Author Archives: thegreatknock

I'm weary and wary of compacting life into a plain, white text box. Fit a human life on an index card? I think not.

All We Need

I woke up this morning and lay in bed thinking for awhile, then eventually got up and shuffled off to the shower. While in the shower I started to sing, just one line coming out as a prayer: “You are all, all I need.” And I realised that the repitition of the word “all” was not for effect, but instead the truth that I need more than just one person in this world.

This is where I began to wonder at how, often, we sing or speak of how so-and-so is the only person we need…and we do this in order to express “love.” The dramatic man signs of how he needs his beloved, and only her, in order to live in this world. The love-stricken woman writes a note of romance to her lover, claiming she thinks or desires him and only him. Thus, by our singling out of this one creature or person against all others, we are making them “special” and this specialness we consider “love.”

But that’s not what love is. And that is not the truth of our need. We never need only one person, whetehr they be the sweetest, fairest, most lovely person in the world or not. Two cannot satisfy each other. You need more. Even spiritually this rings true, for God is three and all three my humanity has desperate need of. Need needs more than one…

Christmas Movie Night!!!

Hey, gang.  Now that my xanga page has become little more than brief news updates (smile), I thought I’d pass along that we’ll be having a Christmas movie night next Sunday evening.  Should be festive!  We’ll try to watch two flicks, if we can…the options for the movies are as follows:

1. It’s a Wonderful Life
2. The Muppet Christmas Carol
3. The Bells of St. Mary’s (which I’ve never seen)
4. Elf
5. A Christmas Story

There are a few other Christmas movies out there, so why don’t you all pick the two you’d like to see and leave me a comment here or text me (smile)…

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

Oh, how I love the depth and weight of God’s glory in this song!  Who can but feel the strength in Him as he sings the words below?  Read them slowly, friends, and be lifted up, O heavy heart!

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
   our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevaling.
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
   his craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate,
   on earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing,
   were not the right man on our side, the man of God’s own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?  Christ Jesus, it is He;
   Lord Sabbaoth, His name, from age to age the same,
   and He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
   we will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us!
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
   his rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure;
   one little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
   the Spirit and the gifts are ours, through him who with us sideth!
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
   the body they may kill–God’s truth abideth still;
   His kingdom is forever!


Fear not the devil, friends, for his doom is sure.  “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet!” (Romans 16:10)  Instead, turn your eyes upon Jesus–look full in His wonderful face (2 Corinthians 4:6)–and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the Light of His glory and grace!

P.S. I don’t know if this will work, but something I discovered recently was a group called “To Write Love on Her Arms”–believers who are reaching out to cutters.  Reminds me of a concert I attended two years ago with Kelly Chambley…Juliana Theory with opening act Zao.  Kelly told me how Zao’s music (which is primarily screaming to the point of insensible sound) draws a large fan base among cutters, and I was grieved at the thought of a group of Christian musicians providing a place where people struggling with such anger or depression that they would lash out against their Maker if only by marring the image of God in themselves, could come and in some way feel like what they are doing is right or fitting because others are also doing it.   That to me was not wise.  There must be a truer way to reach out to such individuals with the Gospel.

My hope is that this group has found that way.

A Missionary Call

For all of us who have grown in our desire to serve the living God overseas somehow, taking the Gospel among a people we have not known, I wanted to share this sermon.  I found it encouraging, and hope you will. too.  So when you have twenty free minutes on a lunch break or in a quiet hour of the afternoon…Le Tigre, Heather Anderson, the whole crew from the Romania and Yemen missionary ventures, and others…hit this link and be encouraged!

“The Aroma of Christ Among the Nations” by John Piper

I was much amazed as I thought about Paul leaving one open door to the Gospel, for the sake of his restless heart regarding the Corinthians and Titus.  But even in this he was as one who has been conquered by Christ…

Dream

(In my dream from this morning, we had traveled long through many rooms and spaces, running from a vicious Enemy who had several times attacked us. At times I had fought the wicked one, and at times simply run on, thinking, Now I know how Frodo must have felt. I was very small and weak compared with the loathsome Thing which hounded us, but thankfully I was accompanied by a tall and mighty Guide and Friend. At last in our journey we came upon a great torrential river…the river looked like enormous sheets of hard paper torn and jagged, as if the water itself were coarse enough to cut a man to pieces and carry him far away in death to the Shadowy lands…yet there was nowhere else to go but forward…)

Standing beside the great rushing river in which many souls, I knew, had been lost, and with the great and evil Enemy close behind us, I stood now petrified with fear. How long I stood transfixed by the fierce water before us, I cannot say, but my Friend broke the silence.

“Simple one,” said my Companion, “do you not know that it was I Who carried Abraham and your fathers through the Great River to safety beyond?”

His words were meant to give me courage and faith. I looked up at Him, then looked again at the raging torrent. Still fearful but trying to make a show of bravery, I gasped to Him in a small voice, “I go with You. Where is Your boat?”

He smiled that smile which is only His.

“Boat?” He asked.

(And I awoke.)

