These Dreams.

"I hold my breath and count to ten
I smile a little and hold it in
But I can't stop breathing
My heart keeps beating on
As it will for a long time now..." 
- Said the Whale

"Nevertheless let it never be said of us, that we are dreaming about the future and forgetting the present, let the future sanctify the present to highest uses. Through the Spirit of God the hope of heaven is the most potent force for the product of virtue; it is a fountain of joyous effort, it is the corner stone of cheerful holiness. The man who has this hope in him goes about his work with vigour, for the joy of the Lord is his strength." - Spurgeon

Sometimes I forget that I can dream.

An aberrant statement?

Dreams are a curious juxtaposition. Certainly for me, anyway.  You know, when I was younger, I not only dreamt often, but for the most part, retained both the memories from said dreams and the themes associated with them. To this this day, I can recall lucid recollections and vivid details of many of them. Most were shrouded in some abstruse theme that permeated my thoughts at that particular moment, or correlated to some watershed moment in my adolescent trajectory.

Suffice it to say, I don't dream as much now as I used to. Dreaming not so much in a socio-political "I have a dream" sense, but the unreal, imaginative sense. One of the symptoms the emerging pragmatism, is perhaps i've become less and less conditioned to dream. I can attribute partially due to sleep deprivation, part to do with a lack of imagination, partially because well... Sometimes our dreams aren't things we particularly want to see, or worse, things that will shake our firmly entrenched rationality. A rationality that, innately and implausibly, we cling to like an umbrella in a hurricane.

We are enamored with a value oriented and comparative nature that society has conditioned us to. We stagger trying to answer questions like, "What is the the value of doing this? Is this worth more than that? How much time do I have to sleep? Can I still get 4 hours of R.E.M if I go to bed at 2 and wake up at 6:30? Evaluate everything as a value-aided proposition, so we say. The idea of dreams offers nothing of tangibility-obsessed world. Some of a more clinical persuasion may argue if dreams, of their own volition,  have any value? Are dreams even something that can be tangibly valued in a growth sense?

If your entire operation is strictly tied to speed and effectiveness, then dreams means nothing to you. But caution yourself, believer.

The curious reality about dreams is... the ones we recall rarely take the value of the palpable and ordinary, rather, they tend to be magnified events in the larger scope of our lives. Such events take on somewhat of a pedestrian meaning, in so much that we can understand them in a conventional sense. We see cliffs as decisions, lions as battles, caverns as adventure, horizons as eternity, and though, I certifiably don't claim to comprehensively project the element and candor of others dreams, my own cognizance of them leans starkly metaphorical. To understand, and perhaps to some extent interpret, dreams allow for us to tell what has been, what is, and what is to come.

In his old testament visions, Daniel, was constantly locked in this conflict between the things he was hearing and what he could understand. The enormity of the vision often exceeded his rational capacity to comprehend meaning. Engaged in such a quandry, Daniel, instead of attempting to deconstruct a meaning that superseded his lucid abilities, condensed all to one simple thought.... to what end? What happens... When this is over? He did not toil in perpetuity trying to determine the machinations of the vision set before him. In Daniel 12, in the midst of what must have been a thousand unique thoughts.... He set forth one simple question.

"The man dressed in linen, who was standing above the river, raised both his hands toward heaven and took a solemn oath by the One who lives forever, saying, “It will go on for a time, times, and half a time. When the shattering of the holy people has finally come to an end, all these things will have happened.”

I heard what he said, but I did not understand what he meant. So I asked, “How will all this finally end, my lord?”

 But he said, “Go now, Daniel, for what I have said is kept secret and sealed until the time of the end. Many will be purified, cleansed, and refined by these trials. But the wicked will continue in their wickedness, and none of them will understand. Only those who are wise will know what it means." - Daniel 12:5-10

The wisdom that we need doesn't always come from complete understanding. Sometimes it lies in understanding the beginning, or our grasp of what comes at the end. Spurgeon implores for us to "let the future sanctify the present to highest uses". Our own doubt, despair often is bourne not because we cannot be conversant of what our future beholds, but rather, our ability to reconcile what the present has granted us. Perhaps we hear, but our conscious self rejects the message.

Hearing alone does not lead to understanding. Just as our dreams become interspersed with the tangible, the same is true in what is spiritual. Our sinful nature intersperses with our eternity. So the message, that we meditate and question, will not tolerate to simply be heard. It must be understood. For the only thing that makes the word part of who we are, is our ability to understand.

