Refreshed Like the Morning

 

Last night’s rain refreshed everything living and green, leaving a sweet, clean smell in Early Morning’s Spring air. 

The sun was just up, striking every raindrop with light. Clear and bright, they hung like tiny crystals from every leaf and flower petal. The only sound was that of turtle doves gently cooing in the cool of the new day’s air, accompanying nature’s art show with a symphony of clean, soft notes akin to those of an oboe. 

Resurrected writing has opened up past memories like the one above, allowing me to revisit them as one does an old collection of pictures. Scribing’s tool of wonder permits me to linger and wander around these recollections, taking in the smells and images and sounds of those long-forgotten moments which, as a child, seemed to make time stand still.

Time is still again.

...And today I ponder: What refreshes my soul as a writer?

Each day ends with the need for sleep, to renew body and soul for the next day ahead. But nightime’s slumber is not enough in and of itself to equip me to write words of hope that touch others at the point of need.

I was recently contemplating the Jewish perspective of a day as observed in Sabbath rest. If I remember right, the “day” started at sundown not sunrise. Preparation for Tomorrow started the night before.

Our hope*circle (writing group) was entertaining this thought back in March: how do we cultivate the soil of our hearts for fruitful writing?

“The instructions of the Lord are perfect, reviving the soul.” - Psalm 19:7

Because I need the instructions and words of the Lord to echo off the walls of my own soul to my readers (for only HIs words are lasting; only His words can give lasting Hope), I need to start my writing day by connecting with God, reawakening to His presence, and hearing afresh His words to my spirit. Only then am I able to write with the integrity that I desire. 

I had initially approached this need by engaging a morning journaling process, reflecting either on the prescribed “word of the day” from You Version or Bible Gateway, or some random phrase that happened to float into the sites of my attention by the Spirit’s prompting. Either way, Truth was in front of me and I was listening and writing what I heard from that place.

But with this new Sabbath challenge for starting the day, I am entertaining the need to start the night before, focusing on God’s presence as I lie upon my bed, letting my final thoughts be rooted in the Spirit of Truth.  I have used a couple of different tools, from John Eldridge’s Pause to Lectio 365. Both allow me to rest and listen as another leads and guides my through processes to conclude the day.

What refreshes you? 

I’d love to hear what you have found helpful in keeping you connected and plugged in to the empowering, lifegiving reality of God with You, Christ in You.

What Do You Long to Hear?

Voice is so dear to me.

“My calves will hear my voice and follow me.”

What can I say! We raised cattle, not sheep!

Just last week I was responding to another hope*writer about missing the calving seasons on the farm. They are so innocent and helpless and responsive in the hours following their birth. And who can help laughing at the weak-kneed first learning to stand and negotiate solid ground on four legs!

One of the things that amazed me as a farm boy was how well each little one knew it’s mother’s voice. To an untrained human ear, all cows’ mooing sounds the same. But to a calf, it’s mama’s voice is more distinctive than the individual leaves of the cottonwood tree in whose shade it lies (they say no leaf is the same). You might say this is intimate.

Hearing God’s voice is intimate.

In hearing God’s voice, I was first drawn beyond the doctrines of others to the living, breathing existence of my Rescuer, the Faithful One who declared to me in one of the darkest moments of my life, “Chris, I will never leave you.”

Voice carries me, comes under me when I'm falling like the strong back of an eagle rising on  the winds of life’s gales. Or, like the cow, comes charging to the rescue with the slightest call of distress from the one who is utterly (no pun intended) dependent on her care.

Voice is sense above the nonsense that is the chaotic cacophony of many self-seeking cries and shouts and demands in our world. Voice is comfort and guidance and healing for all that is grieved, all that is lost.

Freedom of speech is a blessing. Freedom to speak life and hope without fear of consequence, is mightiest of all. The freedom to say whatever one desires without consequence is a fallacy. Every word has effect, for words are power.

Speak life. Speak what heals and hopes. Speak what will last when all else fades. 

May my words be the echo of Intimate and True words. May they ricochet off the walls of my heart where Water flows with might and churning power, with breath-taking beauty and grace. May their reverberation bring hope and life and healing and courage to those who hear them, because they resound with the Voice of Hope.

And may my heart forever be drawn to the Voice of the One who knows me by name, like a calf to it’s mother.

In Death, Life Prevails

I've stood on this precipice before. We both have.

In the midst of our infertility pain and failed adoptions, I suddenly found myself entertaining what it must be like to die and not know God.  The darkness was heavy that night. It pinned me down mercilessly as I doubted my salvation.

