So, here it is, my last blog for quite a while. I probably won't be using this website to blog while away. Right now I am in the Sac airport. Steve and I are awaiting to board a flight to Atlanta, followed by a flight to London!!! There we will take a train to Leeds for a few days, and then back in the city for a few days. Then *insert drum roll* TANZANIA! At which point, I shall explore my communication options, and decide how often to keep a blog. I might be featured on www.worldwideopen.org which is pretty cool. *(insert plug)-They are an incredible organization that dreams to unite the global church. I see this being an incredible ecumenical tool, both in America, and internationally. Go on there and create a profile, you will be surprised where this website goes, and how useful be in the Kingdom of God.* However, I will hopefully be keeping email updates frequently, whether or not I am on the site. But similar scattered stories, thoughts, and poetry that I have tried to share on this blog, will probably be left unsaid, except in my journal.
So here is to an era, a season, a blog that has meant a lot to me. I will however be trying to read others as much as possible. And actually, who knows, you may get a surprise post every now and then. It all depends on the great paradigm shift of life that I am about to undergo.
My thoughts of late have been an internal conversation of these sorts:
"What am I doing? Do I even realize how long 9 months is? Ya, I do. Wow! Why do I realize how much I am going to miss people, and everything when I am alone?
I am not sure whether I want to try to not think about these things, or not? Actually, I think I should, it will make the impact of this journey greater, and I think it is big piece of reality. I have to understand where I have been to understand where I am, and where I am going.
Whoa, I am actually a little scared, and a little anxious. These are both new feelings to me. What is also new to me is the honesty to realize, admit, and accept these feelings, and allow them to guide me. God has taken me a long way. Thanks RA staff. Okay Thomas, accept them, and pray through them. Okay go, pray. And, don't think you are feeling this way because of obligation, trust your feelings, and pray with honesty.
Dang, this is going to be so AWESOME. I need some sleep. I wonder what that old guy across from me is thinking about. Probably wondering where the nearest bathroom is, old people are always worried about their bladder."
Okey dokey, the plane just docked. I guess I'll be boarding in about 15 minutes. Steve is next to me, to have a fellow journeyman and friend that knows me well is comfort. The one thing I have as a goal, is to meet as many people as possible, and share with them the love of Christ, whether we meet on plain, train, town, pub, city, village, or hut. I wish to be self confident enough to smile at others, meet them, look them in eye, and try to bless their life, and make a friend. If you would care to, I request that you ask me when you write a letter or email whether I am constantly doing this throughout my time. Constantly loving all, smiling, befriending, looking people in the eye, and blessing them. Thank you very much my friends, thank you very much indeed.
Today Sacramento,
tomorrow London.
In this journey to grow,
the name of the Son.
Amen.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Doctor Coffee Bean
Lately my life has consisted of a few things. I'll give the run down so i can quickly get to a few of the more mentionable items.
I wake up with an average of 8 hours of sleep in me, this is the first time this has happened in the past 4 years. I call it bag-reduction. I might promote it, open a business, and live the American dream if it actually worked... and i actually had an American dream.
I usually do one of the three these things soon after awaking. Surf, read/pray, or eat. The latter two usually fall into concurrence with each other.
The rest of my daylight is usually spent in the square mile that makes up Coast Village Rd. to Butterfly beach. My main hub of activity resides between Coffee Bean and Butterfly beach, consisting of seeing old friends, studying swahili, emailing, talking and praying with friends, multiple goodbyes, and obviously blogging.
I often see people who I have said my nine-months-goodbye, and so we proceed to repeat the matter. Right now Korinne Kane is in the lead with a total of four goodbyes. A few are in a close second with three, and many are in third place with double goodbyes. This is not some sort of self-conceited game in which you all must play to win. Its just my fun, creative way to convey to you odd humor that life often has. But if want to play, you now know my schedule so feel free to compete on "Tom's Big Goodbye Give Away!" (Complete with an unlimited amount of hugs, and no commercial breaks for you viewers).