So, our prayer should be in the revelation of the truth, and one of the greatest truth bestowed upon us is that we know of the coming eternity. Lord, I ask that our exercises, both of wisdom and the word, be grounded in your truth, directed by the machinations of your spirit, and enlivened by your work in the present.

Empathy loves Company.

"If to the right or left I stray, 

That moment, Lord, reprove; 

And let me weep my life away, 

For having grieved thy love" 

"A heart of flesh is known by its tenderness concerning sin. To have indulged a foul imagination, or to have allowed a wild desire to tarry even for a moment, is quite enough to make a heart of flesh grieve before the Lord. The heart of stone calls a great iniquity nothing, but not so the heart of flesh.

"The hard heart is selfish and coldly demands, "Why should I weep for sin? Why should I love the Lord?" But the heart of flesh says; "Lord, thou know est that I love thee; help me to love thee more!" Many are the privileges of this renewed heart; "'Tis here the Spirit dwells, 'tis here that Jesus rests." It is fitted to receive every spiritual blessing, and every blessing comes to it. It is prepared to yield every heavenly fruit to the honor and praise of God, and therefore the Lord delights in it."

"Well I know just what you need,
I might just have the thing
I know what you'd pay to feel
Put me out of my misery
All you suicide kings and you drama queens
Forever after happily, making misery." - Soul Asylum, "Misery"

The path that parallels true love is fraught with turmoil. Which... perhaps; presupposes that love in fact is true to only one definition, compelled to a singular and absolute understanding, whereas the very reality of the faith that we seek subverts such a notion. Reasonably then, such might be the case that very so often our paradigm of love ends up distorted, maimed, gnarled into a reiterative phenomenon. It becomes one that mystifies our understand of the continuum of such love, or, maybe at least, the manner in which we choose to recognize it. That tantamount turmoil compels us to fathom more "uncomplicated" measures for a more thorough recognition of the "concept" of love, rather then the diaspora of perspectives that Christ's definition represents.

A number of years ago, I agonized with an intense spiritual battle over the topic of empathy, though I suppose, any such victory that might have been won to this point has yet to be fully consummated. During this time, I was markedly poor in the practice and successive application of empathy. I consistently failed to discern weather my struggles had to do with my own personal brokenness, or a far more worrisome lack of capacity. Concerning to an extent, but not terribly unusual, such as we exist in a culture where such an absence of heart for men is not only acceptable, but often lionized. Many men struggle to be empathetic when most necessary, to be an ear when hearing is paramount, to be a hand when holding is the only recourse, or to be a shoulder when another is to weak to bear their own weight. Often to do these things is to allow the fruits of the spirit to manifest themselves though a genuine care and concern, creating a tangible sense of  for all around them. For a period of time, I tarried with the illusion of legitimate growth, or at least the somewhat genuine perception that surrounds that.

Yet, like all things that carry the presupposition yet deny the reality of love, that feeling was doomed to be short-lived.. The machinations of  any such illusion of progress were solely tied into personal satisfaction, rather than borne of genuine compassion. Even more conspicuous in it's absence was the remedy of the holy spirit, which, in my misguided attempts to proceed without it's presence,  blinded me to the realities were actually unfolding. For while I had felt while I had mastered the recipe for successful empathy, to that point, I had not secured the main ingredient, and had not even begun to conceptualize it's application to the larger concept. For without this key ingredient, this ingredient that makes a hardened heart go soft, once's heart will be susceptible to stiffness, a grated barrier to genuine empathy and understanding. Perhaps this is attune to why Paul, when writing to Corinth, stopped his first letter and implored them of the foundation, the key ingredient to their faith.

"If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." - 1 Corinthians 13:3

A hardened heart is not just merely presenting an attitude of coldness or distance. Nor is it confined to indifference, or callousness, or anger, or depression. For a hardened heart is the confluence of all of these these, a weathered core that has long been made . A softened heart is one filled with life, one that moves freely, that beats with a purpose, a passion, a consistency. As Spugeon reflects, "The heart of stone calls a great iniquity nothing, but not so the heart of flesh." Such a wellspring of empathy is a fruit not of just the presence of the Holy Spirit, but more an application of the fruits that are borne from such a wellspring. For not just the appearance of compassion in small matters, but the forthright perseverance to endure though larger crises. So when we are moved towards these ends by the Holy Spirit, we wish that it not be an fearful endeavor, rather we be propelled forwards though the actions of our hands and the sound of his voice.

Lord,  make present within me first a heart that bears you love, in the way that it was meant to be undertaken. Let it be done with a desire for your love to permeate the heart, to tide over and combat the drift towards apathy. Lord, in me, I ask for such a heart of renewal, a tenderness towards those who require a representation of your love, lord may I live these things to the extent that my flesh bears. 

