“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17

I’ve read second Corinthians lots of times–next to Romans, I probably read it the most out of everything in the New Testament after the synoptics. It’s a beautiful book, and teaches volumes about healing. And every time I read it, I have to stop and think about the above passage for a good long while. The thing is, aware of my salvation as I am, most days I don’t feel like a new creation. Most days I feel all crudded up by life, and by my own inclination to sin.

For me, part of becoming a Christian–maybe even the largest part–was being made aware of my sin. Prior to that awareness, I thought I was golden because I was a pretty good guy. I was nice to old people and animals. I should be good, shouldn’t I? Nothing to worry about?

At the first church I attended I heard the testimony of a young man who’d been to Bosnia during the war there. He told of riding through a town in a Humvee and shooting at what he thought was a sniper. His shot was true, and he’d killed the person, only to find out it was a youth, with no gun. He’d been punishing himself for what he felt was murder ever since, even though the Army held him blameless. He put his body through all manner of badness before he surrendered his heart to God.

Another man told about how he’d stolen from his children to get money for drugs. He’d sold their toys for a few small rocks. He hadn’t come to Christ until he’d literally lost everything and had been living in a park. He’d then done nearly everything imaginable to get drug money, including burglary, robbery, and assault. He’d stopped short of killing, but not by much.

A woman had been a prostitute for nearly ten years, also a slave to drugs, and had come to Jesus in a detox center.

A man had beaten his 2 year old daughter, and had lost his family because of it. The child had recovered, but his marriage hadn’t. This man found Christ through the love and witness of the church’s pastor.

There were countless stories like this, and I didn’t feel like I could relate to any of them. Still, they made me feel better about myself because I never did anything even remotely like that stuff. I acknowledged my need for a savior, but felt that I had lots of time (and much less work to do to get one) because I was a good and decent guy. God would not condemn someone who was nice, now would he?

For years I thought along those lines….years.

But when I had that experience at the river, when I became aware that I had in fact been (and remained) a sinner, when I asked Jesus to take that burden from me, I was still aware of the person I had been before, even though I wasn’t entirely him anymore.

So even though I knew in my head that I was made new, I did not necessarily feel that way. I still don’t. How can I be new when I feel so old? How can I be clean when it takes steel wool to scrub off my sin?

Here’s the thing I’ve been trying to think about, and remember.

6You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. 8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5: 6-8

So even before I knew him, while I was still wallowing in my filth, while I consoled myself with huge quantities of food, or alcohol, or empty relationships, God loved me just as much in that state of disgrace as he does now in a state of grace, having been forgiven.

Before I existed, He died for me. He could have simply pardoned me, like a governor sparing a convict on death row. He didn’t do that. He assumed the punishment for my guilt, and paid it himself. He walked the green mile for me. And whether I like it or not, whether I accept it or not, I am a new creation.

The old has gone, the new has come.

I was listening to this Brennan Manning sermon the other day, and he had a really good point. He said that until we can accept acceptance, we aren’t really a believer. I think part of my problem is that very thing: it’s hard for me to be accepted. I would convince myself that either my friends did not really accept me as I was, or if they did, once they found out the real me, they would bail like everyone else did. I thought the same thing about Jenny, even after we’d shared our hearts with one another. I just could not get past those feelings for the longest time.

It was much the same with God. I have always had difficulty accepting His acceptance, and His love. No, I don’t deserve it.

The wages of sin is death.

I have it anyway–I have his acceptance. And even if I had not ever seen Him as he desires to be seen, and accepted Him as abba, I would still have his love.

8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

He died for us.

He died for us.

He died for me.

I am not worthy of Him, nor would anything I could do on earth make me worthier.

Yet I am loved, and because of Jesus, have a place in his kingdom.

Imagine that.

Anyway, I plan to work on being a new creation….and trying to see myself the way God sees me. It’s a continuing mission, and it will never end.

I think of a pearl, lying in a freshly opened oyster, or whatever mollusk pearls come from. All crudded up with sediment, and filth, and layers of built up….junk.

