Sleeping Giants.

People I love the most are speaking truth into my heart a life. Through conversations shared while being perched precariously on railroad tracks high off the ground, late night back porch musing, and a couple of books, the Lord has been stirring something inside of me. Through it comes an itch to be something more. An itch to live abundantly. An itch to love selflessly. And an itch to finally become the man the Lord has called me to be.

I can feel something stirring in my heart. Like a giant waking from his slumber. It comes and goes and comes and goes. A battle rages in my heart and mind as I recoil from all the Lord is revealing. But the pebble has been thrown and nothing can stop the ripples spreading rapidly across my heart. The giant inside of me is clawing at the surface now.

I have realized there are still walls around my heart. Walls from love lost and friendships squandered. I see their faces and hear their voices and a terrible ache rises to the surface. A great sadness time seems unable to conquer. For so long I thought myself healed and mended. For so long I considered myself whole and true. But the Lord is telling me otherwise. He is calling me now to rise up and face the final test. To break down the walls I was sure no longer existed. And the giant inside of me grows.

A quiet confidence is stirring inside of me. A challenge to stand for what is right no matter what the cost. A challenge to love in the same way Christ loved the church. Who, being in very nature God, considered equality with God not something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, enduring death on the cross. So, I too must be willing to put my heart on the line and step with confidence into my own Garden of Gethsemane. Trusting the Lord with every ounce of my being and being ready to give me life for the one I love should the time come. So, I too must be willing to fight for her and buy her back over and over again, even if everything I am is on the line. I too must be willing to go to the ends of the earth to rescue her and bring her into the Kingdom and community with our Heavenly father. No matter the cost.

I realized, however, I am not that man. I am not ready to love like that. I am not ready to fight and put my life on the line. I am not ready to stand with courage for what is right and true and pure. I shrink at the thought of ridicule. I buckle at the thought of disappointing others. I back down when it comes time to fight for what is right. I tremble at the thought of loving someone again.

But the giant inside of me is growing. Slowly I am learning faith the size of mustard seeds can move mountains. Slowly I am learning I have the power to stand against those who oppose truth and life. Slowly I am learning I do have the capacity to love like Christ has loved us. Slowly I am learning all I do is meant for the glory of the one who endured the cross. Whether it be eating or sleeping. Crying or laughing. Riding or sitting. Catching frisbees or hanging with my roommates. I do it all for the glory of the one who rescued me and gave me life.

With this comes a freedom. A reckless abandon to do it all with full speed and a smile on my lips. To stand tall and ride fast. To love fierce and to laugh the loudest. I don’t do it for them. Or you. Or whoever else there may be. I don’t do it for personal gain or glory.

I do it for Him, who is even now sitting on his throne in Heaven with the fullness of the Glory of God surrounding him.

The giant is growing. Climbing to the surface. Challenging me to step into the person the Lord has for me. Challenging me to live a life worthy of the Cross. So, I must. Even though it hurts to travel back into the pain and once again tackle the walls around my heart. I must push forward. I must conquer my fear and doubt. It is time for courage and confidence. Time for life. Time to grow up.

So, let us together arouse the sleeping giants and raise an army of men and women who fear nothing save those who might not hear the gospel we so desperately cling to. Let us join the throngs of those who are already fighting and take up arms with our brothers and sisters. Let us enter the arena, surrounded by those who have gone before and run the race marked out for us.

It is time.

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for it is light that makes everything visible. This is why it is said:
“Wake up, O sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”

Come, let us shine together.

Ride hard. Laugh loud. Love fierce.

-junglejon

Get Aero, Son.

Florida is flat. It’s surprisingly difficult to ride on flat roads. There is no coasting. No climbing. No shifting in the saddle. No standing. No downhills. Just flat. It is the constant of revolutions as your legs roll over the crank again and again. Pushing. Pushing. And pushing. Then a dull ache creeps into your quads. A small fire constantly burning. There is no reprieve of the downhill. It’s a constant push. A constant burn. Your endurance is tested at 85 revolutions per minute.

Can you keep pushing? Can you ignore the constant fire in your legs? Or will you quit? These are the questions you keep asking yourself…

If you stop pushing, then you lose momentum. And it requires even more effort to get it back. Once you go it up, you have to keep it up. The only thing keeping you going is the thought of one day finding the top step of the podium. The thought of looking over your shoulder and watching the next guy crack. The thought of out sprinting the next guy to the line. All of these things make the burn worth it. They all make the constant ache more tolerable. In fact, you push harder and harder. Spinning fast and faster. And your endurance is tested.