I had heard and have taught that one way we know whether God is speaking or not is to listen to the nature of the voice. Is it hopeful or is it condemning?

Spiralling down the staircase of introspection, entertaining that perhaps our salvation was not authentic, is both dangerous and misguided. Salvation happened long before I believed. Jesus paid the price once and for all. It is finished!

But something came alive in me and continued to grow - it grows still! - the day I first believed. This new life of surrender emerges out of and away from self, into the spaces that are Christ and His life within me.  

So this trip to the cellar of the soul, with condemnation’s despair and terror pretending to light the way, well...you and I don’t need that! For right there amidst all those heavy, suffocating words, firm and steadfast like a boulder in the sea, is the Voice of Truth. These words correct and give life; they affirm and propel us forward, encouraging steps ahead.

I need you more than breath itself, Father... God. For my own heart condemns me, stands over me with pointing-finger judgement and unforgiving ‘tude.  Then it pumps me up with self-induced hope and flimsy positivity as it pushes me out through the curtain onto the stage of public opinion where arrogance and inferiority await as a supporting cast. 

Arrogance and Inferiority, you are NOT my friends! 

Truth, clothed in Humility and Compassion, take my hand as you embrace correction and dive deep into the pool of Empowering Grace. 

Lead on, You who have become my Will and Power to do all that You desire. Lead me through wind and wave, past and beyond my human pride.

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me...You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies...Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” - psalm 23:5-6

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there...even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” - psalm 139:7-12

You are Good, oh God my Father!

Already there in 

life’s

     darkest

          hole.

Love prevailing, table set,

The richest fare in the enemy’s lair.

While despair is real and sure as fire,

Even there 

Your

     Life 

         prevails;

Death’s a liar.

Higher, wider, deeper still,

Over ALL is 

Your 

     Good 

Will!

Where have you seen Life prevail over death in your heart?

If you wish to share your story, I welcome your comment below or you can email me at: eppik5@gmail.com. I hope that you have been encouraged in your reading!

The Story Behind the Birthday

I'll never forget that look. Eyes wide open. Glazed with shock. Expressionless.

My little boy was whisked from his orphanage home of eight  months, away from familiar faces and language and food, placed in the arms of a complete stranger and driven down the mountain to the capitol city. A quick night in a hotel then on to a plane and several hours later, poof! He’s on completely foreign soil surrounded by complete strangers. 

Do you recall a time when you felt really out of place?

Thinking about all this - abrupt and overwhelming change - makes sense of that first image I have of my son. 

From this side of the adoption process, in the tumultuous wake of the storm that is infertility, we are elated and consumed with relief in these moments of arrival and reception. The ache, the void, the intense longing for a child is being filled. A young mother’s childhood dream is coming true! But...

Recently, my wife and I were talking about what it must be like for them, for the children being adopted, especially those being quickly transitioned from a sense of normal (no matter how awful) to another time and place all together. Our Gabriel from a Guatemalan orphanage. Our Lydia from the hospital just hours old. Our Abby from the hospital room and out the back door, screaming.

We typically think that they are so blessed to have a family that loves them, that chooses them. And they are! But the deeper soul realities for those children - our children, all three -  leave them confused, anxious, afraid, displaced (though relocated)… 

Today he is turning 15! Believe me when i say that he has come so far. Each of them have!

Today’s celebration infers so much more than what it did for me and my wife when we were teens. Growth and transformation has required so much more for him and our daughters. Our families were relatively stable, our pregnancies wanted, our futures fairly stable and rooted in a nuclear family. The process from womb to family to home to future was relatively seamless, a stark contrast to the stormy and uncertain beginnings of those we have chosen to be ours, chosen to love and cherish and hold.

No doubt, adoption in its truest form is a beautiful thing. Really beautiful!!! And I would recommend it whole-heartedly! 

But it does not come without a cost for those tiny vulnerable lives, a cost that must be paid in order to move forward, yet no less traumatic.

The adopted child is typically seen as the luckiest recipient of the process. (Yes, there is a cost far beyond financial expense.) We may even go so far as to demand their profession of such rich fortunes as to inherit such an awesome family as ours...all the while unaware of the pain they bear beyond the reaches of their own comprehension. 

So today, the Happy birthday greeting and celebration comes with a profound sense of awe in the forces of Grace and Mercy in the lives of this young man and his sisters. The giving of gifts honors so much more than normal childhood development and the passing of another year of survival and accomplishments and gains. 