Jesus removes the impure jewel from its shell, resplendent in its rough beauty, dripping with water, tendrils of slime leading back to the shell. He holds it in his hand, ignoring the slime, and layer by layer, peels away the filth, grime, and sediment, until the thing in his hand is no longer rough, but shining.

A pearl of great price.

“You see had the depths of my heart and You love me the same”

From “Indescribable,” by Chris Tomlin

I’ve heard that song lots of times, and always thought it was a really good worship song, but I never really gave much thought to it beyond that. Then I heard it this weekend at church, and that one line cut right through to the centre of me.

I just can’t think of (and certainly could not write) a sentence that describes Grace better than that does.

There were times in my life where I feared the depths of my heart so badly that I could not bear to think of them. I could not stand to think of them because at the core of me, in the place where I everything I believe about myself resides, I had this image of my heart as a withered thing—and so bad that love was not something I was worthy of experiencing. Had I not finally surrendered my heart to Jesus, I believe that it would have atrophied into a clenched fist of stone, and my life would have been every bit as wretched as I expected it to be.

But Jesus sees the depths of my heart and he loves me the same.

I see the limits I put on His ability to love me and it shocks me, it really does. I really believed that I could not be loved by God because I saw myself as dark, withered, and dying on the inside. I always knew that God was real, and that he blessed people, and maybe even loved some of them. Just not me.

It seemed to me that the people that God seemed to favour were always of the same ilk. They were clean people. They loved and loved and loved. They followed the “rules.” They had not done, nor would they do, anything the Bible said or suggested they shouldn’t. They didn’t swear, or drink, or have sex with their boyfriends or girlfriends. They didn’t lie to get what they want. They didn’t lay awake at night thinking about visiting justice upon a person they deemed “bad.” They forgave everything.

I was not cut from the same cloth as people like that. It was true my life had been difficult, but lots of people had difficult lives and didn’t end up like me. My heart was full of acid, not love. I hated, and lied, and sinned.

And the truth I’ve finally gotten to the bottom of over the past few years are expressed perfectly by Chris Tomlin. I had no idea who Jesus was until I knew, really knew, that He saw the depths of my heart and he loved me the same.

He didn’t see a perfect heart. He saw one scarred by sin, and life, and unbelief.

And he loved me the same as if it was beautiful and perfect. I’d always thought of myself and my heart as bad. Once Jesus came to me in the midst of my darkness, I had to face the realization that my heart was good, and that God had made it that way.

It was as if Jesus had spat in dirt at my feet, made clay, and gently applied it to my eyes.

He saw the depths of my heart and he loved me the same. And the problem is that it was never the truth that made my heart wither.

It was the lies.

God showed me truth after truth, once I let him. He still shows me—because some of those lies are time-hardened and strong.

Jesus is stronger.

Maybe you think your heart is withered and dying. Maybe you think your heart is bad.

God does not make bad hearts, and He waters those that are withered. He gives drink to all who are thirsty. He gives truth to those who seek it.

He sees the depths of your heart and he loves you the same.

Something came to me this morning when I was praying. It wasn’t a voice from on high, or from a little bird.

It was simply a realization about myself, and that realization was this: I put conditions on Jesus, in the way of accepting His love. I realized that I’ve always done this—even though I knew better.

Jesus will love me if I change, and become a better person.

He will love me if I become a better Christian, and a more consistent disciple.

He will love me if I do not lust, covet, or steal.

He will love me if I am nice to people.

He will love me if I am different.

He will love me if…

Along similar lines:

He won’t love me if I look at that woman in the little dress.

He won’t love me if I get angry in traffic, and call down curses on the guy in the BMW.

He won’t love me if I don’t pray two hours every day.

He won’t love me if I get frustrated with my son.

He won’t love me if….

And then there was also this:

I had been harboring similar thoughts about Jenny. She won’t love me unless I can change.

She won’t love me unless I lose weight.

She won’t love me unless I become the strong Christian man that I sometimes pretend to be.