At night if I get hungry enough to catch dinner, I'll enjoy it with a friend.
The nights activities vary from reading to partying.
Now to move onto the two motivators of this blog.
First: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KORINNE KANE!!! She is a wonderful woman whom i have had the pleasure of knowing, and in case you forgot, she is in the lead with four goodbyes!
Second: Yesterday, i was given a pleasant interruption to my schedule. As I sat in Coffee Bean grinding over vocabulary words, I heard a string of familiar baritone rumbles from the seat 4 feet from me. I few bells rung, and I quickly recognized this voice as "Doc" from the great "Back to the Future" trilogy. I raised an eyebrow, tilted my head, and snuck a glance. A great smirk flew on the scene, and I looked back down to hide my recognition and excitement. Yes, Christopher 'Freeking' Lloyd was in within slapping distance from me, and I resisted the temptation to do so, or some other embarrassing gesture. You might be expecting some epiphany or reflection on how celebrities are just normal people and should be treated as such. Well, sorry, that is pretty self explanatory, seeing as i just did. It was an exciting event, and a fun conversational piece which I have been divulging the last 24 hours.
The epiphany I now hold is self interrogative: why do I not talk about the things God does in the same way and in the same manner and tone as I do a celebrity citing? Are they not just as or more exciting than the cite of a science fiction actor?
Let's think about this, say God is a fictional character in the same way the Doc is. Is God not a more captivating and exciting character than a quirky scientist who builds really fast DeLorean? Good thing the Doc is a real character that i can reach out and slap at a coffee shop, right?
I wake up with an average of 8 hours of sleep in me, this is the first time this has happened in the past 4 years. I call it bag-reduction. I might promote it, open a business, and live the American dream if it actually worked... and i actually had an American dream.
I usually do one of the three these things soon after awaking. Surf, read/pray, or eat. The latter two usually fall into concurrence with each other.
The rest of my daylight is usually spent in the square mile that makes up Coast Village Rd. to Butterfly beach. My main hub of activity resides between Coffee Bean and Butterfly beach, consisting of seeing old friends, studying swahili, emailing, talking and praying with friends, multiple goodbyes, and obviously blogging.
I often see people who I have said my nine-months-goodbye, and so we proceed to repeat the matter. Right now Korinne Kane is in the lead with a total of four goodbyes. A few are in a close second with three, and many are in third place with double goodbyes. This is not some sort of self-conceited game in which you all must play to win. Its just my fun, creative way to convey to you odd humor that life often has. But if want to play, you now know my schedule so feel free to compete on "Tom's Big Goodbye Give Away!" (Complete with an unlimited amount of hugs, and no commercial breaks for you viewers).
At night if I get hungry enough to catch dinner, I'll enjoy it with a friend.
The nights activities vary from reading to partying.
Now to move onto the two motivators of this blog.
First: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KORINNE KANE!!! She is a wonderful woman whom i have had the pleasure of knowing, and in case you forgot, she is in the lead with four goodbyes!
Second: Yesterday, i was given a pleasant interruption to my schedule. As I sat in Coffee Bean grinding over vocabulary words, I heard a string of familiar baritone rumbles from the seat 4 feet from me. I few bells rung, and I quickly recognized this voice as "Doc" from the great "Back to the Future" trilogy. I raised an eyebrow, tilted my head, and snuck a glance. A great smirk flew on the scene, and I looked back down to hide my recognition and excitement. Yes, Christopher 'Freeking' Lloyd was in within slapping distance from me, and I resisted the temptation to do so, or some other embarrassing gesture. You might be expecting some epiphany or reflection on how celebrities are just normal people and should be treated as such. Well, sorry, that is pretty self explanatory, seeing as i just did. It was an exciting event, and a fun conversational piece which I have been divulging the last 24 hours.
The epiphany I now hold is self interrogative: why do I not talk about the things God does in the same way and in the same manner and tone as I do a celebrity citing? Are they not just as or more exciting than the cite of a science fiction actor?
