Numb Introduction

I didn't want to be there,
As a child with no serious intents funerals seemed uninteresting. Spider man got me excited, black clothes and mourning did not. And neither was the thought of staying 4 hours listening to a old guy talk. I was already set to leave in a few minutes to my friends house, so all I did was walk around a bit. The woman had died of pancreatic cancer and I had known her my entire life, and being the pastors wife she always talked to my family on a personal level. She sang songs and taught them to kids. She cared for my mom when my grandmother was so far away. The one thing I could not picture her do was die.

The moment me and my sister walked into the church she saw the body in the front as clear as day. My glasses were broken and therefore everything I saw was blurry. No matter how hard I squinted I could not see the casket at the front of the church. When the body caught my sisters eye she gasped for air. My mother asked her if she was ok and she said yes. But even though the thought of death dismayed her my sister she continued to try to find a better view.

I tend to remember my life in little bits and pieces. And more often then not those pieces like to connect each other like pins on a map. This piece in my life is memorable simply because of it's connection into the topic of my biggest fear; death.

I don't know why I fear death. Maybe it's the overwhelming sense of non existence, or your loved that stay behind on the trail of time. Or maybe it was the fear of losing all senses. To not feel,see, or know anything unless it is told to you. But when no one is willing to speak to you then you have no choice but to talk to yourself.

That is how I felt. Shivering in "holy" water after baptism as I waited for an over whelming sense of emotion. Watching plays about the crucifixion and forcing a tear to fall out of my 9 year old face. Laying my back on the rough hot gravel and waiting to hear Gods audible voice. I wanted to feel. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall on my knees just like everyone else in that crowded church but I couldn't. For my knees were numb with death.

This is the story of a pastors child. How my deepest fears became by surest ground, and how the most precious message in all of history broke the encrustacions of my hardened heart and showed me things I never thought the human eye could see.

The Thirsty

Says the God that yells to the man senseless in the desert. "Come for there is water for those who are thirsty!" The man senseless in the desert dismisses the gentle words of the kind figure and walks in the same circle his father and his fathers father have walked. Till his feet bleed and his eyes dry up the man wil continue to find his own way. Another man who bears the sins of his fathers tainted blood walks through the barren and scalding valley. His path is filled with pain and suffering. And with no more will to live the man falls onto the magma of the burning sand. The figure standing by the well rushes to him and picks him up in his firmly gentle arms. There the man gave him water of the purest kind. Once the man was no longer thirsty he did not stand up and walk out of the tent, but lay down in awe of the unconditional kindness of the figure. 

Greater is the grief for he who drinks but does not thirst then he who thirsts but does not drink. 

I do not know...

Is it primitive? 

To wish for something more then rithing in the filth of man? 

To fufill a purpose that I myself did not predestine? 

To die in the upmost certainty knowing that I did not die? 

In my school there is a friend.

A friend that is devout muslim above all else.

Praying to a god that was never there.

And being certain in the void. 

I feel as though God has been unfair.

As I see a person so full of Love and devotion all of a sudden falling into the abyss of sensless prayer.

My heart stings.

As I walked home from school, I took a different path and spoke to God out loud. 

Something I do not do often.

I yelled, I cried and I shook my angry fist at the heavens. 

I became ragefull towards the dead beat manevolent God. 

I questioned his plan.

I hated his mind.

Why would you condemn such a sorry soul as this? 

He did not know better.

Like a sheep being led into the slaughter but believing in a banquet.

So was he.

As my anger subsided.

And my place in the universe came clear. 

I fell in the moist winter ground. 

And I did not question him anymore.

I begged for his soul. 

I yelled and yelled begging and begging for the soul of a friend who I loved so much.

And in the midst of the chaos of my primitive mind, I heard the whisper.

Not a audible voice it was. Not quiet and not loud, just...him.

I came to the realization that if God almighty did not love my friend then I would have never met him.

I would have never showed him the beauty and truth of your love.

Instead he would have continued to go around in circles enjoying his imminent and oblivious doom. 

I stood up and realized the sacred truth written on the tablet of my heart.

I shall not question the enigma, but embrace it

Dear Mr. Zacharias...

Here I think I know. 

Here I think I show.

All that I learned. 

All that I have yearned. 

