Hematophobia

Friday night at church we had a game and movie night, which had more to do with games than movies, but whatever.  There was a phenomenal turn out from both parents and kids alike, and I think everyone had a blast.  We also had our fair share of excitement and injury, which seem to go hand in hand with youth ministry.

During a basketball game that I can only assume was mind-blowingly epic, Gabriel O'Neale went up for a shot and somehow managed to relocate Brandon Boos' nose all over his face.  Tremendous amount of blood. Like, I'm not sure how he was still up and walking. 

Anyways, after he realized his life force was slowly (or not so slowly) leaking all over himself, he went inside to clean up.  In his wake was left two door handles, a sink faucet, and a paper towel dispenser covered in the red stuff. I mean COVERED. Being the biology major (and sane adult) that I am, I immediately went to attempt to locate some bleach for cleaning purposes.  Blood doesn't clean up so well with wet paper towels, as it falls under the bio-waste category.  I was met with a bizarre reaction from the other adults though...mockery.  They claimed I was grossed out by blood, afraid of blood, that Brandon didn't have any blood-borne diseases so who cares, etc.  I cleaned it up anyways, then whooped up in Bananagrams, irritated but not enough to care.

Tonight, however, we had worship time where we took communion.  As I drained my Dixie cup and thought about Jesus' blood, I noticed the inside of the cup was stained red and I flashed back to Brandon.  One thought stuck in my mind.

Since when did (the) blood cease to be a big deal?

In second grade I got hit in the head with a rock and thought I had gone blind because I had so much blood running down my face.  My sister saw me and proceeded to have a minor heart attack, as did my parents.  My cousins would faint if someone got a paper cut. In horror movies, blood was a reason to freak out beyond all realms of sanity.  But if a kid starts leaving bloody fingerprints all over our new(ish) youth room? Nothing to sneeze at.

Thanks to shows like ER and Scrubs and Grey's Anatomy and what-have-you, we no longer care about blood. It doesn't affect us like it used to.  The same can sadly be said about Jesus' blood.  Thanks to the Gospel of prosperity and an increased focus on missions and giving the Word to those who otherwise would never hear it (one of those is good, one bad. You decide) we've lost touch with how freaking amazing the idea of the cleansing power of Christ's blood is.  I'm in no way saying that missions are bad, but we always have to remember what is at the core of that desire to spread His love--that I once was sinful, lost, and doomed to an eternity in Hell, separate from God, and then an amazing sacrifice happened, blood was shed, and now I am free and eternally loved.

So yeah...blood is a big deal, whether from Brandon's nose or from my Savior.  One needs to be cleaned, the other does the cleansing.  

Pretty incredible for a biohazard.

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

Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God's wrath through him! For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!"  Romans 5:8-10

Refreeze

The image of a meltdown is popular.  Whether its the girl with overactive emotions losing it and crying for hours and hours or a two-year old deciding something just isn't right and screaming at the top of his or her tiny lungs or Bob Knight throwing furniture across the court mid-tirade, we see people lose it and in the midst of their primal displays, we feel empathy.  A little amusement, some annoyance depending on the setting, but usually empathy.  We've all been there, at wit's end, ready to scream/cry/break/throw/punch or whatever verb fits your personality.

Within the next 25 days (sweet mercy...25 days...) I will put on the first retreat I've ever planned from scratch, teach 15 junior high boys about sex, finish planning a wedding, participate in that wedding, find a job for next year, find a place to live, finish up a couple of papers, and whatever else is going on that I (of course) have momentarily forgotten about.  I'm going to be under a world of stress with everyone I've really ever known watching.  Sweet.  In the immortal words of basicinstructions.net, "Heat, pressure and time...three things that make a diamond. And also, good waffles."

The fun thing is that we all seem to treat these meltdowns as world ending events.  We will NEVER recover from the disasters we currently find ourselves in. I will NEVER get these projects done. This will NEVER work.

Ha.

