There has to be something more

I know that God is omnipotent. Every time I heard the Jonah story in Sunday School, I heard the application that accompanied it: You can't hide from God. That's pretty amazing. My parents would tell me to think of the biggest thing I could possibly think of it, and my childish mind would stretch it's limits imagining huge oceans and cloud penetrating beanstalks, and they would say: God's even bigger than that. That's pretty amazing. The silly little song lyrics minimize it horribly: God can do anything but fail. But it's still pretty amazing. So now, thinking about it with an adult mind, is God really as big and powerful as we always said? If so (and of course I believe so), why aren't I tapping into that?

I was driving home the other day, my mind as it has been a lot lately, thinking about future plans, decisions, etc. And I asked myself the question: Do you really trust God? I was disturbed by the question. Of course I trust God. I was raised to trust God. I've trusted God a thousand times before. To be honest, trust has become so memorized, I don't know how to not trust God. But if I really had a concept of the enormity of God, would it be possible for me to worry? I'm missing something here.

I guess I've been distracted by trying to get God to fit the mold of my expectation. By wanting God to be present or absent at my convenience. By worshiping a God who is neatly packaged as the invisible motive for my good deeds.

But what if it's all true? What if God really is everything we always said and more. What if he is that big, that powerful, that amazing. What if it were more than just words and we actually believed it? Wouldn't that change something in the way we think, in the way we approach each day, maybe even in our churches?

I guess I'm tired of being satisfied with a God who is nothing more than the figurehead of my faith.

Chicken Tenders

I think I may have made a vegetarian out of Jared.

So I was helping him pan up chicken for tomorrow's dinner, and I honestly wasn't expecting him to turn white at the first sight of blood followed by varying shades of green. Well leave it to me to take a bad situation and make it worse. I began entertaining him with all my chicken stories. I must say, I was proud of him. He finished the job without passing out, though the faces he made were classic.

When I lived in Africa, we raised our own chickens. A rooster crowing at 3 a.m. is a good excuse for a chicken dinner the following day and my brother and I often volunteered to see to the task. I don't mean to be morbid, but in Africa, there's not a lot to do. You quickly learn to create your own amusements. After chasing down the chicken of choice, we tied it upside-down by its feet and hung it from a tree. You know, if you don't tie down the wings, the thing will fly in circles upside down? We claimed this was to make the process of removing the feathers easier later. Then as humanly as possible, we would remove the head from the rest of the body. The next part is important. If you cut it down quickly enough, you've got about ten minutes to chase the headless bird around before it keels over. What can I say? I was ten, and I was bored.

That was about as far as I got with Jared before I knew he couldn't handle anymore. He swears he'll never eat chicken again.

Ah, the memories...

Can we dance?

I stepped into the sanctuary where ceilings rose in majesty, each upward glance increasing in splendor, the golden filigree accentuating every curve, every graceful adornment. Tall narrow windows rose from marble floor to painted ceiling filling the room with the breathless intertwining of light and color.

I stood in the center of the sanctuary, inhaling the beauty surrounding me, and as the evening progressed, I dared to ask the question that had been on my mind all night.

Can we dance?

From somewhere music began to play. From across the room of from within my mind, I cannot tell. Yet I know he also heard it. Angelic refrains joined a rhythm of pure, holy passion. I moved in closer to the one I loved.

And we danced.

As he swept me around the room, he whispered promises in my ear. Promises that stretched the span of time. Promises that came true even before he had finished speaking them. He spoke the words—I love you. And they were not a careless sentiment. The words enveloped the very essence of truth and I knew it was so.

As he took me in his arms, I loved him. As he held me by the hand, I trusted him. As he led me round the room, I followed him. As we danced.

God, can we dance?