in the midst of weaknesses, God carries me

God and I are winning races. That’s me…carried by God. And we are winning races!

can openers

i have this friend. she’s sweet, bright, smart and fun. and she’s fairly new to the city.

needless to say, her apartment is still yet unfurnished. of course.

not long ago i overheard my friend telling a mutual friend  how she went to open a canned food she was about to prepare but remembered she did not have a can opener.

so…the other day i go to the store. and i go there for only one reason. to buy a can opener. for my friend. i walk in, my knees become a little weak. my heart starts pounding a little heavier than normal. i reach out my hand to pick up the can opener off the shelf, and i notice my hand is shaking a little. to my surprise i was nervous.

i couldn’t help but wonder, “will she like my gift? will she even accept? i hope it makes her day!”

i imagined the smile on her face as i would give it to her. i couldn’t wait to show my gift to her. i wondered then if she was having a bad day, then hoping my gift would make it better. or if she was having a good day, then hoping my gift would add to it and make it just that much more of a good day. the whole time…i was nervous.

later that evening, i had the chance to give it to her. as i handed the can opener to her, my knees were still weak, my stomach felt twisted and knotted, my hands were still a little shaky, and my voice…was…cracking…and…i…couldn’t think straight, i was so nervous, hoping it would make her day. it must have. she gave me a hug. she had never hugged me before.

sometimes i wonder if i make God nervous. not a scared nervous. or a nervous wondering if i will accept His gifts or not. rather, i wonder if i make God nervous in such a way where He thinks, “i hope he likes my gift. i hope it makes his day!” and sometimes i wonder if when God gives to me, He hopes that in return i will reach out and give Him a big hug like my friend did me.

i choose to believe that each one of us makes God nervous. i choose to believe that God gives, thinking, “i hope my gift makes their day! and i wonder if they will in return reach out and hug Me. i hope so! i like their hugs!”

may you come to see that you make God nervous, that God gets nervous over YOU:)

dead weight

God and i are dancing. He leads; i follow. hands are clasped. there’s some twirling. at times a little dipping; other times my head is on His shoulder. at all times we’re synchronized. we’re like two lovers completely attuned to one another. we ARE two lovers attuned to one another. feet move in sequence to one another. hips in perfect harmony. His eyes are focused on mine; mine on His.

however, at times i look away.

at times there is too much fear. too much pain. too much shame and too much guilt.

so i look in any direction but His.

when i am afraid, i fear that God just wants to use me…without desiring me first.

when i hurt, i believe God, too, will eventually hurt me.

when i am guilty, i understand my shortcomings.

when i am ashamed, i understand my potential.

at times i dance, but dance at a distance. i don’t get too close. if i get too close, i may get rejected. i’ve been rejected in the past. i know what it’s like. i’ve been used before. i know what that’s like. God can’t be as good as He says He is. He HAS to care about my failures. He has to know my shame. He has to see my guilt and the lack of value and worth. i’m not the perfect lover He sees in me.

but i am.

i’ve been created to dance. with my Lover. He loves me. I am loved.

all i am asked to do…is…dance. that’s it. just…dance! simple. easy. just dance.

i am starting to believe that we are created…good. not good as in some ability to make right choices versus wrong choices. good as in…worthy of being desired. like a good chocolate as opposed to a chocolate that is nasty and disgusting. we are created good. worthy of being desired and wanted.

i am also starting to believe that we bring on to ourselves things or attributes that are not good. though injustice happens we believe the message it sends us…that we are of no value. we stumble and fall flat on our face, so we accept the fact that since we fell and are clumsy, we then must not have it all together. we don’t measure up…we’re ashamed. we attempt and fail…we are guilty.

sometimes i wonder if God doesn’t say to us, “No! all of these things…you let me worry about these things. you just dance.”

sometimes i wonder if all of these things that hinder us from dancing is just simply dead weight. dead weight that is unnecessary and does not need to be attached to who we are.

i am a lover…free of dead weight. a lover desired and wanted. no attachments. no dead weight. free. uninhibited.

and i am dancing.

dance

Have you ever seen anyone dance uninhibited, as though all wrongs have been forgiven? Or have you ever seen an innocent child dance in freedom? Nothing holds her back. She’s not scared. She’s not terrified. She doesn’t feel ashamed for what’s she’s doing. As though she’s been give the freedom to dance however she wants for however long she wants. Forever if so desired.