Understanding the story beyond the face is a lesson I have been learning the past couple of decades for certain. If this is wisdom, then i’ll have some more please! For this simple piece of education has brought and will yet bring such wealth, such fullness of relationship. There is much more to learn, and much more of them - of him - to know.

With that thought and that anticipation I say, “Happy birthday, Son!”

Who's backstory can you take time to learn this week?

Forgiven to be Livin' for Grace

Grace doesn't just pardon me, it changes me.

"Be energetic in your life of salvation, reverent and sensitive before God. That energy is God's energy, an energy deep within you, God Himself willing and working at what will give Him the most pleasure." Phil. 2:12-13 MSG

Do you like Spring?

Allergies aside, and second only to Fall, I love Spring!

Our family recently spent a day at Callaway Gardens, GA over Spring Break. Everything it seemed was in full bloom! 

April's colors were bursting everywhere like fireworks, their sweet aromas besting the pungent smells of gunpowder and sulphur by a million degrees of pleasant.

This annual explosion of life excites me!  Dormancy and death give way to an unseen power. The old falls away like the shell of a rocket speeding towards orbit. 

Life will have its moment once again!

Nowhere is this metamorphosis more notable than in the Garden's Butterfly House. 

On display for all to see, paper maché-like shells hang by a thread, dry and still. Different shapes and sizes, these cocoons start splitting open as beautifully delicate, detailed creatures emerge.  What a fascinating process!

What once was, has transformed into something new. 

While I can tell you the moment I first heard God's voice, I cannot identify exactly when I first believed that Jesus was who the Bible said he was. But I did and I still am! It was and is a process of leaving old thoughts, patterns and habits behind in exchange for new ones.

Grace can be like that, starting small and unseen yet growing, pushing deeper, upwards all at the same time until emerging a tender shoot before maturing into a bountiful, fruit-bearing organism in time.

We might call this spiritual transformation process, discipleship.

Ah, discipleship. An oftentimes forgotten or clumsy word with too many different or even unrealistic meanings for us to take it seriously let alone know how to apply it.

But what if everything we do, say, think and feel were actually a part of this Grace process? What if Grace is to be transforming every part of our lives, every moment, every day fulfilling Grace's purpose in and through us?

What do you think? How is Grace transforming you?

Never Alone

    

Can you recall a defining moment in your life?

Cattle. Cornfields. Rolling hills and gravel roads. These were the backdrop for this farmboy’s formative years. 

Hearing God’s voice was associated with hearing from the adult members of the community. That seemed to be a strong element of faith for the small town I was raised in. I do not recall any emphasis of hearing from the Creator individually, although it may have been present.

Sunday School. I still have images of the many stories of the people of God being led by His voice. Abraham, Samuel, Moses, Daniel, Mary - Then there was Jesus, God Himself living amongst and relating to common everyday people like me. I guess that relational element is what caught my attention as a boy, and later fueled my search for God as a youth.

Culturally, I made myself a target with my lack of hygiene, propensity to lie, and anger issues. In a small class, everyone knows everyone, and the pecking order is very defined. In my class of students, I saw myself as one up from the bottom of the social totem pole. I hated my life. I hated me. I longed for change. 

My non-coveted societal position followed me into my Jr. High years, culminating in a pivotal moment - perhaps THE turning moment of my life.

A large group of us were on a campout at a local State Park. It was a still, frigid October night in Nebraska. The sky was clear. The stars, very bright. The crisp, cold air seemed to intensify the twinkling brightness. 

The smell of harvest was in the air, and the moon lit the path in front of us as our group of nearly 40 moved along through the bright night. 

“Let’s ditch Chris,” someone yelled out, and everyone scattered into the shadows of the trees that cluttered the park.

Normally, I would have given chase. It had become a game of sorts, though “game of survival” was most fitting for me. But that night I decided: I am done running.

Stars, turned fuzzy by the tears in my eyes, filled the beautiful, Autumn night sky.  A tight pain now clenched my throat and heart, threatening to hold my words back. But one escaped in a desperate, tight, raspy cry: “Gohhhd…” 

The prayer itself, as a word, does no justice to the depth of the utterance. For my soul was crying out, “God, if you’re real, I need you now more than ever!  I am alone and I am hurting.”

In that instant (for such things happen in a flash, even though they take up much more space on paper) I heard God:

“I will never leave you.”

These weren't mere words on a page or flannel-graph stories from a loving teacher. They were intimate, resounding in a strangely familiar sound off the walls of the secret place within me, the place where I was first known before even my mother comprehended my existence.

