Curiously, through all this has been the reminder, not solely of God’s love for His children, rather I find it as an exordium to the testament to the Justice of a holy God. As I can only imagine the deepest sort of pain that God Himself feels at us, His children’s departure, truer still is the faint cry of a justice that has yet to be fully satisfied. This truth has appeared to me in several different avenues.
The first being the incredible patience, coupled by the subsequent, righteous wrath of God. For it is solely by God’s great grace and patience we are not fully consumed where we sit. The fire that must burn just beneath the merciful exterior of a holy Being! The disgust that must be felt as such a tremor; at every abandonment, snub, turning away of His beloved. The sickness of a broken heart is on familiar, an in this I, we, may find some semblance of comfort. If it is not enough for the Father to be torn at the swaying of His children, the apex came to at the cross. In this is the most wonderful paradox! It is in the heat of a Father’s pain that said pain is pushed even further, taking the wretched form of sin placed upon the Father’s begotten Son. This is the doubling of torment in that the folly of the adopted are made miniscule in light of the cancerous sin that once coursed through the veins of a perfect Being. It is in this true hell into which Christ the Son descended; that being made to take in the fullness of our cursed ways, and to have the One in whom there is no darkness turn His eyes.
And while this ultimate picture of pain is configured as a fashion statement, beneath and beyond the wonder of Agape, is the knowledge of the impending justice that must come forth. This, for me, has been a life line. For as I cling to the truth of grace and love, I grasp towards the hope, nay, the surety, of the Just.
What a comfort to know that the very pain we feel, the pain that inflicted our Savior, will not go unanswered. Unfinished. For it is found in the final words of our dying Lord, “It is finished”. It is found in the action our resurrected Lord, who formerly had been laid with such a burden, found release as it trickled down a rough, wooden tree. It is this resurrection in which we glory, for it tells all. It speaks of the final life, the restoration of all that was once marred and stained. It cries out for all the downtrodden to take cheer; all will be set true.
And it is this point on which I reach the second avenue upon which my peace is placed. The Justice that awaits the pain. How glorious the day when all that is done against me is thrown aside? How beautiful the face of the One that knows, feels, sees, and comprehends the very struggle that so often besets His children? The day is coming where that which kills will be fully destroyed. This is so wonderful. This is truth.
The third and final avenue on which we must travel is, perhaps, the most incomprehensible. That being the moment where all is wiped away; all pain, destruction, tears.
On a personal note, I have clung so heavily upon this promise. For all the fears I have, the biggest is for the soul of my sweet Jersie. How much I fear the worst. I know the truth. She is a sinner, by nature and choice. So, I plead for the sovereign God to elect, to pursue, to regenerate, to give preached grace, to permit converting grace, to spur on sanctifying grace, to provide empowering grace, and to hold all the way until glorification.
I have marked upon my body my deepest prayer: “Our Father who art in heaven, let not my iniquity be passed but rather grace, not my judgment but rather mercy, not my scars but rather beauty, for the life of Jersie I pray. Amen”.
And this is where I must hold fast. I know my God desires to be with her. He longs, He cries out, He pursues. I also know that her eternal destiny is known. The crux is the knowledge of knowing she may grow and yet never know the beauty of a new life. This frightens me beyond words.
All I may say is the final point. Somehow, at some time, in some place, even if I find myself eternally separated from that which I love beyond all life, somehow…that wonderful, beautifully scarred hand of my Refuge and Strength will reach out. In the hands that crafted man, in the palms that were pierced, in the touch of He who swept the blood from His brow in the Garden, with the fingers that held many a hammer before being disfigured by nails, with the rough skin of one who is familiar with labor, yet gentle as one who caresses the face of the woman who anoints His feet, somehow…..He will yet reach to me. He will reach to me. Touching my eyes, causing them to dry. My Savior, my God will wipe the tears, and somehow…somehow, I will be ok. I will spend my days simply gazing into His face, walking with Him, listening with my whole being. And I know I will be ok.
I will look into the eyes of the creator of my daughter, and somehow, I know I will see her. For He loves her. And I love her. And I love Him….and I will be ok.
12.10.2009
Crop Signs (from "Blue Coupe Theologies")
In the middle of the Cascade Mountain range is the small opening at the peak of civilization appropriately named Lookout Pass. I never could decide if the name was placed as a warning for travelers, or simply because in the daylight the view is absolutely breathtaking. Both seemed fitting. Even at night, it is incredible, humbling. During the light of day, one is faced with the panoramic view allowing you to see down into the Montana wilderness to the East. Gazing west you spot the rest of the Cascade family, dressed to the hilt in evergreen. A formidable mountain range, the brown earth is steeped with gigantic boulders jutting up out of the dirt and surrounded by an accessory of trees, which in the winter months are robed with the white of snow, crisp and cold. The top of the range is framed all in white, creating a blinding visual in the midday sun, as a reminder of God's greatness and His ability to put to shame all the artists of the world. It all has the appearance of a slumbering giant, a volcanic range, ready at the drop of a pin to destroy everything in its path.
