I have the start of a migraine, sharp and blinding through my right eye so I’m making this quick and snappy and hoping the meds kick in before the bulk of the pain. This is free writing at it’s best since the pain meds are beginning to do the trick. So, definitely no overthinking. I’m not going to edit. I will link and I promise I’ll be back to read all of y’all’s posts when I don’t feel like puking.
OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on:::
There are three kinds of people. Those who watch . Those who do. And those who don’t care. But what do we do with our lives while we are here?
Most of us fall into the cracks of these sometimes opting to wait a lifetime to jump into the fray while others leap but never stop to watch. And then there are those who seem to miss both the vision and the action. Those who are perpetually lost and spend their days blind and impotent.
What do we need to be people who not only see but do. Who not only know but act? Who not only act but take it all in?
Those who only play at life and watch the stories of others unfold without ever really engaging in what is true, and those who only do, life boiled down to tasks and goals and to do lists have both missed out on something essential.
To really have a story, one worth telling to a grandchild perched on your knee or to a dear friend over coffee, there has to be movement and thought.
It goes together as faith and works, but just like faith and works, story starts in relationship.
Story is the combination of our moments and memories. The mundane and the meaningful only make sense if there is action, those who do, and reaction, those who watch and absorb.
If you’re in the third group, those who don’t care, you better wake up or you will never have a story worth telling.
But herein lies the struggle of the passionate and observant. It is uncomfortable. It is weariness and stretching of soul parts and the weight of glory and justice.
It is the resonance and cries of lament with our brothers and sisters in Christ and the devastating love for those who just don’t see.
It is the inability to rest easy and comfortable in our first world accommodations without pondering if God really wants us to just be blessed and happy or if He cares less about our comfort and more about our obedience.
It’s the discontent with spectator Christianity or rash speculations and vacuous soapbox rantings. It is the slow pondering of His will and the encompassing flames of a life engulfed by glory.
We sit trance like in God’s presence like bodies encircling a campfire, eyes fixed on glowing embers. The heat cast off sometimes flushing our faces bringing the hot blush up from our pounding hearts, sometimes burning our knees, bent too far forward over the fire’s rim. Sometimes the smoke pursues us and the heat and comfort turns to sparks and blazing ash, intake of hot smoldering breathe and gasping lungs. And we choke and rasp breaths and wait for cool air to wash over us, because that is all our flesh can do.
And we take it all in, and it warms our souls. And we leave with the aroma of His burning flames soaked deep into our flesh and follicles, and faith and we carry it on to warm another.