And in that exact, razor-edged moment in time, I knew I was loved and known by My Creator.

You and I are never alone.

Is Progress Debilitating You?

What picture comes to mind when you think of progress? 

It was a very tragic accident, one that I will never forget. One that changed my friend’s life forever. 

I was home on break from my freshman year of college. My home team was playing for the State Championship. Coming from a tiny farming community in the Midwest, I knew everyone on the team. I considered it a real treat to be seated among the spectators that night to watch my people play!

Spirits were high and a buzz filled the air with enough electricity to power a small town.  The teams lined up for the opening kick. 

The ball went up in the air and down the field into the waiting arms of the young return man. He turned his eyes up field and began to make his way through the maze of humanity that was seeking to take him out! My friend was about to be that guy.

With his sights set on the opposing ball carrier, he was about to inflict a manageable amount of pain on this would-be hero who no doubt had notions of a touchdown run emulating him to instant hero status!

Then it happened. 

Shoulders back and head lowered...Head lowered.

As my friend went to make the tackle, he lowered his head. Mass met mass, body parts flailed, and two bodies hit the ground as all momentum came to a screeching halt. In an instant, time stood still. 

He lay there, motionless. 

All the air of anticipation and excitement was instantly sucked out of the atmosphere. The unthinkable had happened. It invaded my friends’ life as an unwanted nightmare. It changed the course of many lives around him too.

My friend redefined determination, courage, and faith as he tackled the many difficulties which that night prescribed for him. His trust in God in the midst of pain and disappointment is a once familiar story which I have lost touch with over the years, yet one that no doubt could be written if not already.

But for us in the here and now, tackling with the head down cost my friend normal use of his legs and arms. 

Remembering this story has me asking the question: What price do you and I pay when approaching life with our heads down, charging ahead to make the next big play without taking the time to keep our heads up and our eyes on what’s in front of us? 

How many times have I just plowed through life without perspective, without taking the time to stop, look and listen - to regain perspective and connection to the bigger picture?

I am coming to understand progress as simply the next step. It would seem the pressure of our day is for that step to come in leaps and bounds, charging forward with our heads down. But what if we were committed to simply taking the next step with more awareness of God and what he is saying and doing around and in us? What if we were more aware of what the very Presence of the Living God was doing in the lives of others, more aware of their stories?

Perhaps gaining this new vantage point could help evaluate tasks in light of the larger context and provide space to readjust goals and realign action items in the journey of getting where we want to be.

What do you think: How might Jesus’ idea of progress differ from that of the world we live in?

As always, I'd love to hear from you! Pull up a chair and leave a comment below.  Or you can message or email me at: eppik5@gmail.com.

Grace to you as you purpose to simply take the next step.

The Power of Choice

I'm choosing to be here.

You know the feeling, don't you?

Struggling to get out of bed after a late night...On a Monday morning! Reluctance to step through the doors into a crowded room of complete strangers. 

What’s your difficult choice?

This morning, mine is choosing to show up to make this next post. 

What is it that makes crossing a simple threshold so intimidating and formidable?

Perfectionism. Procrastination. Chasing runaway ideas and simple activities into the woods of distraction rather than making the hard choice - the oftentimes less adventurous decision to stick to the trail of the task at hand.

There's even a lie within that, isn't there, pitting the concept of "task at hand" against adventure. For the path that i am on as a writer is an adventure in and of itself, new discoveries around every bend. 

On this trek I am always learning about myself and others, about God and vulnerability and transparency. Like the sweat and cramps and shortness of breath that accompany a good hike, these things may not always be comfortable, but they are accepted and sometimes celebrated aspects of journeying through the writing process.

So here I am.

I have chosen to be here, in this place, right now, though my feet are aching, my back is stiff and the rocky, rutted incline on this stretch of the trail makes every step a heavy chore.

It is not glamorous. I am out of breath. But when I make it to the crest of this climb, when I hit that publish button, I will stop and notice the view from there. I will rest a bit and survey the landscape, enjoy the view.

What hard choice have you had to make today?

Pull up a chair and share in the comments below or email me at eppik5@gmail.com. There’s a good story there just waiting to happen, and I’d love to hear it!

Gabriel's Story

On February the 21st 2021 I decided to give my life to Christ.

I was struggling with life. I was scared, confused and lonely.

I've known about Christianity for my entire life.  I just never wanted to believe.