Lookout Pass has a way of making you feel small. Very small. I always get the sensation that I am riding the world’s largest rollercoaster, stretching up, up, up. You pause at the top, for only a moment, taking in the wonder of the starlit sky, the dark of night settling around you, until you plunge down the other side. The dark road is complete, only lit by the few courageous travelers and their headlights. I feel the cold, stronger at this elevation, pressing in on us, battling against the vehicles heating system. I smell the brakes of the eighteen-wheelers creeping down the steep grade, as the little car flies past them. I roll the window down, cupping the air in my hand, feeling the stinging cold, making me feel very much alive.
I always knew somewhere deep down in my mind that it would happen to me at some point. Always wondering when it would happen created a sort of obsession in me. Not to say that I don't enjoy a good adventure, a challenge, but this one event for some reason always caused a sort of trepidation. Not because it is the sort of affair that causes one to fear for one's life, or even a happening that induces doubt, but rather just one of those times that creates an awkward moment in existence. Having just crested the top of one of the greatest passes that the Cascades has to offer, Jesse and I find ourselves deep in thought, when the sound of my friend's voice breaks the silence.
"I would say that if we happen along a gas station, we should take advantage of it....soon." He says quietly.
Leaning over across the console to take a peek at the petrol existence indicator, or as most commonly referred by, the gas gauge, I notice the arm suspiciously below the bright, orange E. "I don't see the gas light at all, we should be fine until we find a station...Look, there is a town about 4 miles away." I state, pointing at the green sign indicating the position of salvation, I nod my head to reassure myself that we will be ok. Placing it out of our thoughts, knowing that we would be safe in a matter of minutes, we resume our silence, watching the dark form of trees zoom past.
And there it goes. The exit we needed.
Shortly followed by another sign stating the next town was 5 miles down the road.
Again, no gas light, putting both our minds at ease that we would be able to continue our road adventure without a problem.
Unless, of course, you call our ability to spot exits from the highway, which lead to life-giving fuel stations a problem, because several minutes later, it happened again.
Now a sort of tension set in. I turn down the stereo, as we watch the twinkling of the lights illuminating the small town of where we should have been fading in the background. It is in this moment where one realizes that hindsight truly is 20-20, as we looked back, clicking our heels in an attempt to transport our vehicle to the exit we so desperately needed. Jesse joins me in peering into the distance, searching the dark night for any flicker, a glimpse of life, knowing that our survival was precariously close to the precipice. How strange we must have looked, staring hard at the windshield as though by our mere concentration we would be able to see further than what our headlights lit up.
It is at this point in the trip were I start to imagine all types of horrible atrocities, which I was sure would all come true if we lost fuel. Thinking of all the movies and books and songs out there that describe the calamities that abound when you are stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I don't think that I would be one that would be described as pessimistic, I have tried to learn the discipline of being positive, but my newly acquired self-talk, self-help thought process was quickly showing its flaws. It seems that man-made philosophies of positive thinking tends to show how sheer it really is, when you face the dilemma of being stranded in the center of the Idaho wild, in the very cold month of February.
We both felt the loss of power at the same time, Jesse quickly shifting the manual into neutral, pressing the clutch beginning to coast down the grade. Which, wouldn't you know it, was quickly flattening out, forming long, rolling hills that seemed to have many more ups than downs. Which is never good for folks in our position. Coasting to the side of the road, we spot a sign in the distance which showed the nearest town was a mere 7 miles away. Never did such a short distance seem so far away. Lucky for me Jesse is some sort of an automotive genius, as he gets out of the vehicle, unscrews the gas cap, replaces it and gets back into the car. This little trick of his, allowed the car to start back up, and off he shot, attempting to get as much momentum as possible before the inevitable took place again.
"You know, I have never ran out of gas before, in fact I always got teased for filling up anytime my gauge hits a quarter of a tank." I state. I had been told that I played it too safe, that I didn't live life on the edge. I was ok with that. I assumed the non-response from Jesse either expressed his annoyance at our situation, or was his way of saying there was a first time for everything. He glanced quickly at me, before returning focus on the road. Up and down we went, until the car failed to respond. As the car begins to slow down, we see the town up ahead, and both of us move forward in our seats, attempting to wish our vehicle to its destination. Looking around on the dark highway, we see nobody in sight who may be kind enough to help out two strangers. Other than the glowing lights of the town just outside of reach, there is no signs of life. The little car stalls again, and Jesse turns the wheel to move over so we are straddling the shoulder line, coasting. Every once in awhile Jesse is able to get the car to boot up, if only for a moment, but enough to get us up to the roaring speed of 15 mph. We can now see the exit we need, and we coast onto it, staring at the gas station just off to the right of the exit. This is where the little Subaru breathed its last breath.