It’s the endurance of hope. A small fire burning somewhere inside of you. Causing you to push harder and harder. It burns and burns. Some days it burns brighter than others, fueled by many things. Other days it is barely lit, but it’s still there. Still burning. Consuming the thoughts of a future glory. Of one day standing before the father and hearing him say well done. And it’s with this future glory we push and push and ignore the dull ache.

This thing called hope burns inside of us. Sometimes it’s a dull ache. A small fire. But it always burns. And we push and push. We ignore the pain for this thing called hope. It drives us forward.

It’s the hope of one day standing in heaven knowing when the time has come we outsprinted everyone else. It’s the hope of knowing when all is said and done, we are standing on the top step of the podium.

So when it hurts. Or when the ache creeps up. Or when the fire threatens our ability to keep going. We lean forward. Grip the handle bars and get aero, son.

Because when you get aero, you do work. You’re telling everyone else it hurts and it’s hard, but you’re not stopping. In fact, since it hurts, you’re just going to go ahead and make it unbearable. Make it hurt as much as possible. Because there are times when the thought of a future glory makes the pain and the hurt and the fire so very worth it.

We continually remember before our God and Father your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.

What are you hoping for?

Drink coffee. Body surf. Get aero, son.

-junglejon

Dedicated to Best Friends.

Dear Future Heir,

A long time ago, when you were still young, you made a decision to follow after me. We walked together for many years. Through many highs and many lows, we traveled through life. But as you got older, you drifted away from me and let go of my hand. You stopped looking in my eyes and stopped letting me lead you.

I watched as you moved farther and farther away from me, drifting so far from my path I wondered if you could ever find your way back. You began to stumble and struggle through the thick underbrush of thorns. I sent my Son in after you. To clear a path for you and fight off the wild things attacking you. He hacked through the thorn and the bush and took the cuts and the wounds so you wouldn’t have to. I begged and pleaded for you to look at what he did for you, what he is doing for you. But your eyes were still wild with lust and you could not see clearly. You stumbled over and over and over. So far gone you were, I could barely see you. I could hear your cry but the darkness surrounding you is getting thicker.

My adopted son, listen to me now. This path you have chosen is nothing compared to the life I have for you. No matter how far you go and wildly you run, I am still with you. We walked together once and my  light will forever be on your heart. No matter the darkness, my light can never be extinguished. No matter how hard you try to deny me in your life, I will always be there. Watching. Protecting. Loving.

You are my man. I have great things for you. Bigger things then you could ever imagine. I will take you to the farthest regions of the world bring many into salvation through you. Just know, my adopted son, I am pursuing you even now. Just one glance in my direction and I will come running. I am after your heart even now. Give ear and hear. There is an itch under your skin for something more. Something bigger. There is a restlessness in your heart at the life you have chosen. It’s me. I am knocking. I am coming for you. I will relentlessly pursue you with everything I have. My mark is on your heart and I am a good shepherd.

Will you trust me now?

I am coming to pull you out and give you life. Hang on to something. It’s going to get loco.

This is dedicated to my best friend from the time I could walk. Give ear, brother, and choose life.

-jungejon

Update: Cycling, Diets, and 117.

It’s been a while since I last posted. So, here is an update on life.