Amen. 

Last Breath.

"The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; 

devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous 

are taken away to be spared from evil.  Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; 

they find rest as they lie in death." - Isaiah 57:1-2

"For my own part, I had rather that the Lord Jesus should keep the keys of death 

than that he should lend them to me. It would be too dreadful a privilege to be 
empowered to rob heaven of the perfected merely to give pleasure to imperfect ones 

below. I may say to myself, “Do I feel now that I could die calmly or even triumphantly?” I 

may put the question if I like, but it is hardly a fair one, for I am not yet called to die; 

yet my experience and observation of others lead me to believe that very remarkable grace is often given to believers in their last hours."

I lost the closest male relative that I had left last night. He, however unfortunately, was a confluence between a troubled yet committed individual, one who sought rigor and patriotism with intense zeal, all while increasing in a cynicism that ignominiously increased in his demise. The circumstances of his passing underscore an alarming trend of Resseger family men whose physical bodies toiled exponentially at their end. If I were to contend that my rigorous devotion to exercise were not inextricably linked to this alarming trend, I might be telling the most fallacious tale.

I suppose any question relating to "why" would be incredibly specious at this point. I discovered many years ago that the question diverted from the realities of the earth and the providence over the kingdom that he indwells. The consuming questions that vex us in our thoughts when a beloved is removed from us are a meager assortment of rationalizations and and lies, at least as they rely our own wisdom. Spurgeon relegates such questions as wholly internal, for we are not expertly questioning the wisdom of God and his chosen, rather assessing our mortality in the scope of human existence. Perhaps it is altogether silly to ask where our own death will stand in the view of another, or to that matter proceeding generations, as such a question will prove nothing significant, but is merely useful in the scope of our own experience and observation. For our deaths are indeed preordained, and are under no directives from our conscious self. 

The prayerful musings of Isaiah are interesting in this regard. Isaiah wholly rebukes an apathetic culture surrounding him, pointing to a distressing ambivalence that surmises that many are only disconnected from the frailty and destination of flesh. Those he regards have already acquiesced to death and immutably display their lack confidence in God. Isaiah does, however, do so in the spectrum of prayer, enveloped not as an interrogation of heavenly wisdom, nor a callous callous chide under spiritual pretense.  Such as the message of the covenant conceived upon resurrection, these words were not meant to cripple those entangled with doubt and despair. Rather, this rebuke was meant to promote reformation of spirit. If people die and those surrounding the deceased are unaffiliated, it exposes a calamity in faith and an opportunity for the deceiver to recompose the doubter. 

Still, being privy to our inheritance in the grander design, that we indeed are observing a greater grace, once of remarkable circumstance, as Spurgeon illustrates. Such a grace as often extended, to those who walk uprightly to enter peace. In death, they do not enter pain, rather being spared from evil and finding rest though passing. It will once become the condition of all who believe, and although grief may consume our conscious self, we muse upon the imperfect and incomplete. 

My heart and head are victims of this incomplete, and the weight of my words fleeting. I do, however pray in earnest that the longings of my spirit may reach the ears of heaven. To my dearest Joey, that you may receive eternal passage and find the rest and the grace that lie at the end of man and the beginning of eternity. 

Expectations

"My expectation is from him." — Psalms 62:5

"It is the believer's privilege to use this language. If he is looking for aught from the world, it is a poor "expectation" indeed. But if he looks to God for the supply of his wants, whether in temporal or spiritual blessings, his "expectation" will not be a vain one. Constantly he may draw from the bank of faith, and get his need supplied out of the riches of."

The meanings of the superscriptions of Psalm 62, of many of the psalms are uncertain, and most are probably later additions.The most basic and fundamental element of the psalms is their expression of continual total and exclusive trust in God, contrasting that of man.

Expectations can simultaneously be both a powerful ally an a crippling force. The Psalmist in Psalm 62 extols all of man under underpinnings of expectations of others, in that man lacks the stance to sustain anything of permanency. Why do the expectations of our faith so often just stretch to what we can cope with? So often the expecation of earthy things displaces to earthly things, superseding the frailness of man's strength. We rely heavily on the burdens we place on others, often without the intervention of the divine. We count on it to protect us, edify us, reassure us, and engage us. Yet, for as long as time has allowed, we have felt the consistent disappointment when such expectations remain unmet. The Psalmist reputes the notion of expectation as lacking density or endurance.