She won’t love me unless I can be all the things I think she wants me to be.

She won’t love me unless….

I had spent much time trying to figure out the person I thought she wanted me to be, and wondered how I could become him.

So this morning, I asked Jesus for truth about those things. Something I should have done long ago.

Instead of going to the kitchen table, and reading my bible and praying before and during my breakfast, I simply stayed in the bedroom, and I knelt next to the bed. I placed my hand on Jenny’s leg, and I just asked Jesus for wisdom about everything that was going on. I called out to him and asked him to show me what I actually believed about myself that would inhibit me from accepting love and grace from Him, and from my wife.

I asked Him why it was so hard.

And that’s when it came to me that I had always thought and expected Jesus would better love the person I should be, rather than the person I was. I knew I would never, never be the person I ought to be, and if that was true, then the only love I would be able to accept from Jesus was that sort of…obligatory, parent-style love. He loved me as a child because he had to.

It kind of astounded me, because I’d read so many books, and heard so many sermons about the unconditional, relentless love of Christ. This was knowledge I’d always had in my head, and even in my heart occasionally. Yet it’s still something I forget.

And it’s also something I constantly need to be reminded of. Similar to needing to confess my sin to Jesus regularly, I also need to be loved by Him as Father, as Abba. I don’t just need to know He does–I need to feel it, too.

I need Jesus to love me without condition, without expectation, and without limit.

I felt that love anew this morning.

I gave him my doubts about myself. I gave Him my negative thoughts, and asked him to help me change my perception of myself. I asked Him to help me see myself as He saw me, and to be able to love myself and others the way He loved me.

I felt His love drape across me like a warm quilt.

And I lifted my head and looked at my wife. I saw Jenny lying there, mostly asleep, and God gave me the truth of her love as well. I watched her lay there, red pillow clutched to her chest, her face completely peaceful, and I saw her beauty anew. I saw her as God did, and He allowed me to see myself as she saw me for just a moment.

She had not married me to make me a different person, or because I could do or not do any particular thing.

She married me because of the person I was when she got to know me.

She married me as a work in progress.

She married me as a man who doubts sometimes.

She married me as a man with fears, as well as hopes and dreams.

She loved who I was, right then—kneeling by the bed in work boots and jeans. Not some ideal person who did not exist.

And I felt that love anew.

I heard a question Friday night, and I’m still thinking about it. I was talking to my pastor, and he related part of a conversation he’d had with another pastor regarding ministry.

And the question was this:

“When was the last time you were inconvenienced for Jesus?”

I can’t think of a time when I’ve done something for someone, believer or otherwise, without first considering whether or not I had the time, or the money, or whether or not I liked the person who needed the favor.

I don’t think I’ve allowed myself to be inconvenienced for Jesus.

Why not?

Because even after all I’ve been through, and all the healing I’ve been blessed enough to receive, I’m still self-centered much of the time.

Because it’s all about me.

Not about Him, and not about serving in His name. It’s not about doing things sometimes just because they’re right things, and they need to be done.

It’s about what’s convenient to me, and about what I need.

I hope to have the chance to be inconvenienced again soon.

When was the last time you were inconvenienced for Jesus?

The other day at work I was assigned to follow a guy over to the repair shop where the mechanics were installing a new something or other on this Paladin–which is sort of like a tank with a 155mm howitzer on it (but don’t call it a tank to the crew). We got to the shop, and he was giving me tour of the vehicle.

We climbed in the back, and I was just barely able to stand up inside. I looked around a bit, and marveled at how many rounds they could fit in such a small space. It was a lot. Soon after that, I crouched down and sort of crab-walked out the door. I immediately stood up and heard a resounding thud.

I’d forgotten the back of the darn Paladin was only a little over 5 feet off the ground, and the top of my bald head had connected with it soundly.

“Uhhhh…” I said weakly, stooping and walking forward a little. I stood up again, and found out that to my detriment, I had not quite cleared the back, and this time, my already tender noggin was greeted by a corner of something.

