A simple thank you

Heavenly Father,

We simply want to say thank you. Two little words that feel too insignificant to contain the gratitude of our hearts.

You have shown us your love, your grace, your beauty.  It comes to us in ways too numerous to count, though we’re better people whenever we attempt to catalog the ways; no matter how feeble the attempt.

You have shown us…

That the only thing we should rightly fear is the only One who loves us perfectly.

Thank you.

You have shown us…

That even in your silence, you are present, and in a way that touches the deepest part of our soul.

Thank you

You have shown us…

That you’re in control and we’re not. And that grounds us in reality and makes us strong.

Thank you.

You have taught us…

That the unexpected events of our lives are not to be feared, but embraced because they destroy our sense of self-sufficiency. They challenge our assumptions and assault our values. In the unexpected, you bring us opportunities we’re incapable of manufacturing.

Thank you.

You have taught us…

That the seemingly random and chaotic events in our lives expose our motives and teach us the things we didn’t know we need to know.

Thank you.

You have taught us…

That in the unplanned and inconvenient we often find ourselves in a place to do the things you want us to do; our goals and agendas are forced into submission and in those moments, we’re reminded that there’s a bigger picture we don’t always see.

Thank you.

You have given us…

Our families, our communities, the deep and defining friendships that shape our lives. Flawed though they are, we cannot imagine life without them.

Thank you.

You have given us…

Purpose

Peace

Meaning

Mission

Wonder

Mystery

Thank you

And perhaps the greatest mystery is that you call us to your side. A Father to his children, you call out

“Come to me…”

“Find rest…”

“you are precious to me…”

“I love you with an everlasting love…”

“I will never leave you…”

Thank you.

These words seem so inadequate, so trivial, so shallow in the face of the deep love you’ve poured out upon us. But these words are all we have in the moment so we give them to you in the same spirit of the little boy who long ago gave you his lunch; in humility and faith.

You did a miraculous thing with that small gift.

Would you do the same with ours today…not for our benefit, but for your glory?

Thank you.

A story that frames all the other stories…

I took a long walk in the woods today.

I followed a trail that petered out onto an abandoned logging road on the flanks of Mt. St. Helens.

My path took me along a small river.

It was a gray day,
no rain…
cold enough to make your eyes water,
but not enough to make you stay inside.

The wind blew too and the gusts animated the towering Douglas Firs giving them a voice that you can’t hear on quieter days.

I walked and listened.

Lately its been my goal to spend an extended period of time each week listening to the Spirit. It seems like I fail more than I succeed at this, but today I succeeded.

I walked and listened some more, and as I did, I began to hear something.
But the sound was “heard” more with my eyes than my ears.

These trees are majestic and powerful. In some places, they tower over everything in sight.
They’re strong, beautiful and in their own way, give life to their environment;
birds nest,
elk rest
and salmon swim through their shadows.

But what caught my eye today was a fallen tree;
a dead tree lying perpendicular to the rest of the forest.

It wasn’t the deadness that struck me.

It was the life that grew up out of it.
Growing straight up from the trunk of that old tree was all kinds of

new vegetation;
ferns,
moss,
and Vine Maple branches,

stretched towards the opening in the forest canopy created by the falling of the old tree.

Life out of death.

Creativity out of decay.

Diversity out of uniformity.

In this image, I “heard” with my eyes (with my heart too) the Spirit telling me what kind of ministry He has called me to.

My friend Eric told me these are called “nurse logs.” What a wonderful name! What eloquent evidence of God’s wisdom, that even in the decline and decay of one tree, there is nourishment and care for others; that at the end of its life, this tree would nurse hundreds of other organisms to life.

The void created by the loss of one tree is filled by the life it gives to others.
In that moment, it struck me that for too long I’ve talked and preached about a new kind of church that either directly or by insinuation suggested that the conventional church, (if not dead) is irrelevant and meaningless. I’ve insinuated that one particular form is in decay and should therefore be disregarded. I’ve been less than kind to the “old tree” that may or may not be dying.
Who am I to say?
I’ve offended and frustrated those closest to me with careless ranting about what’s wrong with the church, but on that trail today the Spirit showed me what’s right with it.
He showed me how the life of something new is connected with something old. “What you discard as useless,” the Spirit said “is not only useful, it is essential.”


Today I heard that the growth of something new is built on and nourished by much of what is old. It’s a simple biological reality and a spiritual one too.

If, in my arrogance I ignore this truth, I do so to my own peril; I risk thwarting the very purposes of God in my life.

So now that I’ve “heard” the Spirit on this matter, I’m learning to see things differently.

Whether or not conventional church is dead is not for me to judge. It is however, the source of much of what is good in me. So much about who I am has been “nursed” by the places in which God has put me over the years. For that I should be grateful. I admit I’m learning how to be so, but I’m not yet there. But I am starting to see that the courage to risk something new finds its source in a culture that built in me a solid sense of identity and value.

It was in the conventional church that I was taught week in and week out how much I was loved.

It was there that I was shown compassion and love, and forgiveness, and grace, and vision.

I’ve been nursed along on my spiritual journey by the churches (however flawed) of which I’ve been a part.

It is because of where I come from that I am able to forge a path (however faint) into a new wilderness; to sacrifice my gifts and passions for the sake of the Kingdom.

Life out of death.

Creativity out of decay.

Diversity out of uniformity.

Nursed…and alive.

“we were now about to penetrate a country at least two thousand miles in width, on which the foot of civilized man had never trodden; the good or evil it had in store for us was for experiment yet to determine, and these little vessels contained every article by which we were to expect to subsist or defend ourselves…I could but esteem this moment of my (our) departure as among the most happy of my life.” Meriweather Lewis 1803