"Men are nothing but a mere breath; human beings are unreliable. When they are weighed in the scales, all of them together are lighter than air." -Psalms 62:9

One of the most curious aspects of the weight of expectation that so many humans envelop themselves with, is that in terms of celestial value, such expectations are really rather faint in the eyes of heaven. So much so, the psalmist not only diminishes the worth of such an expectation but also the entirety of man in light of of his own self-image. So often the weight of expectation become so burdensome on mere men that we lose sight of the often insurmountable burdens that are often fixed upon individuals. Further, the entire presumption of human expectation confutes the very nature of the God we serve. Spurgeon denounces such braggadocio, and does so by emphasizing the priveldged nature of even invoking such expectations. 

The expression "promising the world" would have no reference had not God first held the world first, and subsequently, Christ's ressurection and ascension, consummating the promise. The bridge between out expectation of man and our expecting of God cannot remain in conflict, nor can it parallel the other. The nature of the sprit has a transformational impact on our own spirits and wants, in that with the wisdom, peace, and understanding that come with a right sprit elude to patience, forgiveness and mercy. When we so seek Christ for our spiritual supply, we not only receives the riches of his provision, but we rely less on our expectation of others. 

As we grow in faith and understanding, may our expectations no longer be rooted solely in the expectations of others, but rather draw from the bank of faith to supplicate those desires. 

Cry.

"Unto thee will I cry, O Lord my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit." — Psalms 28:1

"A cry is the natural expression of sorrow, and a suitable utterance when all other modes of appeal fail us; but the cry must be alone directed to the Lord, for to cry to man is to waste our entreaties upon the air. When we consider the readiness of the Lord to hear, and his ability to aid, we shall see good reason for directing all our appeals at once to the God of our salvation. It will be in vain to call to the rocks in the day of judgment, but our Rock attends to our cries."

"And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will. (Romans 8:26, 27 NLT)"

A few nights back, I took the time to watch the a composite broadcast of the events of 9/11. Viewing those events, though not surprisingly, quickly regarded me as uncontrollably debilitated in sadness. Though rarely a cryer, the sheer affectation of those moments in our history produces in me an uncompromising despondency that, well, relatively in my life, though more pronounced in the lives of others more directly affected, takes the afflicted to a place of solemnity that tends to produce both vigor and antipathy in those who dwell there.

One particular striking moment, though to my own, was that of Diane Sawyer's reaction as the North Tower fell. As she witnessed the tower collapse to the ground, noticeably on at least three different occasions, she tried to appropriate the correct words to capture the moment, however in the instance of each attempt, the words would overlap each other, become garbled, and finish with barely a whimper. Even a veteran communicator such as Sawyer, who is well versed in communicating significant messages, was utterly crippled under the weight of such a moment. The heaviness of such an affliction had surpassed her own ability to capture the unfolding's of the day. She had reached the end of understanding and broached the beginnings of the devastating.

Our cries so routinely convert to a last resort. Often when our own strength and resolve reach their limit, then, and regrettably only then, do we speak to the savior with the entirety of our hearts affliction. Only when we encounter him, when we intentionally seek him, do we witness the readiness of him to appeal to us and offer aid. But to merely "waste our entreaties upon the air" as Spurgeon so puts it, voids our ability to cry to the spirit as a counselor. Our cries were not meant to be wasted breaths, it was designed as a holy petition, to in which our heart calls louder the spirit than our words are able. When we plead, when we cry, we desire a harmony and healing greater than what the words we produce are able to recognize.  As Isaiah 12 predicts cries and anguish to God, God is first identified a counselor. "I praise you, O Lord, for even though you were angry with me, your anger subsided, and you consoled me." Upon our covenant with the Holy Spirit, we not only plea with the spirit itself, but the spirit pleads those to the Father.

So fear not the cry, for it is nary meant to debilitate. Our hearts desire communion with the father just as readily though our weeping as through our praises.

Conversations.

"The word "conversation" does not merely mean our talk and converse with one another, but the whole course of our life and behaviour in the world. The Greek word signifies the actions and the privileges of citizenship: and thus we are commanded to let our actions, as citizens of the New Jerusalem, be such as becometh the gospel of Christ. What sort of conversation is this? In the first place, the gospel is very simple. So Christians should be simple and plain in their habits. There should be about our manner, our speech, our dress, our whole behaviour, that simplicity which is the very soul of beauty.

This concept as it regards to conversation, particularly as the Greek origins denote, is perplexing and particularly bewildering departure to conventional understandings of conversation. It's become the contemporary view of conversation as an exercise of "shooting the breeze" or "small talk", almost as a means to pass the time or engage the wind. The fascinating thing about the Greek exegesis of this word was the implication of conversation literally meant altering "whole course of our life and behavior in the world". What a contrast to what we apply the word to, and what a stark difference in how we measure it! Imagine, for a moment, that the depth of your conversations had the ability and the weight to alter the entire course of a life, whether it be your own or that of another. Be at ease, and imagine no longer. Your conversations have the ability to do these very things. 