“Aw, s**t,” I said, reaching for my mushy skull. My hand came away bloody.

“Did you f***ing cut yourself?” my coworker asked. “You’ve been here f***ing five minutes.”

“Well, I uh…”

“You’re bleeding, you a****le!”

I could feel blood running down the back of my neck. “Yeah,” I said.

“Let me get you a rag. And f***in’ duck next time, you dumb s**t.”

He gave me a rag, and I had to stand there with mechanics crawling all over the place with a shop rag plastered to my giant bald head. It was pretty embarassing. And on my first day in the shop. I must have heard about three hundred variations of “dude, you gotta be careful. These things aren’t made of pillows.”

Indeed. Now I have an awesome bruise on the crown of my head.

The Army uses some really good steel.

I wonder if maybe my focus isn’t a little bit off.

I’ve spent a lot of time studying wounds. I’ve written much about brokenness, and about healing. I’ve prayed for lots of people, and received much prayer in return. I’ve read many, many books about healing, or “renewal of minds,” as Romans puts it. I have lots of information stored away in my giant cabeza, all of it geared toward those who already believe–or at least, most of it.

What about reaching the lost, instead of those already found? I haven’t been doing much of that. Maybe I’ve fallen too in love with the sound of my own voice, and amazed myself with my erudition.

That’s vanity. That’s not glorifying the Lord.

Jenny has this powerful call for lost people, and a huge heart for service. I hope to soak up some of that. I need to reach out to unbelievers in their brokenness, and try to show them the only source of true healing.

I need to explain to them where I was. I need to tell them about my fractured heart, and about the ways I attempted to patch it. I need to tell them how it didn’t work.

And I need to tell them what did.

I need to explain to people that it’s only through Jesus that I live, and move, and have my being.

Perhaps this involves shouting from rooftops, but more than likely it just involves sharing quiet truth with those who have not heard it.

I need a plan, a goal.

Opportunity is there.

17“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.’ 20So he got up and went to his father.
”But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…”

There are a few books in the bible I’ve read more than once. More that I’ve read several times—and many, unfortunately, that I haven’t read at all. But I keep coming back to Luke; especially, the parables found in Luke 15. I must have read Luke more than a dozen times in the past year. Particularly, the parable of the lost son.

Today, I remembered that I posted about it last year, and it occurred to me to go back and raid my own post. Maybe it’s just that I’ve been feeling like the lost son again of late—the lost son ready to return to my Father.

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been wasting away my inheritance. Wasting it with my feeble prayer life and inconsistent discipleship. Wasting it with my poor example to David. Wasting it by not being the strong leader my family needs me to be.

And now, I’m ready to come back to my Father. So again, I turned to my old friend Luke. But maybe it isn’t just me. Who among those who believe has not done the same? Who hasn’t been the lost son? Who hasn’t taken generosity and love for granted? I think of all the times I’ve responded to God in a like manner. Maybe that’s the point, though. At least for me.

Personal conviction. And awareness that I need to repent anew.

Something always strikes me about that parable. Not so much the son’s apparent repentance–to me that smacked of forced contrition, not true remorse. He’s broke, and hungry, and has nowhere else to go. He’s just relating what he’s going to do, not baring his heart, or even seeking forgiveness. He came to his senses, it says, but that’s all. The son could have just been talking about finding a meal at that point.

He’d wasted away his inheritance. There was a famine. Why not return to the source of the inheritance, where the servants fared better than he was at the time?

Certainly, all those things are important. Yet what impacted me most was the father.

His grace toward the son.

The passage mentions that he sees his son when he was still a long way off, so he had to be outside looking for him. Scanning the horizon. Desperate to see his son return. I can see him standing there, shading his eyes with a hand.

Looking.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Not seeing.

Yet every day, looking.

It does not say how long he looked for his son. Only that:

”But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…”

It kind of makes you think about the shepherd looking for his ONE lost sheep, rather than writing it off because he still has 99. He will pursue the lost one, and he will be filled with Joy when he makes it back home with that one sheep across his shoulders.