As we both crawled out of the car, to begin our three-quarter of a mile walk to the gas station, I couldn't help but smile. Now things could have been much worse, we could have run out of gas back in the center of the downward slope of Lookout Pass, miles from anything civilized. Of course, it could have been much better as well, if we had been a little more observant...
"You don't have your jacket on, just hang out in the gas station. I'll get a gas can and get the car over here." Jesse grabs a can off the shelf. I decide that this is a good idea, and find my way to the restrooms in the back. We didn't have much money, and what we did have had to be saved for gas, but I knew we were both hungry. We didn't have time to stop for food, so we resolved ourselves to extra-small, gas station provided meals. Grabbing a pouch of peppered beef jerky, a local cowboy leans in.
"That Jack Link sure makes a nice jerky. Peppered. That's the way to go." He says."Yes. Peppered. That's what I have. Thanks." I say."You know he is the only one that makes a decent beef stick as well." Pointing towards the case of beef sticks, he adds, "They don't have his stuff here though. I only get Jack Link.""Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I say, grabbing a bag of spicy, nacho chips before heading toward the counter. The man keeps mumbling to himself something about jerky. I give the man a little wave as I head out the door, looking for Jesse and the car.
People are interesting things, I think. I bet the folks out here will talk about anything, just to hear another human voice respond. Seeking validation that they exist, that their thoughts are just as important. Perhaps, they are seeking for something more, a connection, a friend. Which got me thinking about why we do that. There has been many a time, when I am on a long road trip by myself, where I will talk out loud, just to hear a voice. We weren't really created for solitude. It’s interesting to think about, that we are created to be in relationship, in community. It isn't good that we are alone. (1)
A large, well-lit sign indicated that we had now crossed over into the great state of Montana. By great I mean long and boring. Lest I make some native Montanians upset, I will say that the western side of the state is quite beautiful, very majestic with the fringes of the Cascades hugging the edge of the country. All tall and beautiful before giving up and fading into the desert wilderness. Nothing but slightly rolling hills, sagebrush, and a few farmhouses peppering the landscape. I had taken this very route some 6 or 7 times already, to and from my University in Virginia State and my parent's place in Seattle.I knew well what lay ahead for us in the wild of Montana.
Lookout Pass has a way of making you feel small. Very small. I always get the sensation that I am riding the world’s largest rollercoaster, stretching up, up, up. You pause at the top, for only a moment, taking in the wonder of the starlit sky, the dark of night settling around you, until you plunge down the other side. The dark road is complete, only lit by the few courageous travelers and their headlights. I feel the cold, stronger at this elevation, pressing in on us, battling against the vehicles heating system. I smell the brakes of the eighteen-wheelers creeping down the steep grade, as the little car flies past them. I roll the window down, cupping the air in my hand, feeling the stinging cold, making me feel very much alive.
I always knew somewhere deep down in my mind that it would happen to me at some point. Always wondering when it would happen created a sort of obsession in me. Not to say that I don't enjoy a good adventure, a challenge, but this one event for some reason always caused a sort of trepidation. Not because it is the sort of affair that causes one to fear for one's life, or even a happening that induces doubt, but rather just one of those times that creates an awkward moment in existence. Having just crested the top of one of the greatest passes that the Cascades has to offer, Jesse and I find ourselves deep in thought, when the sound of my friend's voice breaks the silence.
"I would say that if we happen along a gas station, we should take advantage of it....soon." He says quietly.
Leaning over across the console to take a peek at the petrol existence indicator, or as most commonly referred by, the gas gauge, I notice the arm suspiciously below the bright, orange E. "I don't see the gas light at all, we should be fine until we find a station...Look, there is a town about 4 miles away." I state, pointing at the green sign indicating the position of salvation, I nod my head to reassure myself that we will be ok. Placing it out of our thoughts, knowing that we would be safe in a matter of minutes, we resume our silence, watching the dark form of trees zoom past.
And there it goes. The exit we needed.
Shortly followed by another sign stating the next town was 5 miles down the road.
Again, no gas light, putting both our minds at ease that we would be able to continue our road adventure without a problem.
Unless, of course, you call our ability to spot exits from the highway, which lead to life-giving fuel stations a problem, because several minutes later, it happened again.
