love. As I prayed last night, I felt God give me a beautiful illustration about how extravagantly he gives us of himself, both in variety and quantity. The moment my pen wrote the last words of describing the image into my journal, I felt God say, "This is for tomorrow." It didn't make sense though - I was prepared to share about sacrifice and love, and to share a vision of prayer at Scum NEXT month when I take the pulpit. Plus, considering the amount of people out of town over the Christmas break, I knew Scum attendance would be minimal. And I was right... maybe 15 people all together. But as I prayed more, I began to smile and thank God... because we will only see a movement of prayer at Scum if we are dependent on God for its life, which we are, especially when he works outside our expectations by planting the prayer-seed in the heart of a pocket, rather than the whole of Scum. A spirit-rooted prayer movement won't fly if people sign on to a pious bandwagon. I'm not saying I see Scum folk having that attitude. I'm saying I'm grateful that there was not even opportunity for fad behavior. I liked that if we were moving to a culture of prayer at SCUM, it would have to be the Holy Spirit moving.

To add to the breakdown of all that was me in tonight (and trust me, I'm not bitter - I'm beginning to understand the serious responsibility of teaching and sharing), I felt like my talk was horrible - another indication that response, change, and established prayer at Scum would HAVE to my God's spirit moving. My words were void of passion, disconnected, incoherent - I didn't know what I was saying much of the time, and rarely had a clear sense of the point I was trying to make. The hurriedly prepared notes seemed useless from the vantage point of my stool, the listeners disengaged. I was confused by my wet-blanket delivery - normally prayer is a topic that brings fire to my eyes and spring in my voice. But I think too, this Zach-dismantling was God, and a gift at that. No one there will desire to pursue a lifestyle of prayer after my lack of oration sophistication or brilliance. How can I emphasise the degree of "drab"? But afterwards, to my surprise several people told me that it was convicting or that God had been speaking to them similarly over this last month. One girl told me the message was the beginning of an answer to a prayer she'd prayed years ago. Four people gave me email addresses wanting to be connected and involved with whatever is prayer in the future of Scum. We are praying this Saturday at 2pm - the start of a regular corporate time, which I do believe will ultimately evolve into 24/7 prayer at Scum. Another girl wants to head up creatively decorating the prayer room - which excites me exceedingly considering her artistic sense and my complete lack thereof. John, the pastor, gave us the storage room to transform into a place of prayer, its fate entirely at our discretion.

I'm grateful that in my unpreparedness and faulty, broken delivery, I, or the rest of Scum, won't even have the option of taking glory for ourselves when God stirs prayer in this place... and it is coming. I know it... And watch out - life gets radical for God's children when they devote themselves to prayer. Living in the reality of "God's ways are not our ways" is becoming one of my favorite parts of this incredible business of serving God.

Tonight...

I had dinner with Kevin tonight, who is leaving for Korea on Thursday. I will miss him, indeed. Living with Kevin these last 5 months has taught me more about what it means to live honestly, and also to live fully. He is a fellow worth spending time with. We ate Middle Eastern food - I had lamb and Kevin had falafel. One funny part about the night... our menu had an Arabic glossary on it, full of explanations of menu items and also occasional basic Arabic vocabulary. I suggested to Kevin that we try some language on the waiter, but we didn't get very far as the waiter at this Middle Eastern eatery was Vietnamese. Funny.

I've been thinking today about the questions I get about working with "street people." Sometimes the nature of their questions and the raising of their eyebrows makes me think they see my work at New Horizons as a risky endeavor. I realize those are the kinds of eyebrows and questions that leave me near speachless, because "danger" hasn't been my experience. I actually feel quite safe... and I think it is because the "dangerous" people on the street are my friends.

I'm listening to a 20 part series on the Song of Songs. It is thus far quite brilliant. I'm listening to each part twice.... once on the bus ride to work, once on the bus ride home. I figure if I won't retain much if I don't give it an opportunity to soak and absorb.

By the way... I finally got an ipod. Thanks, Kyle, for giving me your extra! I knew I'd get a free one somehow somewhere if I only held out long enough.

This just in

Perhaps for the first time, I want God because of hunger and not because of guilt.

Melissa and I are trying to steer from answering the questions"how are you?" or "how was ____?" or any question really with the automatic, general, and meaningless "good"... and it has been a "good" challenge.

I went and saw Rob Bell speak tonight. His talk was liberating for me.

My nose runs much tonight.

Moon 2

I know now why my moon was perfect... harvest moon, about 17,000 miles closer than average. And I thought it was big because everything seemed big.

I need God. I'm tired of myself, in so many ways.

Life is flinging me in many directions, opposite directions, and I am troubled to keep up and make sense. And this blog isn't worth my time right now.

Moon

Tonight's moon was perfect. Perfect.

Seems like tough is going around.