That’s the same Joy God feels when we return to the fold.

How he felt when, like the prodigal, I came to my senses. When I stood, looking across the Colorado river with tears running down my face and holes in the knees of my jeans. Was it forced contrition with me? Perhaps in a sense it was. But God did not care how I came back to him—just that I returned.

He felt joy. And scripture also tells us that angels rejoice.

But look again at the father’s reaction upon seeing his son.

“his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…”

He did not stand waiting with his arms crossed, brow furrowed with displeasure. He did not grudgingly accept a tentative and awkward apology.

He was filled with compassion for his son, and he ran to him.

He ran.

He ran, probably forgoing all semblance of dignity.

He ran, robes flying, probably with arms extended. Running across the field to his lost son.

He ran, and he was filled with compassion.

He ran, and when he got to him at last, he threw his arms around him, and kissed him.

No condemnation, no judgement.

Just love.

He threw him a party, and killed the fatted calf.

Yesterday, I read that passage again and I thought about Jesus scanning the horizon for me, desperate to see me. I thought of him running toward me with his arms outstretched, running across a field to get to me. He’d been waiting for me all the time I’d been holding out, waiting for me to come to him. Waiting for me to come burdened, and afraid, and encumbered by the world.

He waited for me, even though I was not ready. Me, in my dirty robes.
He waited for me with his shepherd’s arms outstretched. He waited for me, in my unclean and starving state—impure in both thought and action.

Me, covered in the filth of my journey home.

Me.

And when he saw me, he could wait no longer.

He ran. And when he finally reached me, he threw his arms around me
and kissed me.

And there was rejoicing in heaven.

So I am finally on the test schedule for a test, except the fact that the test I’m scheduled for is not happening until early June. That means once again, I am relegated to sitting in the office and reading old test logs.

Fun.

So when I was offered the chance to accompany one of my coworkers on a jaunt to one of the more remote gun positions, I jumped at it. The ride out was extremely bumpy, but it hadn’t gotten hot yet, so I figured I could take it. 85 was not too bad.

We got to the site and they were setting up for the test. “What are we supposed to be doing out here?” I asked my coworker.

“Just looking around,” he said. Turns out his roommate is the test officer, and wanted to make sure the setup was getting done properly.

“So we’re spying on them?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s pretty much it.”

So we spied for about 30 minutes or so (it had been a 45 minute ride out to that part of the range), and then headed back. As we drew near to one of the ponds (I have no idea why someone created ponds in the desert, but there they are), my coworker and I noticed a small herd of about 7 or 8 horses around the pond–with one actually drinking from inside it.

“Wow, that’s like….a lot,” my coworker said. We kept driving down Poleline road.

After about a quarter mile, we saw a half dozen more, this time walking across Poleline. “Get the hell outta the road!” he said, and the horses appeared to listen, as they picked up their walk to a trot and crossed. We started driving again.

“Damn, fifteen horses–” he started, and then cut himself off with “F—!” The truck jerked to a halt, narrowly avoiding an extremely annoyed donkey standing in the middle of the road.

“–and one jackass,” he finished.

The aforementioned donkey just stared us down for a couple of seconds and then slowly walked across Poleline. He could have given a crap about two idiots in an F150.

We sat for a couple seconds to get our heart rates down and then started driving again. My coworker had looked away for a second to toss back some sunflower seeds when we crested a slight rise and were confronted with 4 more horses, even closer than the donkey.

We both yelled “Sh–!!” at exactly the same time.

“Where are we,” he wondered. “F—ing Montana? What are they eating out there? Sand?”

We drove back to the office, and barely topped 35 the rest of the way.

I hate horses.

Today began with promise. We had fire extinguisher training, and were promised a live “fire” demonstration, where we would get to apply the skills we’d learned to something that would be burning.

Well, it was about 90% humid this morning at 630, and we were all standing in the parking lot sweating like whores in church. And it had just rained for about 5 seconds, so everything was wet. Including the little fire setup. They could not get the propane thingy to ignite–so no fires for us.