Like a small innocent child, I’m beginning to dance. Like I have never danced before.

It’s as though all of my life I’ve been told dancing was wrong. So, like a conservative traditionalist, I’ve sat along the back wall scared and terrified, hurt and broken, wanting to dance, but ashamed. And all along God has been crying out, “Dance, my child! Dance! Like you’ve never danced before! And dance for as long as you wish, but dance forever and dance freely! In whatever you do, dance and dance with Me!”

Many times growing up for whatever reason, I’ve accepted the messages sent to me through the many disappointments life gives. In doing so my heart was taken away. And whoever took away my heart, took it away from the original partner my heart was dancing with.

My heart was stolen and in need of rescue.

However, whoever stole my heart away convinced me that he was the one I was originally dancing with. I trusted my new dance partner. Although, he smelled different. He looked different. He talked different. He was completely different. In every way. Yet, I was convinced it was…Him. My original dancing partner.

Not a minute too soon my original dancing partner came for me. And my heart was rescued. But I was hurt. How does one dance when he or she is hurt? When stolen, my heart believed what was told about my original dancing partner. My heart, now, needed to be re-convinced that my original dancing partner was good, was true, was everything I grew up believing as an innocent child before taken away.

And like a small innocent child, I’m beginning to dance like I used to.

But I’m a little nervous. Somewhat scared. He wants me to dance. Freely. So I am. But it’s awkward. I feel vulnerable. I feel exposed and helpless. I am having to allow Him to hold my heart. I haven’t done so for so long. In this way. I am so used to holding my own heart. The last time my heart was being held by someone else, it was being used. But this is different, yet familiar. I remember this from before. I’m dancing. Somewhat scared, but I’m dancing.

My original dancing partner holds my heart again, and we’re dancing like we used to.  Like a small innocent child, I’m beginning to dance freely.

Hear that? That’s my dancing partner, beckoning me to come dance. I am being given the permission to dance, so I must go.

Come. Watch me. Watch me dance like you’ve never seen anyone dance before. Uninhibited. In freedom. Forever. With my original dancing partner. I’m dancing!

Wanna join us? Ever danced before? If not, we’ll show you!

Dance!

identity theft

i’m learning that there is a very real God who is a very GOOD God. who loves me and wants to give to me, but there is also a very real enemy who wants to steal what God has, namely the heart, kill it and destroy it.

…..

my roommate is a victim of identity theft. everything you can think of. bank account information. credit cards. credit score. social security number. you name it. my roommate was some guy living the good life in Colorado. at least on paper, he was. my real roommate resided in Kansas.

it would be foolish of me to say that i know exactly what my roommate went through. but i am foolish. i have never had any account information stolen. i have never reported bank fraud. no one that i know of has ever lived a good life in Colorado off of my expense.

but i, too, have been a victim of identity theft. let me explain.

…..

i am recognizing that i have this insatiable need to control. i found this out as of today. i had this dream. one of the worst dreams that i have ever experienced. there may have only been 3 or 4 other dreams like this before. a dream full of anxiety. i dreamed someone close to me…left. ME. i woke up feeling rejected and abandoned to say the least. i was relieved to find out that it was only a dream. yet, i felt as though the rug was pulled out from underneath me.

i’ve had dreams like this before. i once dreamed when i was little that i was kidnapped. that tops my worst dream list. next to it comes the dream a few years where i lost the girl i thought at the time was the girl of my dreams. i woke up believing that i no longer could see her, listen to her, talk to her. i woke up actually crying that night. body drenched in sweat. next to that was two other dreams involving losing my grandparents.

in each dream there was an element of losing someone or someones. attached to each element of losing someone has been a high amount of anxiety. attached to the anxiety has been this need to regain something that was lost. what last night’s dream showed me was that when i feel most chaotic, when i experience the most anxiety, it is when i no longer am in control. within me is this need…to be in control. and i am realizing that it is because i have this fear of failure.

in high school i knew how to get my way. it was easy. emotionally manipulate people into feeling sorry for me. by doing so, i was in control.

grades. homework. i’m a pretty smart kid, i have to admit. so, most times when i have an assignment, i wait until the last day to start and finish the work. this past week, i had two finals. each one i waited to study the day of the exam. this is in a graduate level program. i scored a 99% on one test and am awaiting the score of the second exam. but by waiting until the last minute, i am in control. if the work does not match up…i have an excuse. i…am…in…control.