Dream

(In my dream tonight, we had traveled long through many rooms and spaces, running from a vicious Enemy who had several times attacked us.   At times I had fought the wicked one, and at times simply run on, thinking, Now I know how Frodo must have felt.  I was very small and weak compared with the loathsome Thing which hounded us, but thankfully I was accompanied by a tall and mighty Guide and Friend.  At last in our journey we came upon a great torrential river…the river looked like enormous sheets of hard paper torn and jagged, as if the water itself were coars enough to cut a man to pieces and carry him far away in death to the Shadowy lands…yet there was nowhere else to go but forward…)

Standing beside the great rushing river in which many souls, I knew, had been lost, and with the great and evil Enemy close behind us, I stood now petrified with fear.  How long I stood transfixed by the fierce water before us, I cannot say, but my Friend broke the silence.

“Simple one,” said my Companion, “do you not know that it was I Who carried Abraham and your fathers through the Great River to safety beyond?”

His words were meant to give me courage and faith.  I looked up at Him, then looked again at the raging torrent.  Still fearful but trying to make a show of bravery, I gasped to Him in a small voice, “I go with You. Where is Your boat?”

He smiled that smile which is only His. 

“Boat?” He asked.

(And I awoke.)

A Sick Day

What does one write on a bleary-eyed day
when the wet sky is falling in pieces of grey
to efface the still-beautiful golden of Fall
and remind who it was
made green leaves turn away?

How does one smile when all Time must appall
so that hours are minutes and minutes are years
in which everything laughing as well makes you cry
till your eyes are both bleary
with undeclared tears?

Why must the blood in these mad veins run dry,
the liquid turn powder, the dust become air,
the Life become Death, in a moment made stale,
and Who makes it “Life”
and Who calls it “fair”?

O, Life, the first product bound never to fail,
invention of Promise, perpetuate Light–
Who can resist you, detain you, undo you,
But Who did invent you,
Ex nihilo, bright?

I’m not terribly pleased with that last stanza, but as I wasn’t intending to write any verse at all, it shows some promise. I really only sat down to ponder what one might write when sitting home alone all day with a cold? I have had chicken noodle soup aplenty to cheer my soul, and have read a good deal today, but to be stuck at home is not fun today. Sadly, yesterday afternoon as this cold began its stealthy stalking within me, my car Sherrie also went out of commission. Unknown mechanical issues, and I was forced to have her towed to a garage in Collegedale which has yet to call me with the diagnosis. So I truly am stuck in the old apartment, with an old quilt and some old books and movies, and a very old dilemma: how to spend the sick day at home.

I’m not sure why I’m comforted even by the simple act of writing just now, but it certainly is true. I haven’t really got anything to say, and probably shouldn’t prevail upon your time by asking you to read aimless thoughts…wasteful, really. But the Lord bless you for wasting your time in sympathy for a sick friend (smile).

I know! Since I’m writing, I might as well be writing some thoughts for the Precept study…

Sick Day

What does one write on a bleary-eyed day
     when the wet sky is falling in pieces of grey
     to efface the still-beautiful golden of Fall
     and remind who it was
          made green leaves turn away?

How does one smile when all Time must appall
     so that hours are minutes and minutes are years
     in which everything laughing as well makes you cry
     till your eyes are both bleary
          with undeclared tears?

Why must the blood in these mad veins run dry,
     the liquid turn powder, the dust become air,
     the Life become Death, in a moment made stale,
     and Who makes it “Life”
          and Who calls it “fair”?

O, Life, the first product bound never to fail,
      invention of Promise, perpetuate Light–
     Who can resist you, detain you, undo you,
     But Who did invent you,
         Ex nihilo, bright?

I’m not terribly pleased with that last stanza, but as I wasn’t intending to write any verse at all, it shows some promise.  I really only sat down to ponder what one might write when sitting home alone all day with a cold?  I have had chicken noodle soup aplenty to cheer my soul, and have read a good deal today, but to be stuck at home is not fun today.  Sadly, yesterday afternoon as this cold began its stealthy stalking within me, my car Sherrie also went out of commission.  Unknown mechanical issues, and I was forced to have her towed to a garage in Collegedale which has yet to call me with the diagnosis.  So I truly am stuck in the old apartment, with an old quilt and some old books and movies, and a very old dilemma: how to spend the sick day at home.

I remember an episode of Reading Rainbow in which LeVar Burton was stuck at home during a rainy day, having planned to spend the day outside.  And so he sat by a large window with (probably fake) raindrops dribbling on the glass, and read a book whose title was something like “And the Rain Came to Kapiti Plain.”  How well I remember it.  But it’s not raining just now, so I’ll set that memory aside.

I’m not sure why I’m comforted even by the simple act of writing just now, but it certainly is true.  I haven’t really got anything to say, and probably shouldn’t prevail upon your time by asking you to read aimless thoughts…wasteful, really.  But the Lord bless you for wasting your time in sympathy for a sick friend (smile). 

I know!  Since I’m writing, I might as well be writing some thoughts for the Precept study…

A little writing music…