I found out this morning that a kid who I've been working with died on Sunday. Last I saw him was on the bus about two weeks ago. He saw me, came over, sat down across the aisle and started telling me jokes, lots of them, just like always. Only this time, they were funny, and they were clean. I noted that I hadn't seen him in awhile and he said he'd just gotten out of jail, and that he'd been sober for 40+ days because of it. I asked how he felt... he smiled and said, "Different". The tone of his voice and the look on his face implied, "Suprisingly good." We talked more about it, and got off the bus high-fiving, him telling me how excited he is, me encouraging him to stick in through. And now he's overdosed. Death seems so final, so surreal, so distant.

And rape... Real life, real people I know, non-Hollywood, personal stories, last night... and tears, and violence... and what to make of it?

Isaiah 1

Isaiah 1 is where I'm at right now.... it's tearing me apart in wonderful ways. Though I've been on a quest for sometime to read the Bible straight through, I've been fighting the urge to be hasty and get it done for the sake of getting it done, as has been habit for much of my life. I slow down, and even stop, for conviction like Isaiah 1 brings to me in this place and time.

I'm becoming thoroughly convinced that there is a direct proportion between my praying and my hearing God speak. I think about the times when God has spoken so clearly.... and those have been the times I've made efforts to spend more time praying. And vice versa. Maybe a better way of saying it.... is that the times I've been praying have been the times I've heard God most clearly. See, I'm not sure I buy into the fact that God stops speaking, or that he speaks unclearly at times. Seems to me more like he's aching to speak to us and always speaking with us. If I'm not praying or caring to hear though, if I'm not in that environment of seeking his face and his heart and his love, then of course I'm not going to hear God speak. The blame is all mine.... not God not speaking clearly.

I just started reading The Cross and the Switchblade again. As I was out running this afternoon, I wondered, "God, will you give to me too a mission as you did to David Wilkerson?" And I was reminded of Wilkerson's committment to prayer... it wasn't until he sold his television and started praying for two hours a night, and doing it for some time, that God slapped him to New York. It wasn't until he was in a place of listening and seeking. I'm not going as far as to say that I must pray for two hours, but I know that until I weed out the television, whatever that happens to be in my life, and begin dedicating time to prayer, whether alone or in community, or both, I will continue to live as is...

23 now

I sure missed the pompous celebration, the anniversery post, the "what a year this has been" report. Oh well.

It's been hard to care about blogging, honestly. You probably noticed.

Much of it seems so meaningless. Lots of life is seeming meaningless these days. Jesus is alive, and though I feel I barely know him, I know enough to know that anything that is meaningful in life rests in him... and I'm so bored with everything that's not connected there. I'm bored with reading books that don't scream the glory of God. I'm bored of routines. I'm bored of movies, often even of conversations. There's more to be had.

I want to be with Jesus... have him right in front of me. But not me... cause that's boring too. I want to seek Christ together. I want times of people gathered whenever and wherever we can for the sole purpose of worshipping our King, of praying to our Savior, of seeking his face. That's all. I want to sit for hours with him. Days. I'm bored with board games. I'm bored with email. I'm bored with my camera, my computer, cleaning my room, sometimes eating. I'm bored with talking about Jesus. I want to be with Jesus.

Though it sounds funny to say, I'm honestly kind of bored with trying to love Jesus - I don't know what I'm doing. I want to know Jesus. I want to know Jesus.

I don't care about the glamor. I don't need the miracles. I don't need the credit. Just give me Jesus.

Tonight found me so grateful that my dear friend Toby taught me to play guitar, though he'd probably be embarrassed to take credit for my mangy strumming and mangier singing. I love music, I love having the basic skills enough to sing to the Lord new songs... singing prayers and worship, opening an avenue for my spirit inside to wail and to plead to this God.

I pray to be humbled. I pray for my faith to increase. I pray for myself to decrease and for Christ to increase.

Phil 2 talks about how when Christ found himself to be in the appearance of a human being, he humbled himself and made himself a servant of all..... That speaks to me purpose. In the same way that it could say that Christ, being found in the appearance of a tree, sucked his nutrients from the ground and sprouted his fruit with all the mustard he could muster. I think the passage is not just talking about Christ's attitude, but of our design - that we were created to be servants of all. I want to be a slave to righteousness. I want to wash the feet of all I come across, whatever "washing feet" means for those particular people.

But I'm so selfish, so prideful, so faithless, so disloyal.

Yet, God continues to speak, rather than abandon. He continues to massage my tense shoulders and whisper love into ears that is sure they won't hear love again... surely God can't really be faithful, surely his love can't really endure forever - these are the doubts I bring, over and over.

I've been reading the Psalms lately... I love how they are honest, how David tells God that a good idea would be to break the teeth of his enemies. I love how David sites God's work in his life, then praises him. I like how David is so freakin confusing... how he is so acknowledgedly wretched, but always comes back to God.

I believe there is so much power and authority available to us if we only believe. God is aching to dump himself on us, to equip us to smother the world in love, to heal the hurt, give the blind site and make the deaf hear. Literally, not suburban-Christian-metaphorically. God is alive. I know this. I want to know Jesus.

A few posts ago I wrote: "I feel like a good cry is in order, but I can't put my finger on why." Friends, I had the most incredible cry of my life the night after. I want to tell you about that... maybe if I come back next month I will.