underlying my need to control is a fear of failure. i am admitting (amongst so many other things tonight) that i am afraid to fail. i am realizing that i am afraid that i will not match up. that i will not come close to the next guy. that he will get the girl, because he will have more positive attributes than i. and what will be seen in me will be all the negative attributes. (now i am single – so don’t go jumping to conclusions. just making a general statement to prove my point.)

looking back, i have measured myself up against some of my closest friends. of course each time, i don’t come close. i lose every time.

i am learning that the reason i fear failure is the internal belief that…that…i…i am not good enough. i am unloveable. i don’t match up. i am not worthy of the girl. i am nothing. now, this is weird for me, because this is NOT at all how i think. sometimes, i think i am arrogant and too cocky for my own good at times. most times. but you don’t have to think certain things to believe something else.

for so long i have buried these beliefs and layed on top of those buried beliefs a different brand of thinking. thoughts of self-worth. high esteem. a proper view of myself. the bad thing about it is…my actions flow out of my beliefs. not my way of thinking. unfortunately.

and i am realizing that for so long i placed my identity in other people or places unattached to me. because of this belief that I…am not good enough and that I…am unloveable. my thought process was, “if i place my identity in this, then therefore i will be worthy, because THIS is worthy. thus, now i TOO am worthy.”

when i place my identity in something, i am controlling my fear of failure. when that something is taken away, so is my identity. thus, anxiety results. chaos. my world is turned upside down.

the process now is digging up these beliefs. whatever they are. beliefs of being unloveable. beliefs of not being good enough. and getting rid of them. they have already been replaced. a long time ago. it’s just a matter of getting rid of the faulty beliefs that are so deeply ingrained within me. in the Bible Jesus said that if new wine was put into old wineskins, the old wineskins would burst. it’s this idea that the old and the new cannot reside together. they conflict. they oppose one another. something has to give. most times, it’s both. the wineskin burst. it no longer is of use. and thus, the new wine is spilled. both are lost. for me, these old beliefs must go. the replacement stays.

i like wine. i mustn’t spill the wine!

…..

the Bible says that there is a very real enemy who has come to steal…to kill…and to destroy. however so, this enemy has stolen my identity…my heart…and has been in a process of killing and destroying. here’s the good part. the second part of that verse states that there is a very real God who has come “to give life and life more abundantly.” i see this as a reclaiming!

i am learning that there is a very real battle. that there is a very real God, who is a very GOOD God. who wants to give and bless. and i am also realizing that there is also a very real enemy who has come to steal the good that God wants to give and steal what is already God’s. my heart. your heart. my friend’s heart. and when once stolen, he takes and begins to kill and finally eliminate.

for a very long time, this enemy has had my heart. my identity. but my heart is being fought for. my identity is being reclaimed. what was once stolen is being given back to the one who owns it.

tears

Rare it is for another person to see me cry. But I do cry. In fact as I write this I am crying. There are tears in my eyes. Tears on my face. Tears in my beard.

I cry. Right now, I cry.

Hurt is being held. Hurt is being released. Hurt is being relished in. And I am crying.

God is purging the gunk.

It’s 3AM, and I can’t sleep. There is too much pain. Too much anger. Too much doubt. Too much shame. Too much fear. Too much loss. Too much regret. And too much failure. And tears are streaming down my face like a flood.  Each tear filled with the water that gives the hurt life and with the salt that gives it flavor.

The only thing that places all humankind on the same playing field is brokenness. It’s in our humanness that makes you and me alike. We all experience pain. We all experience loneliness and isolation and brokenness. Yet, to each one the brokenness looks different. Just as different as one shattered window pane is from the next.

I used to think that if I graduated from college that it would validate the places my pain came from. Give to it some sense of retribution. Justice. It didn’t. I then thought marriage, raising a family, that would validate the places my pain came from. I am single, never have been married, nor do I have any kids. Now, I am working towards obtaining training to be a counselor. I thought that would give validation. You know, the whole “turn the hurt into good by helping others through their pain” kind of thing. I still encounter new pain. There’s no validation. Maybe if I could get my doctorate. Nope. Nothing there either. Is there a chip on my shoulder?  Yeah. Maybe. There used to be anyway. Until now.

It’s 3AM, and I can’t sleep. There is too much too think about. And there is way too much hurt and pain that needs to be released.

I start to pray. I begin to cry. Not just simple tears. Complex tears that come from somewhere other than the surface. Deep tears that hold deep hurts. And my prayers are from somewhere deep, dark within.