Now a sort of tension set in. I turn down the stereo, as we watch the twinkling of the lights illuminating the small town of where we should have been fading in the background. It is in this moment where one realizes that hindsight truly is 20-20, as we looked back, clicking our heels in an attempt to transport our vehicle to the exit we so desperately needed. Jesse joins me in peering into the distance, searching the dark night for any flicker, a glimpse of life, knowing that our survival was precariously close to the precipice. How strange we must have looked, staring hard at the windshield as though by our mere concentration we would be able to see further than what our headlights lit up.
It is at this point in the trip were I start to imagine all types of horrible atrocities, which I was sure would all come true if we lost fuel. Thinking of all the movies and books and songs out there that describe the calamities that abound when you are stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I don't think that I would be one that would be described as pessimistic, I have tried to learn the discipline of being positive, but my newly acquired self-talk, self-help thought process was quickly showing its flaws. It seems that man-made philosophies of positive thinking tends to show how sheer it really is, when you face the dilemma of being stranded in the center of the Idaho wild, in the very cold month of February.
We both felt the loss of power at the same time, Jesse quickly shifting the manual into neutral, pressing the clutch beginning to coast down the grade. Which, wouldn't you know it, was quickly flattening out, forming long, rolling hills that seemed to have many more ups than downs. Which is never good for folks in our position. Coasting to the side of the road, we spot a sign in the distance which showed the nearest town was a mere 7 miles away. Never did such a short distance seem so far away. Lucky for me Jesse is some sort of an automotive genius, as he gets out of the vehicle, unscrews the gas cap, replaces it and gets back into the car. This little trick of his, allowed the car to start back up, and off he shot, attempting to get as much momentum as possible before the inevitable took place again.
"You know, I have never ran out of gas before, in fact I always got teased for filling up anytime my gauge hits a quarter of a tank." I state. I had been told that I played it too safe, that I didn't live life on the edge. I was ok with that. I assumed the non-response from Jesse either expressed his annoyance at our situation, or was his way of saying there was a first time for everything. He glanced quickly at me, before returning focus on the road. Up and down we went, until the car failed to respond. As the car begins to slow down, we see the town up ahead, and both of us move forward in our seats, attempting to wish our vehicle to its destination. Looking around on the dark highway, we see nobody in sight who may be kind enough to help out two strangers. Other than the glowing lights of the town just outside of reach, there is no signs of life. The little car stalls again, and Jesse turns the wheel to move over so we are straddling the shoulder line, coasting. Every once in awhile Jesse is able to get the car to boot up, if only for a moment, but enough to get us up to the roaring speed of 15 mph. We can now see the exit we need, and we coast onto it, staring at the gas station just off to the right of the exit. This is where the little Subaru breathed its last breath.
As we both crawled out of the car, to begin our three-quarter of a mile walk to the gas station, I couldn't help but smile. Now things could have been much worse, we could have run out of gas back in the center of the downward slope of Lookout Pass, miles from anything civilized. Of course, it could have been much better as well, if we had been a little more observant...
"You don't have your jacket on, just hang out in the gas station. I'll get a gas can and get the car over here." Jesse grabs a can off the shelf. I decide that this is a good idea, and find my way to the restrooms in the back. We didn't have much money, and what we did have had to be saved for gas, but I knew we were both hungry. We didn't have time to stop for food, so we resolved ourselves to extra-small, gas station provided meals. Grabbing a pouch of peppered beef jerky, a local cowboy leans in.
"That Jack Link sure makes a nice jerky. Peppered. That's the way to go." He says."Yes. Peppered. That's what I have. Thanks." I say."You know he is the only one that makes a decent beef stick as well." Pointing towards the case of beef sticks, he adds, "They don't have his stuff here though. I only get Jack Link.""Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I say, grabbing a bag of spicy, nacho chips before heading toward the counter. The man keeps mumbling to himself something about jerky. I give the man a little wave as I head out the door, looking for Jesse and the car.
People are interesting things, I think. I bet the folks out here will talk about anything, just to hear another human voice respond. Seeking validation that they exist, that their thoughts are just as important. Perhaps, they are seeking for something more, a connection, a friend. Which got me thinking about why we do that. There has been many a time, when I am on a long road trip by myself, where I will talk out loud, just to hear a voice. We weren't really created for solitude. It’s interesting to think about, that we are created to be in relationship, in community. It isn't good that we are alone. (1)
A large, well-lit sign indicated that we had now crossed over into the great state of Montana. By great I mean long and boring. Lest I make some native Montanians upset, I will say that the western side of the state is quite beautiful, very majestic with the fringes of the Cascades hugging the edge of the country. All tall and beautiful before giving up and fading into the desert wilderness. Nothing but slightly rolling hills, sagebrush, and a few farmhouses peppering the landscape. I had taken this very route some 6 or 7 times already, to and from my University in Virginia State and my parent's place in Seattle.I knew well what lay ahead for us in the wild of Montana.
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