Last weekend was my first ever bike race where drafting was legal. It was awesome. I felt strong. All the miles I had put in since this time last year were finally being felt and I was finally counting them as significant. The course itself was 28 miles of flatness in south Georgia. Needless to say, the pace was fast and was getting faster. I was getting stronger. Macy (my bike) and I were fluid, like water. Cruising up and down the peloton at will, all the while smiling big, wonderful smiles. About 20 miles in, I heard the first sharp intake of breath as member of the peloton started to get winded. This only made my legs stronger. The smell of blood in the water. Could my first race be my first victory? I was certainly beginning to believe it. Then it happened. With about 6 miles to go, terror struck. The folks at Georgia Southern decided to add a three mile stretch of road that was unpaved. They called it hard-packed Georgia red clay. They lied. It was sand. All sand. I hit the sand and found my back tire fish tailing. I was losing her. I could only hold on a little while longer. Bikes and bodies were hitting the ground all around me. Then it was my turn. I laid her down. As soon as I hit the ground I looked up to see a rider from Clemson hit my bike and flip over his handle bars. I hopped back up and tried to get back on only to notice my chain had fallen off and Macy was temporarily unrideable. I watched in anguish as the last few scragglers road away, leaving Macy and I alone in the woods on a road covered in sand. I fixed her and hopped back on. I struggled all the way out because my cleats were full of sand and didn’t clip into my pedals. However, on the way out, I picked up a dejected rider from Alabama. I could of sworn I heard him speaking the unintelligible words of a man gone mad as he grabbed on my wheel. After a few more miles of nervous agony, pavement came into view. My heart kipped. We hit the road with fury and there was a thought in my mind of catching the main field. Would my legs be strong enough? Could I ride hard enough? I was surely going to try. So, we rode and picked up another rider from Georgia Tech. Then there were three. I was pulling, the other guys were hanging on. We came to the last turn, and a race official emphatically pointed us right. Two minutes later we realized he had emphatically pointed us in the wrong direction. We turned. We shouldn’t have. It was over. But, in the back of my mind, I heard Billy and Bryan’s words, “You better not be able to walk when you get off that bike.” So, I figured I might as well make the other two guys hurt on the way into the finish. I did. I pulled the whole way home. The last three miles was set at a pace close to 26mph. With about half a mile to go, Georgia Tech took the lead and gave my legs about ten seconds of needed recovery which was all they needed for the final sprint. I hammered with about 200 yards to go and held off the other two. Out of three it was me. But, I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted a chance for the final sprint and I didn’t get it. Could I have won? Maybe. At least, I believed I could. And that’s the hardest part.

Next week is North Georgia. It’s time for the men to stand up. Who will be the King of the Mountain?

In other news, (related to cycling) I’ve started a new diet in an effort to find some more speed and build some leaner muscle. I’ll trade good tasting food for speed any day of the week. I’ve been on it for about two weeks and I’m getting there. It’s not perfect yet, but I’m working with a guy to set goals and work out meal times. Hopefully I’ll start dropping some poundage and make someone cry from the speed eminating from my tires.

However great those things are, life is exploding in 117 Hunters Run (my house). At the beginning of the semester I felt the Lord telling me to lead my house and take the guys living here into a beautiful relationship with our Savior. I mentioned to them that I wanted to start praying on Tuesday nights. To my surprise, they all wanted to be apart. It started slow, but the Lord has been faithful and each week he has revealed himself in more and more powerful ways. There have been major victories won and each one of the guys in this house is quickly becoming a man of God. The change is evident. It’s almost been like watching a movie. Every Tuesday night we meet and every Tuesday night we leave being refueled. Last week we sat in silence and breathed in the Holy Spirit for half an hour. When we were done Billy said, “When we were praying, I saw a vision of Jesus standing in the room nodding at each one of our prayers.” Sick. Beautiful. Power.

That’s all for now. Drink Coffee. Ride a bike. Dance.

-junglejon

If You Only Knew…

Beloved,

You never did grasp how wide, how high, how long, and how deep is my love for you.

If you truly knew, if we truly knew, I wonder how different things would be.

-junglejon

Lance Armstrong and Finish Lines.

(I’m writing this standing in line at the dinning hall.)

Last week I was glued to the TV following the Tour Down Under, cycling’s first premier stage race of the season. For six days, professional cyclists hit the road cruising at ridiculous speeds in a ridiculous heat. Over the six days of racing, over 300,000 fans lined the streets to watch. All because the greatest of all time was making his return debut in South Australia. Lance Armstrong was in the saddle again. His first race in over three years let the world know he was still the same Lance. Finishing just forty seconds behind the leader, Lance was quoted as saying this was the best he’d ever felt in January.

Look out peloton.

But, it got me to thinking. I was climbing this particulary steep hill on Saturday and my legs were screaming and I just wanted to cruise the rest of the way up. Then the thought struck, “What if Lance is at the top of that hill and all I had to say for myself was I got tired?” Or what if I reach the finish line and he’s standing right there, would I be able to tell him I left it all on the course? That I gave everything I could give? That when everyone else cracked, I found another level?

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

A great cloud of witnesses. All gathered in the arena. Cheering. Screaming. Urging us on. Challenging us to finish the race and fight the good fight.

Imagine the great heroes of our faith waiting at the finish line. Paul. Peter. James. Mathew. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. All gathered in one place, cheering for us.