As far as I can tell, I've survived all the crises I've faced in my life.  Sometimes, nay, usually I even do it with flying colors.  God lets us linger in the crucible because it purifies us.  As we often talk about, when things are going well, we forget Him and assume we're doing it all ourselves.  When things get rough...we suddenly need God to help us. As if He hasn't been there all along.

So yeah, I might meltdown here in the coming weeks.  But God will freeze me back.

He always does.

"I waited patiently for the LORD; 
       he turned to me and heard my cry.

 He lifted me out of the slimy pit, 
       out of the mud and mire; 
       he set my feet on a rock 
       and gave me a firm place to stand.

 He put a new song in my mouth, 
       a hymn of praise to our God. 
       Many will see and fear 
       and put their trust in the LORD.

 Blessed is the man 
       who makes the LORD his trust, 
       who does not look to the proud, 
       to those who turn aside to false gods.

 Many, O LORD my God, 
       are the wonders you have done. 
       The things you planned for us 
       no one can recount to you; 
       were I to speak and tell of them, 
       they would be too many to declare."

Psalm 40:1-5 (Read the whole thing...it's amazing.)

Sunrise

Let's face it...I am NOT a morning person.

I love me some sleep.  At any time, but especially in the morning, usually during class. Some people sleep better when its raining; I apparently sleep better knowing that everyone else is in the class I'm skipping. 

I have, however, had my fair share of early morning experiences.  Whether it was getting up early for trips or playing golf with my grandpa or staying up too late on the phone and getting to see the other side of night, my childhood had its sunrises in it.

I grew to appreciate those moments even more working at Trek, where every week we'd get up earlier than Apollo to begin our assault on the designated peak.  Cold and stiff, there would be a slow march up the side, through the valley, or across the ridge, until that glorious moment that the sunlight decided to enrobe us in warmth.  Every one of those sunrises was beautiful, indescribable, and a rejuvenation to our souls.

Today's sunrise is different though.  As I look out the windows of the church, I'm haunted by the fact that sunrise brings uncertainty, and the beginning of a very tough battle for an already-weary brother.  We will need it's warmth and energy in order to engage this enemy head-on.  After seven and a half hours, we finally reach the front lines.

Fight on Tate.

Fight on.

^"The Mighty One, God, the LORD, 
       speaks and summons the earth 
       from the rising of the sun to the place where it sets.

 From Zion, perfect in beauty, 
       God shines forth."  Psalm 50:1-2

Update

We're on hour 3.5 of the prayer marathon, and I must say, I'm very impressed with the attitude and devotion of the church.  Getting up in the dark, when it's raining, in order to come up to the building alone and spend time in prayer for someone you may not even know very well is a pretty amazing testimony.

As I've been sitting here, the song "Swim" by Jack's Mannequin keeps coming to my mind.  I don't condone the band per se...they have a tendency to use less than wholesome ideals in their songs, but occasionally as I'm weeding them out I come across a gem like this one.  The lead singer and front man, Andrew McMahon, had a battle with leukemia that almost killed him.  After he won the battle, he wrote "Swim" about his struggle:

You've gotta swim
Swim for your life
Swim for the music
That saves you
When you're not so sure you'll survive
You gotta swim
Swim when it hurts
The whole world is watching
You haven't come this far
To fall off the earth
The currents will pull you
Away from your love
Just keep your head above

I found a tidal wave
Begging to tear down the door
Memories like bullets
They fired at me from a gun
A crack in the armor
I swim to brighter days
Despite the absence of sun
Choking on salt water
I'm not giving in
I swim

You gotta swim
Through nights that won't end
Swim for your families
Your lovers your sisters
And brothers your friends
Yeah you've gotta swim
Through wars without cause
Swim for the lost politicians
Who don't see their greed as a flaw

The currents will pull us
Away from our love
Just keep your head above

I found a tidal wave
Begging to tear down the door
Memories like bullets
They fired at me from a gun
Cracking me open now
I swim to brighter days
Despite of the absence of sun
Choking on salt water
I'm not giving in
I'm not giving in
I swim

You gotta swim
Swim in the dark
There's no shame in drifting
Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark
Yeah you've gotta swim
Don't let yourself sink
Just find the horizon
I promise you it's not as far as you think
The currents will drag us away from our love
Just keep your head above
Just keep your head above
Swim
Just keep your head above
Swim, swim
Just keep your head above
Swim

"For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.  May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."  Romans 15:4-6

Tate

Driving through the streets of Houston at midnight, one gets a feeling of calm, almost as if the city has worn itself down and needs to rest, just for a while, in order to recover for the following day's unstoppable frenzy of activity.