"Only let your conversation be as it becometh the gospel of Christ." — Philippians 1:27

In Philippians 1, Paul was imploring Phillipi to stop making conversation that was fruitless and empty, but to rather supplement their conversation so richly with the gospel that it be just as much a spiritual exercise as it was one of the tongue. Paul's ultimate desire was to have their words be so indistinguishable from the gospel truth that these words be become a harmonious collective of truth. In essence, inspired words from the Inspired Word. The NIV translation reads that those were to "conduct themselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ." Paul nary interprets the method of conversation as an idle pursuit, rather, something that not only defines how we interact with people, but also the nature of how we conduct ourselves in the presence of others. We have this particular notion and affinity to drift in and out of conversations that don't engage or enrapture us at a particular time. Thusly, we often only receive partial pieces of a far greater and more spectacular story. 

The troublesome aspect of such behavior is by delving in and out of the course of our conversations, we literally "sleep" though the parts that are capable of changing the entire course of our lives, conversely the parts that can transform theirs. The respondent and respond-er very with the level of of attenuation to the conversation, leading to unmet expectations and complacently.  

Though in the particular scripture, Paul does not ask that those he is writing practice psychoanalysis in the course of their conversation, or be fantastic in their ability to decipher true motivations. Rather he stresses the simplistic nature of the practice. That it matters not as much that we have unpacked the conversation fully, but that we have honored that conversation it it's appropriate regard. When we honor the weight of the words in the context of who we are speaking to, our conduct becomes more worthy. We offer another person's words worth, empathy, understanding, care, faith, and resonance. When this is applied to a larger conversation, those participants can exit that conversation feeling respected, honored, gracious and thankful for the blessings of those words, regardless of the nature of the actual message. This is why Spurgeon regards conversational "simplicity as the very soul of beauty." When we drift in and out or sleep though these conversations,  it obscures or view and perspective of that potential beauty. And beautiful in words gospel-inspired conversation is. 

I pray that your conversations become worthy of the impartation of the Gospel, that those words no longer be simply idle language, but rather, be simple and powerful in it's understanding, and take on the very soul of beauty in it's purpose. 

Resolute.

"Prayer is the lisping of the believing infant, the shout of the fighting believer, the requiem of the dying saint falling asleep in Jesus. It is the breath, the watchword, the comfort, the strength, the honour of a Christian. If thou be a child of God, thou wilt seek thy Father's face, and live in thy Father's love. Pray that this year thou mayst be holy, humble, zealous, and patient; have closer communion with Christ, and enter oftener into the banqueting-house of his love. Pray that thou mayst be an example and a blessing unto others, and that thou mayst live more to the glory of thy Master. The motto for this year must be, "Continue in prayer.""

Inevitably when we start to explore resolutions, so much of our thought is preoccupied with accomplishment. What new thing we would like to conquer, how many pounds we would like to lose, what difficult challenges we must overcome. The emphasis is recurrently aligned with the self, and most are coupled with a sort of intrinsic reward, something to be gained or acquired from the action.

Seldom is such significance applied to exercises of spiritual growth, most infrequently from the secular world, but far too scarcely from those under his employ. In Colossians 4, Paul rouses believers to "Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains."

Paul's message is removed from terminal limits. The message is one of purpose, not hours.
The apostles were resolute in their encouragement of believers, in which was buoyed and ethrealized by the predominance of prayer. Spurgeon emphasizes the the cycle of life in the prayer, observing that from the completion until the end of the journey that every moment is saturated with the significance of our exhortation of him. The entirety of the purpose we are entrusted with contracts in might to that of a single prayer, and the stirring of a single prayer can jostle the fibers of eternity. Consideration leaves no representation of it's purpose unexplored, but does not present as a trial or labor. Instead, such fellowship is recognized as a "banqueting-house of his love."

For when Paul inspires us all to devotion, he delivers such not as a labor, but as an invitation to the table. To a table that enheartens us to revitalize our spirits for prayer, galvanizes our senses to the danger, and to steer our hearts towards a thankful stasis. The table is never full, and the provision never vacuous.

My prayer is that year we resolve not to gain or lose what can be gained or lost. My hope is to increase in devotion, to be more awake and aware to both the machinations of the spirit and the morass of the earth, and to be decidedly thankful, not only in word but in deed as well.