Instead, we got to put out a pretend fire on a small sand bag. Not quite as awesome. And the C02 from the extinguishers ended up hanging in the air like fog–except this fog smelled like moldy ass. Everyone had a go with a fire extinguisher, and by the time we were done, the parking lot looked like something from “The Hound of The Baskervilles.”

We came in, and shortly thereafter, found out that the AC coils had frozen up due to humidity-related condensation on the pipes. So for the first three or four hours of the day, we turned off the AC and sweated some more while we waited for the pipes to defrost. And we did more of nothing. Nothing. And more nothing. I ate my lunch by 1030.

They started a howitzer test (for those who don’t know, a howitzer is a huge freaking piece of artillery that can shoot a shell for freaking EVER) right after that, so we could hear this giant BOOM every 30 seconds or so. After a while, it stopped, and I decided to walk across the parking lot to the bathroom, right as the test started up again, and the resultant BOOM nearly scared a deuce out of me as I walked….

ah, well. Going to San Diego this weekend. And I only have 2 hours and fifteen minutes to go…

My office is an interesting place to work. If you’re on a test, there’s sometimes a lot of work going on, and you’ll work very long hours. It’s not unusual to work thirteen or fourteen hour days, six days a week (we’re supposed to work four ten hour days, with Fridays off). Yet even within that framework, there is still a great deal of downtime.

Sometimes, the test will have a lot of delays. It could be because something mechanical breaks, or goes awry, but is often just a simple matter of personnel not showing up on time, or at all every once in a while. Then, you wait for whatever has to happen to happen so the test can continue, you can get the information you need for the test engineer, and the Army can find out whether or not whatever being tested is effective in the way it needs to be. This can take hours and hours every day. It can take several days, or weeks, depending on the test. I’ve even heard of tests going months—though I have yet to see one of those in action. And then, of course, you have the inevitable. Tests will be cancelled, or postponed. Then, you are in the office, and have the opportunity to catch up on writing a certain type of report. Which would be fine, but many of the test engineers do not require the data these reports provide, so we don’t write them. Or, if you’re someone who is not assigned a test, or are relatively new (like me), then you literally have nothing to do. You sit at your desk, and you stare at your laptop. You read policies, and fire codes, and old test logs to try and glean a little wisdom. Some people mess around on the internet, and others do nothing at all. Although a couple of the guys here go outside to kick around a hacky sack.

This feels strange to me.

I have never worked anywhere where apathy seemed the status quo. Maybe it has something to do with the Army. I don’t know. I’m told that eventually, I will catch on to things, and they will not seem so strange. Doing nothing at all will not seem so strange. I wonder. All I know is that today is one of those days where I literally have nothing to do. There is no supervisor here, and about six of us are dicking around on the internet, or writing, in my case.

Nothing. To. Do.

So I find myself looking at my tungsten carbide wedding ring, and marvel at the fact that I managed to convince someone to marry me. And someone I am so incredibly suited for, and inspired by at that. Amazing.

I tell you what I am becoming accustomed to, though. Yuma. Yes, it is definitely hotter than heck here. Yesterday, the mercury topped out at 110. In May! And it was 103 on Saturday, for the wedding. You really do get used to it. Or get used to staying inside, anyway, and running the darned AC.

But being outside in the desert is not nearly as bad as I expected. I have learned very quickly what you need to do to get by. I probably drink in excess of two gallons of water daily, when I am downrange on a test. I have been shedding some small amount of water weight, too, I imagine. When I first tried on the wedding ring, it was too tight, and I was afraid we’d have to get another, because you can’t size tungsten carbide. The day after the wedding, it fell off in the shower. Anyway, I also have learned to sunscreen the hell out of myself, and have not gotten sunburned yet. But today, I am exceedingly bored. And while this post will likely not be intertaining for anyone, including myslef, it killed about 15 minutes. It’s 9:35 now, and I only have 7.5 hours to go…