Living each day with a healthy sense of the ridiculous.

Thankful

Thankful is a posture of the heart.

It is a daily admission that I am not entitled to my possessions and status.
It is a daily submission that God is good despite pain and suffering,
That God is good in the midst of pain and suffering.

Thankful combats anxiety.

Thankful orients me to be generous.

Thankful urges me to choose joy.

24

This time last year, I was anxious. What am I doing, where am I going? Uncertain about this. Worried about that. It drove me into this delusional self-obsession into which I not only wallowed, but reveled in. I’m conflicted because I’m important. I’m talented. I’m desired. Then a gentle prodding.

The God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. 

I awoke. This life is not my own. I’m supposed to be a lover of God and my neighbors. But I’m selfish – a lover of me. It’s an everyday struggle, this battle of affections. A warring for a throne I’m not fit to behold, yet scramble atop, sceptre gripped firmly to wield my power, my will, my kingdom. 24 is when I’ve been made most aware of this self-sufficiency. One huge lump of pride too thick to swallow. It can only be removed through a posture of yielding. Before a cross. Before a Christ who calls me redeemed.

By grace you have been saved through faith.

Here’s to 25. I’m eager and expectant.

Empathy

What would happen if we started seeing people
like souls with bodies
instead of bodies with souls?
Mortal still, yes.
But there’s nothing mere about eternal creatures.

Watermelon

One lush wedge
Dribbles down my chin;
Deep-seeded glee,
Nature’s finery
That requires a bib.

Daily Commute

Full days of manual labor and serving. Each return trip from the Ati village found us weary, contemplative. The sunset to our left. The frothy water rushing, but never daring to engulf. A streaming freshness for our sweat-stained faces. How can we be but thankful?

Pep Talk

Sometimes the happy little uke isn’t so swell to play.

Fingers stiffen. Hands cramp. Brain-weary. Laziness creeping…

Every new endeavor eventually dulls. That cloud looming overhead threatens of defeat. Confidence slips in and out of consciousness. They call it “the dip”. I guess I’ve arrived at its mouth.

But perseverance. I will master my craft. One measure at a time. In measured time.

Practice smart. Practice small. Chunks.

Never notes. Always music.

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