It was like, everyday I lived a life of lies and a life of sin. 

I was scared people would judge me if I was a Christian... and they will. The devil is going to send people and things to bring me down... and I won't let it happen. 

Now that I've made this decision I am not turning back, and that might mean leaving some people behind.  Some of my closest friends might become the people I need to avoid...Or this will bring us closer.closer.

the story behind my decision

I had people picking on me, people bringing me down.  I was depressed and so alone. I felt like everyone was leaving and everyone was just wanting me gone. 

Then I remembered all the people that were for me and not against me, people who were cheering me on...and I wanted to be like that. 

On Sunday, February the 21st, 2021, I started to worship again and I started to journal. 

When service starts ending my pastor says, “The altars are open.” I hesitated for a while, then I told my dad I was going to the altars. He went with me and we prayed.

I thought about all the things I was going through, all the pain, and at that moment I heard God calling my name.  At that moment I decided I was giving my life to Christ. 

And now it's been like two weeks and I've been doing way better.  I've stopped so many things that I should have quit a long time ago. 

I've been journaling and reading scripture. My life is on the right path, finally.

Happy Adopt'cha Day

Honesty: I'm struggling to get out of 

The cadence of poetry.

I want to write a story, 

one about Abby’s adoption,

But the flow of writing sentences is muddled,

Is being hijacked by the rhythm 

of sing-song rhyme.  

The giddy up of poet's line

And lyric and beat and marching of time

Keep cutting in, keep trying to steal this dance

Of the very story I want to write

Of this memory’s great romance.

I want to write of Abby 

and our choice to make her ours.

Of the struggle she knew and how she grew

To meet us where we are.

She came to us with fists clenched tight

Her body tense and her voice at the height

Of piercing ears and grinding nerves

And demanding our attention

A little soul racked by pain 

of another’s ill-intention.

I want to write of that girl, 

whisked away that very day

From a place of harm, 

to our loving arms

By a worker, bless his heart, 

on his very first placement case

A savior of sorts that defining day

Of new stories, of a fresh start.

Holding her, it seemed, was all we could do

my wife always moving, always carrying, 

never putting her down, it seemed.

She cooked with her strapped 

so close to her chest

All day long this momma was nest

That nurtured and coddled and brought back to life

This little baby girl, this tiny precious...life.

Yellow duck raincoat and hot chicken soup

Piano and Sax and ole Ramen noodle

Carving out clay and sucking on things - 

I just took her out and gave her a ring!

We chose her that day and 

we choose her still

We’ll choose her forever,

I know that we will…

...Because we already have.

Can you think of a time when you knew you were chosen? I'd love to hear!

The Power of Good Words

 

Today is launch day!

Many anticipate it. Some prepare for it. But only those being carried by it really appreciate its power, much less it’s risks and it’s rewards.

A few weeks ago I experienced the resurrection of a craft. New life has brought with it many hours of writing already, and goals I had only tinkered with but never dared set. 

Today is the step forward that has been eluding me, and it feels like much more than one foot in front of the other. Today feels a bit more like power, a mighty lift off!

But more than an official publication of my blog, today is about the power of story and words and heart. 

Words have power.

They can set trajectory, carry us away, bring us together, even lift us to a place of greater perspective. We all know their destructive force as well. We’ve all felt that, and sometimes shuddered to hear them passing through our own lips. (Can you relate?)

But today is about words that give life.

Today is about words that move us forward and take us to new heights; words that build and heal and give us courage to face the storms and obstacles that life brings for every human being.

In keeping with the thoughts of C.S. Lewis, today is about good words.  They may not necessarily be safe to our egos and our pride, but they are always good. 

May the words I write here be those kinds of words. May they encourage and raise and give hope to you, the reader, as they do for me in writing them. May they be my story and may you find your own within them.

Most of all, may these words come from a place of connection to a source of power far greater and gentler than a rocket’s blast. May they flow and grow from a soil - not a launch pad - that is well tended, well fed, and deep enough to support what grows above ground. 

May they point us all to Jesus, who’s compassionate strength is all we need to thrive in this world we live in.

Every new seedling, like every rocket, reaches for the sky. 

Will you join me in lifting your head, in turning your eyes to Jesus, the Living Word? He authors our faith. He writes our story. He finishes it and publishes it and puts it on the shelves for all to read so that the whole world can see who He is.

May our stories be His stories!

Where is your faith soaring right now? Where does it need resurrection power? What word would you like to hear right now?

Feel free to share below or email me at: eppik5@gmail.com.