Today, however, it's impossible to feel as if all is at rest.  In the midst of the darkness and the serenity, a war is beginning.

Tate Martin goes under the knife today, and we've scheduled a day of prayer in his honor, to guide, comfort, and defend him.  And if we think it's going to go smoothly or quietly, we are very wrong.

I can feel the battle around me, as the protectors and assailants of our faith begin to fight each other.  And not a battle of words, but a fight for us: scratching, clawing, slashing for one second of either focus or distraction, repeating itself on towards eternity.

Today is going to be harsh, it's going to be long, and it's going to be draining.

And we're going to win.

"The Lord will march out like a mighty man, like a warrior he will stir up his zeal; with a shout he will raise the battle cry and will triumph over his enemies."  Isaiah 42:13

Soul Meets Body

Victor Durrington is a great man.

It may seem strange to some to mention him in the present tense.  He passed away yesterday, March 5th, at 7:40 pm.  To be sure, the world is a slightly dimmer place without his light in it.

However, to confine Victor to his broken earthly vessel doesn't do justice to the man.  Blessed with intelligence, a gentle spirit, and an easy smile, he touched everyone he came into contact with, even if they didn't know they had been in touch.  Whether it was his generosity in giving Jenna and me our house for college, which has in turn blessed 8 other people (and counting), or his fun-loving attitude that accounts for my ability to throw left-handed (we'll get back to that), the "man" Victor is more than just the man.  

I will always think of him as the person who let me drive in the parking lot when I was just 12, or the look on his face when our rope swing snapped and I plummeted to the ground, not sure whether to call the ambulance or burst out laughing.  I have a fairly severe fear of heights, but spending afternoons on the roof with him was usually one of highlights of my summers in Abilene.

And playing catch in the backyard.  Oh how I loved playing catch.  I wasn't blessed with great size or speed or a rocket arm, but I could always catch.  And he loved throwing the ball around more than anyone I've known.  We'd make up games, throwing backwards and off the roof and with our weaker hands.  I'm a natural righty, but I can wing it left-handed with the best of them because Victor didn't laugh at my awkward attempts to coordinate my lanky frame.

The human Victor couldn't play catch towards the end.  As I was given the news that the end was nearing, I prayed for healing and that God would free him from his prison.  In a moment of interaction with the divine, as I uttered the words "Take him home God," a gust of wind hit me, reminding me that God is found in the still, small voice.  Thirty minutes later, after he passed, I started imagining his joy at being healthy again, having a body that will never break down, never grow old, never succumb to the restrictions of this fallen world ever again.  And then I imagined him playing catch in heaven, with Vicki, his daughter, and his mother, and all of his friends.

And then I imagined Victor looking up, beckoning for the return throw, as a lanky Jewish carpenter from Nazareth tried to figure out how to throw left-handed, laughing at himself, but receiving nothing but encouragement from my grandpa.

Victor never was his body. The body may have failed, but the spirit, melded into one with the Spirit of God, lives on eternally.

Victor Durrington is a great man, and I can't wait to see him again.

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

March

Sometimes you just don't know what to write.

Psalm 100

A Thanksgiving Psalm

"On your feet now—applaud God! Bring a gift of laughter, 
      sing yourselves into his presence. 

Know this: God is God, and God, God. 
      He made us; we didn't make him. 
      We're his people, his well-tended sheep. 

Enter with the password: "Thank you!" 
      Make yourselves at home, talking praise. 
      Thank him. Worship him. 

For God is sheer beauty, 
      all-generous in love, 
      loyal always and ever."