The people I respect the most aren’t the ones who passively accept their hurt. Neither are they the ones who internalize their pain. Those who accept their hurts without asking questions. No. Those I respect the most are the ones who painfully ask God the tough questions. Those who cuss and battle and come away from their praying like Jacob in the Bible who walked away with a limp because of his quarrel with God.

I completely believe in having respect for God. But those who ask the tough questions seem to come away with a stronger bond with God. Like they know something that we don’t. Like lovers who from across the room just look at one another and both know what the other is thinking.

Towards the end of my prayer this morning, I prayed that if God wasn’t honored and glorified in my life and through all my pain and hurt and failure, I asked that He would not allow me to wake up this coming morning. That He would take me. For the pain is too much for nothing to come out of it.

Then it hit me. That where’s my validation should come from. I may battle more hurts and brokenness and my own humanness as I get older. I expect to.

But may my validation for the places my hurt comes from be from God being glorified through it, in spite of it, because of it.

May people come to see that God is a very good God. And that all of the pain and hurt does not come from Him; rather, instead, in the midst of the pain and hurt God is right there, alongside. Fighting our battles, our struggles with us. Bringing rescue. Restoring what has been His from the very beginning. You and me.

Sometimes I wonder if tears are God’s way of purging the gunk out of our lives.

walls

i have walls. surrounding those walls…are walls. encompassing those walls are…even more walls.

there’s this passage of scripture in the bible in the book of joel that says this, ‘render to me your heart and not your clothing. return to the Lord your God for He is gracious, compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love.’

to render would mean to give. the clothing part refers to rituals.

in the book of joel something big has just happened. something catastrophic. it has great effect nationally. maybe even politically. definitely agriculturally. there’s this famine.

so God’s people had this thing that they did when catastrophe happened. they performed this ritual of asking God’s forgiveness. the ritual even had it’s own set of clothing. it was an outward sign of an inward attitude or belief. but just like any ritual has the potential to be, it became empty. their heart no longer was in it.

so joel says this, and actually he says that this is what God is saying, he says, ‘render to me your heart and not your clothing.’ another way of putting it could be, ‘give to me your heart. i want your heart. your heart is not in it!’

lately over the past few weeks, God has been showing me that He doesn’t have my full heart. in a way He does. there’s no question that i am totally and madly in love with God. but the heart that i have given Him has walls around it. be it whatever, i have placed walls up around my heart to protect my heart. and even though i believe God has healed my heart and taken away all my pain and all my brokenness and all my anger and i believe my heart is whole, my heart is weak. and it’s because of these walls. i have never given my heart the chance to be open and vulnerable, to stand alone, by itself, with nothing surrounding it. i’ve never allowed my heart to grow strong. instead i’ve protected it.

however over the past few weeks God has been showing me that it is time for those walls to come down and allow my heart to grow strong. and He is showing me more than anything that this is actually possible.

you see, i am a very giving person. i can give and give and give. my time. my energy. my money. it doesn’t matter. if you need it, i’ll give it to you. but i am not a very receiving person. don’t get me wrong. if you try to give me a hundred dollar bill, i’ll take it, but i’d much rather let you talk about you, than for me to talk about me, and what makes me…me. i can give to you, but don’t expect to give to me. it feels awkward. i’ve never learned to receive. it’s not so much that i believe i am unlovable; rather, I don’t know how. in order to receive, i have to push aside my walls. i realize that that is the only way the gift may be received. in doing so, my heart has to be seen, though. there’s risk involved. you can give to me. just leave the gift at the foot of the wall. but don’t expect an open door to come in. i’ll wait until you are gone. then, i will open the door and see if the gift is still there. most likely, and with most gifts to the heart, the gift will be gone. not that you never dropped off the gift, but gifts to the heart typically vanish when the giver walks away. somehow, mystically, the gift is attached to the giver.

joel says, ‘give to me your heart. return to the Lord your God for He is gracious, compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love.’ God wants my heart. with no walls. by keeping up my walls i deny Him the opportunity to reveal to me who He is. that He is good. gracious. compassionate. slow to anger. and…abounding in love. i can’t receive His gift if i continually ask Him to place it at the foot of one of my walls until He is gone. God wants my heart open so that He can show me…Him.

so i’m entering into a season of strengthening. it’s not a season of healing or restoration. my heart is whole. it’s not sick. just weak. it needs strengthening. it needs to stand alone. to become open. vulnerable. no wall. no vail. open. it may seem awkward. naturally. i expect it.

but i have been called to fight. for justice. for truth. for the voiceless. for the weak. for my wife. for my family. for those i love and for those Christ loves. but i can’t send my heart out to fight if it, too, is weak. a heart protected by walls or a heart weak cannot fight. it will always remain on the defensive.

walls.

they are coming down. they are crumbling.

love is coming in.

joy is coming in. joy i’ve never known. joy i’ve never experienced.

what’s God look like?