Will mean nothing on the opposite side. 

Will do nothing but reside. 

When every eye looks. 

No one will turn to their books. 

When every ear hears. 

No one will listen to his ears

When every hand is raised. 

No one will be called the crazed. 

Though every man bow.

And every woman shout. 

The door will remain small. 

And the hole remain wide. 

And every saint that perished.

Will no longer be famished. 

Mr. Zacharias, as I am writing this I lie in confusion and indecisivness. Wondering if this shy, boy can have the courage to place this in your hands. Please, do not show this to anyone. I do not wish to be rememmberd and praised. Talked about, or written of. I write this to tell you that every letter that you have written shaped my inner being. With my frozen soul there needed a man with a bright enough torch to burn the encrustations of my heart. As I grew up in a home with the name of Christ being taught. I became numb to him. Never actually feeling his warmth, or seeing his hands. Every word you have utterd broke my heart. I came to know Christ. I am walking with him closer the ever before. And every day his tug on my soul becomes harder and harder. As I walk into a school where his words are hollow, you remind me his name is golden. As I stare into the void of senseless thought you remind me of his whispers in my ear. When I heard that you were coming to my area. My eyes welled up with tears of joy. It was as if the healer of my broken mind was drawing near. I do not wish to idolize you. I very well know the danger of that. What I want you to know is that God put you here in the infancy of my salvation. I have no money to give but this poem. I wrote it among many others after hearing your sermons. I wish I could give you more. Your ministry is a beacon among the darkness of society. And as I close this, I wish to thank you one more time for everything you have ever done to me. And if God has spoken to me in any way it is in this way; to encourage a man whos meekness if soul, and humble heart can shatter the shambled and scattered peices of a broken society. A man who's torch will never go dim. And who's faith will never fade away.

Eye gouging

If I could destroy by carnal self I would. If I could live as a being of pure will I would. If all my wants were nothing but fading thoughts I would rejoice. 

But they're not... 

I lie in cold despair with my rebellios body. Like a stubborn mule it kicks back and forth keeping me from true surity. I beat my chest attempting in some way to free my soul, but it laughs with a blood curdling cry. I climb to the highest point and yell a deep, true, and raw yell. Screaming till my lungs scream with me. And in one momment I realize that all the bitter actions I could do. All the self harm I could inflict. Would do absolutley nothing in the grand sceme. To purge this disease they call humanity. To gouge out the sinful eyes and throw them into the deepest pit of the earth. The tears that fall out of those eyes are tears of frustration, Of struggle, and of pain. The encrusted heart that Paul spoke of has been broken. The hard heart that Ramsees could not break shatterd. The only thing that remained was a heart of flesh. The only thing. The ONLY thing that could free me. Is grace. My want and purpose is not to understand the enigma, but to embrace it. 

Prayer

Lord, as I walk into the day with hands held high, may your infinite wisdom guide me in my ways. Help my stumbles be few and my victories be numorous. Help me be a beacon of light amongst the terror of the dark. Take my tongue and let it be yours. Let my understanding show your face to the blind. Make every word that falls off my tongue be glory to you and to you alone. Let and every stone that is thrown at your name fade away in the enigma of your love. Let all the things that happen today be worthy of your recognitiom. Let it be the so that the creation worships its creator. 

In Jesus name, Amen. 

Examinations of the unseen

Am I real? Am I a son of God or a worker of iniquity? Do I proclaim the name of Jesus Christ yet spit in his face? Do I deny his name yet speak of it wherever I go? Why do I feel so unsure of myself? Like a lier teaching the children. My tongue curling up and spitting works of despair among the innocent. I say I am a Christian, yet I swear, curse, and do imoral acts as the world does. What if it's all an illusion. What if all my hungers for Christ result in my rebuking on the other side. What if all the things I've done to draw nearer to him mean absolutley nothing in my judgement? The word of God says to examine ourselves. To see chinks in the armor and exploit them. See if they're real. And only when you have been tested will you know you truly are a son of God. As I write this my Bible has been seperated from me. I recently left it at someones house. And although I feel terribly disconnected from my inner soul I continue to study the word. In this words of the poem by John Piper; 

See him in his pen. 

Written line and then. 

Better thought preferred. 

Deep from in the Word.