It makes me wonder what I will say at the finish line. Will I leave it all on the course? Will I finish worthy of standing in their midst? Will I finish, holding nothing back? Or will there be things left unsaid, battles not fought, and victories not won? Will my race be worthy of the one I call my Savior?

I don’t know about you, but I want to finish the race knowing I wasted every last ounce of strength so I might be counted worthy.

I wonder what it might be like to collapse every night utterly exhausted knowing that I rode farther and loved harder than anyone else.

So, my challenge is, how will you finish?

Drink Coffee. Ride a bike. Party Hard. Love Harder.

-junglejon

I have a dream…

[I've been reading Rob Bell's Jesus Wants to Save Christians and I want to give some credit to where these thoughts are coming from.]

We all have dreams. Whether they be the visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads while we sleep or dreams of some future glory on the football gridiron, we all have them. As little kids we dream of being firefighters or astronauts. Then we dream dreams of leading teams to national titles and playing on Sunday afternoons. And as we get older we dream of finding the perfect wife (or husband, for our lady readers) and having the perfect home and making the perftect amount of money. Then we dream about our kids and their futures.

Awesome.

But, if you look at the progression of dreams (if you dreamt like me), they kind of gradually get less and less exciting. I mean, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a super hero and save the world and be awesome all at the same time. Now, I dream about the end of the semester and Georgia football. Which is fine, but isn’t as cool as being a super hero.

So, what happens between six years old and twenty-one years old? What causes this rift between the unimaginable and the ordinary? Where do all the dreams go?

Well, we get older. We see the world and all it has to offer and we realize being great is hard. But, settling down is easy. We get hurt and feel pain and our enthusiasm hits the wall. And we don’t want to put ourselves out there and risk being hurt again. (Which is what it takes to be a true crime fighter like Batman.) So, we don’t, and our dreams get smaller, less risky.

But, what if we did start dreaming huge again? What if visions of greatness swirled around in our mind? What if we decided taking a risk and starting an adventure are better then settling?

What if the nation of Isreal didn’t dream of the return from exile? What if they gave up on the promise of a savior while God held his tongue for 430 years? Would they have survived?

Would we survive if we didn’t believe in the impossible? Would we keep going if we didn’t hope for something greater? Something more?

If we’re honest, something inside of us is itching right beneath the surface. Something is struggling to get out. We all feel it. We all long for it. Everyone wants to be great. Maybe we should start dreaming galaxy sized dreams.

Maybe we should all want to be Batman again…

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

-junglejon

We need people…

I’m currently writing a message for the Athen’s Church student ministry on what it means to live in authentic community and how we all need people. And when it hurts the most, sometimes the only way to make it through is for someone to carry us there…

-junglejon

Isaiah 61

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners…

-junglejon

These Hands.

I’ve been wondering what to write next. I’ve been probing my thoughts trying to find words. The more I think the more I find myself coming back to the love of my Savior. I know this blog is consumed with posts speaking of a love so big, so bright, and so amazing words can’t even really do it justice. But, can it ever get old? Speaking of his love?

Days are quickly passing by. It’s been a year since the Lord grabbed me by the heart and began this journey with me. It’s hard to imagine all that has transpired these past twelve months. Visions. Dreams. Miracles. Salvations. Friends. Conversations. Stories. All of it has been little pieces of duct tape putting my heart back together. I can look back and see how the Lord orchestrated it all for the use of his Glory. I can hear the “tap-tap” as the Maestro readies his orchestra. As the first few bars sound, the music already pierces the heart. Simple, but beautiful. The music touches all as the Author put pieces into place and directs. And it continues. He continues to direct and pursue and love. He is never far. He always loves.

His hands are the ones I have come to trust. To love. His hands are the ones that stretched from heaven and provided the beat my heart had all but lost. His hands are the ones who put the pieces together. His hands are the one lifted me from the pit and brought me into his glorious presence. His hands are gentle. His hands are rough. The break and heal. They push and pull.

But, these are the hands I’ve come to trust.

His hands are the ones who spread out the sky. His hands are the ones who formed the mountains. His hands are the ones who set the moon and stars in place. His hands are the ones who taught the waves to roll and the wind to blow.

These are the hands I’ve come to love.

His hands were pierced. His hands were broken. His arms stretch farther than I can fall. His love brought salvation. His love brought healing.

This is the love I’ve come to trust.

Tonight, I will rest in his love. I will wait for his plan. For he is good.

-junglejon