…i’m beginning to find out.

skin

the greatest form of respect one person can show to another is to look upon the nakedness of their lover, whether it be physical, emotional, spiritual or intellectual, and say, ‘i like it!’ the opposite is just as true. the greatest form of disrespect, i believe, is for one to look upon the nakedness of their lover and say, ‘i don’t like it,’ and reject it.

i believe that deep down in the fabric of our beings, in the sinew and muscle of our body, in the marrow of our bones, in the DNA of our blood, is this design for intimacy.

…..

i am unsure if God brings lovers to people who pray for them or whether or not it is a choice or if it could be a combination of both.

i have friends who are married who tell me that they ‘know beyond a shadow of a doubt’ that their spouse was sent to them by God, ‘because,’ they would say, ‘we are perfect for each other,’ like somehow before the beginning of time, God had chosen them to be married.

does God choose who we are to marry?

or is it that the level of intimacy that those who are married experience in their relationship is just THAT GOOD – as though everything in their body agrees with their mind and their soul and their spirit, saying, ‘yes! this is what it is supposed to be like!’

…..

only when one can expose oneself and become fully naked – physically, emotionally, spiritually or intellectually – can true, raw and real intimacy happen.

whenever there is shame, whenever there is mistrust, whenever there is anything to hide, the level of intimacy lowers and in most cases falls apart. because true intimacy is made and only happens when there is nakedness and embrace.

…..

my favorite couples to watch aren’t those who are soon to be married or those who just got married, where they are naive and inexperienced, and their love is fresh and new, and the guy opens the door for his bride and she lovingly looks up into his eyes with innocence and pride as to say, ‘THIS is my husband?’

no. my favorite couples to watch are the older ones. those who have been married 25, 40, 50 years or more. the ones where the gentleman STILL opens the door for his bride, the gentleman who STILL washes the dishes, the lady who STILL looks up into the eyes of her husband with innocence and pride as if to say, ‘THIS is my husband?’

BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW THEY GOT THERE. NAKEDNESS. years of physically, emotionally, spiritually and intellectually coming before their spouse, fully exposed, nothing held back, with honesty and trust, and their spouse says, ‘I LIKE IT!’

they’ve fought through the battles. they’ve dug deep into each other’s souls. lots of crying, lots of tears. and lots of nakedness, saying, ‘this is me. here i am. will you accept me?’

…..

i believe that those who are married have the greatest opportunity than anyone else in the world. they have the opportunity to physically represent to their spouse what true intimacy with God is designed to look like. when one looks upon the nakedness of their lover and says, ‘i like it,’ they say to their spouse, ‘God is madly and totally in love with you.’

isaiah’s escape

i have a friend. his name is isaiah. isaiah is much younger than i. much younger by at least 10 years. isaiah is somewhat short, at least shorter in comparison to me, but then again most people will be short compared to me. he is strong. his arms and chest and abs reflect his courage. isaiah is also dark. darkest of all dark godiva chocolates. and just as sweet. the white in his eyes reflect his enthusiasm and wonderment for life, while his mouth reflects the joy and happiness he holds inside.

isaiah is my hero.

isaiah is also an african refugee.

i’ve known isaiah for what seems to be all my life. maybe it should be better stated that i’ve known isaiah almost all of his american life. i can’t remember the actual day that we met. but it was most certainly before his days of deodorant and cologne. boy did he smell! like some ripened dirty laundry, he smelled. yet, his joy and wonderment lured you in past what smelled and into a soul longing to be kissed. and kissed i did.

nights after school or hot summer days, isaiah and i along with abraham and david and tony would ride around in my hooptie-wagon of a car looking for something to do or trouble to get into. we’ve laughed together, we’ve played together, we’ve cried together, we’ve fought together and we’ve fought each other, and mostly, we’ve loved together. sometimes even i refer to isaiah as my son. when i do, he never skips a beat. he likes it when i call him my son.

