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

A Challenge for Life.

The semester is quickly reaching the grand finale. My roommates are already cramming for finals and end of semester projoects. Unfortunately, I’m busier than ever with the most boring things. Most Tuesday afternoons I leave my class feeling like I just ran a marathon or waged a small war with my mind. Most mornings, the alarm goes off and my first thought is, “I don’t want to do this today.” You can only tell yourself for so long it’ll get better before you finally realize it won’t until it’s over. And you can only manufacture joy for so long until reentry brings reality and your burnt. I’m burnt. Spent. Exasperated. The joy I so recently overflowed with I can’t rightfully claim at this moment in my life. The fire is cooling and life is slowly but surely finding it’s way back to normal.

I, however, will not stand for this. My life can’t be normal. Not after everything I’ve seen. Not after everywhere I’ve been. Not now, after learning and conquering so much. I won’t let it.

Last Wednesday I went to worship not wanting to worship. Not feeling much from the Holy Ghost. But, I realized something. You can hand me boring day after boring day. You can send me to a class where people can’t play good frisbee. You can take away my daylight. You can freeze me off my bike. You can keep me up till all hours of the night working on something special for 25 middle school students only to see it blown to bits by disrespectful and disobedient children. You can make me write paper after paper on math and its misconceptions. You can make me watch the beloved Dawgs play less than excellent football week in and week out.

But, you know what?!

You can’t take my Jesus. Not from me. Not today. Not tomorrow. And when it’s all said and done, he’s all I need. Throw what you will my way. Make life as miserable as possible. Leave me with one choice. I beg you. Send me to my knees in front of my Jesus. Because, you can’t take him away. He’s always faithful. He’s always loving. He will never leave. He will never be pointless or mindless. He has a plan and purpose. And he certainly isn’t normal. Send me there. Life, I dare you. Give me what you will.

A few weeks ago, I was watching the show Eli Stone. More than ever these days, I am convinced there are things in this world that carry a little piece of the divine. This one night, Eli Stone was it. At the end of the show, Eli was talking to his friend and he said of him, “Eli you were meant to take great strides across the surface of the earth and with each one you will change the world.”

I think I’m meant to change the world. And I will not let life become normal again. I will not lose sight of my first love. Not again. He is mine and I am his.

You can’t take my Jesus.

-junglejon

Holidays.

Dear Thanksgiving,

Your time is quickly approaching. It seems, however, each year another holiday seems to overshadow you. Christmas comes earlier and earlier. Even now, Christmas music is being played, houses are being decorated, and commercials are promoting this winter festival. For this, I must apologize. If it weren’t for you, Christmas wouldn’t be what it is. You see, people don’t understand it’s you who put us in the mood for Christmas trees and flashy lights. If it weren’t for you, and you’re fall gala event, we would not love this season. It wouldn’t be a time for remembering family, friends, and others we love. It wouldn’t be a time to join together in feast and remember what we are all most thankful for. Remembering the greatness of those around us keeps us from simply wanting gifts for Christmas. Because of you, we become selfless instead of selfish.

May your greatness as a holiday live on even if Christmas is slowly creeping on your turf. Personally, I promise not to celebrate Christmas until you have passed and the last turkey leg is gone. Thank you for reminding me the holidays are not about getting, but about loving those who have given so much already.

Yours truly,

-junglejon

Sunsets here and there.

I’m sitting on the pier on St. Simons Island watching the sun go down out over the water. My thoughts are drifting back to the wonderful evening I spent sitting on top of the mountain in Mae Hong Son. A flood of memories come rushing back, none of which stands out more than the spirit of contentedness my heart felt that evening. Even now those same feelings are invading my heart and reminding me who I am. Who I have become. Where the lord has brought me and where he is taking me.

As I sit here and watch with gulls diving and fishing boats coming to port, I am reminded of the God I fell so madly in love with over the summer. He is the same God today, here on this pier, as He was then, on top of the mountain. And tomorrow, He’ll be the same God. His love never fails, always endures, and never ceases to amaze. No matter where I am. Whether high or low. Here or there. Western or Eastern hemisphere. He is God who loves. He is a God who saves. And he is a God who restores.

He makes everything glorious and he made me.

-junglejon.

P.s. DAWGS SON!!

Fly wheels and rear cassettes.

I love the “hum” of rubber, 700×23, tires as they tear through countless miles of pavement.

I love the “click-click” of the fly wheel as someone stops their cadence to catch a breath.

I love the “thunk” of the rear derailleur downshifting when someone jumps on the sprint.

But, this isn’t really about that.

I love looking over my shoulder, knowing the guy behind me has cracked.

I love the burn caused by muscles screamin for oxygen as you climb, climb, climb.

But, this isn’t really about that.

He makes everything glorious.

-junglejon