the other day I found myself somewhat in awe, sitting on the wheel well of the bed of my truck, as i sat listening to isaiah talk about growing up in africa.

the conversation started out as an interview for my family systems class in my master’s program. he answered questions about life in africa and told me about how his family solves conflict, about how his family views education, family and community. he told me about what happens when there is a wedding or when there is a funeral. he told me about how he came to the u.s., and about some of his thoughts, feelings and fears when he first came here, and then about how those thoughts, feelings and fears have changed now that he has become more immersed in the american culture and in the english language.

i sat listening intently as he shared with me things we’ve never talked about. some things i did know, but some things were brand new.

isaiah used to have a teacher named sarah. well, somewhat of a teacher. she worked for the organization that brought isaiah and his family over from africa. she acted as a social worker slash case worker slash teacher meets big sister kind of thing. sarah is isaiah’s second favorite person in the entire world, closely following his son.

a few years ago, sarah and i bought isaiah a journal. we fancied it up, made it look real nice. we wrote questions at the top of the pages inside the journal to spur his thinking, and on the outside cover, sarah titled the journal, “Isaiah’s Escape.”

the journal became isaiah’s soul written down on paper. it became his way of escaping the hardships of life in a different world and of the junk brought over from a broken world of violence and pain. isaiah has never shared with me anything that he has ever written in his journal. much of it is very personal. it’s intimate. it’s detailed. things he would never want anyone to see. yet, as i sat listening to isaiah tell me parts of his story that i had never heard before, i couldn’t help but think that in some strange vicarious way i was reading excerpts in “Isaiah’s Escape.” i wondered how much of what he was telling me had been things written down in his journal, intimate details that no one else had ever seen.

sometimes i think i know too much of people’s intimate stuff. as though they let me read their own journals. sometimes, however, i don’t think i know enough. not that i would ever read a person’s personal journal, but rather, i think that sometimes i don’t listen enough or listen closely enough. i think sometimes that if i were to listen closely enough to when people are talking to me, i could find out their dreams, their hopes, their fears, their failures. what makes them tick and what makes them shut down. maybe even, if i were to listen closely enough, i could even find out the title of their journal.

dirt

let me suggest that God is best seen in dirt.

…..

i like dirt. i love mud. mud ball fights. muddin’ in my pick up. mud football. if it has to do with dirt or with mud…count me in. it’s as though I am still a little kid or as though there’s this connection somewhere in the marrow of my bones and in the sinews of my muscles that tells me that i am always to get and always to remain dirty.

……

i’ve read somewhere once that it was a common practice in the ancient near east to take the first phrase or word of a literary work and designate it as the title.

in the bible the first book is titled, ‘beginnings’ or ‘origins,’ which gives us the name of which we refer to it now as ‘genesis.’ it gives this idea that in this book of ‘genesis,’ humankind can find her beginnings and origins. the first chapter tells this story of the origins and beginnings of humankind, and the second chapter goes into a little more detail. in it there’s this verse that says that ‘God formed man out of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.’

we could also say dirt. God formed humankind out of the ‘dirt’ of the ground. in other words our beginnings, our origins, are found in…dirt.

if you were to study the word ‘man’ in the hebrew language, you’ll get this idea that somehow, in some way man and dirt are interconnected. and you’ll get words like ‘meekness’ and ‘humility’ and ‘brokenness’ and ‘lowliness.’ like man and dirt are in some way two of the same.

you will also begin to see that even in its composition, man and dirt are connected. because just like dirt is fragile and easily broken, so too is every person fragile and easily broken.

have you ever heard someone say, ‘they did me dirty,’ or ‘i feel like dirt,’ or ‘he or she is airing out their family’s dirty laundry?’ what are they saying? they are communicating a language that acknowledges that humankind has her beginnings in dirt and its somehow connected to how we feel and how we act and behave as human beings, as though we are fragile, easily broken, susceptible to pain.

sometimes, i wonder if when God created us out of dirt, it wasn’t for a reason. as though by forming us from dirt it was reflective of who God is. not that God is a flesh and blood human being with limits and boundaries, but rather, some of His best characteristics are best seen in dirt. characteristics like meekness, lowliness, humility, the willingness to be broken. as though somehow it was God’s way of saying, ‘this is how I am going to start you out, because this is how it is to be done. this is how life is to be lived – lowly, humbly, with meekness and with the willingness to be broken. you are made in My image, and My image is best seen in dirt.’