Let's think about this, say God is a fictional character in the same way the Doc is. Is God not a more captivating and exciting character than a quirky scientist who builds really fast DeLorean? Good thing the Doc is a real character that i can reach out and slap at a coffee shop, right?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A poet is found in the end
Today as I slowed to a halt at an intersection, a dream drove across in front of me. It was a sky blue, restored convertible car from the fifties. I apologize that my lack of car knowledge inhibits the vision, but imagine a long, smooth hood that rounds down to white rubber wheels and classic, shined hubcaps. The windshield wraps the front of the car, and protected the precious cargo from losing their assorted hats and scarfs. Seated in the front were two old men who seemed finely aged into their seventies. Seated behind them were two matching women, all dressed in clothes that you only buy when you retire.
I dreamed a dream of reunion. I dreamed these two old men having been best friends since five, and maybe after some distance through college at separate schools, were reunited. Soon after they were best men in each others weddings. Of course, the bride in each case was a women they had counseled each other about through many midnights during the long months of courting and engagement. Their wives naturally hit it off, and soon started planning double dates, in which there were never objections from the men, except the request to go to the batting cages instead of the flower garden. During their younger days the women, soft and beautiful, would chatter away in the back seat with matching smiles. The sun was their friend and was glad to soak into their skin, allowing their bodies to turn a radiant gold, the only color that replicated their love for the man seated forefront. As the world smiled at its sky colored ant rolling through dirt roads and hillside, eternal moments of bliss were made.
Over the years children came out crying, and soon it was a month before the couples had seen each other. A month turned into a year, a year turned into a decade, and it became nearly impossible to travel a family of five. Time slowly did its part on the heart, but never on the memory. As grandchildren came the chapters of written careers begin to end, and a conclusions to their life's book began to draw near. The vision of their kin's kin, inspired reminiscence, and a longing grew bubbles large enough to touch across the mileage that separated them. So they met in Montecito, and the old convertible, looking warm as ever, was filled with familiar laughs and love.
I was blessed enough to survey the latter part, and create the former.
However, what if this dream had no resemblance to reality. Sure there is pain and hurt after living seventy years, but doesn't the charity of a poetic dream like that outweigh the gross, reality of life? Maybe this is where my poetic skew that loves happy endings and full circles ends.
I fell into a possible contradiction. The contradiction that keeps me from flying into optimism. Maybe these two couples have absolutely nothing in common, and all four have Alzheimer's, just happen to be at the same retirement community, and felt like a ride. What if the back ladies sit in awkward silence, while the men talk about all the women they got to "know" in the past fifty years. How the drivers feels lucky for not going through the three divorces his companion had, but knows he wished he would have abandoned his wife half way through the marriage to travel the globe with his secret love. What if the women are upset for the convertible, because each are so paranoid about the sun's power over their skin cells.
Neither world is more probable than the other, which do I live in? I am dual minded in nearly everything. I end to be the true poet stuck somewhere in the middle, and praying for the former. Praying for a day when it is all in the former.
I still believe, Maranatha!
I dreamed a dream of reunion. I dreamed these two old men having been best friends since five, and maybe after some distance through college at separate schools, were reunited. Soon after they were best men in each others weddings. Of course, the bride in each case was a women they had counseled each other about through many midnights during the long months of courting and engagement. Their wives naturally hit it off, and soon started planning double dates, in which there were never objections from the men, except the request to go to the batting cages instead of the flower garden. During their younger days the women, soft and beautiful, would chatter away in the back seat with matching smiles. The sun was their friend and was glad to soak into their skin, allowing their bodies to turn a radiant gold, the only color that replicated their love for the man seated forefront. As the world smiled at its sky colored ant rolling through dirt roads and hillside, eternal moments of bliss were made.
Over the years children came out crying, and soon it was a month before the couples had seen each other. A month turned into a year, a year turned into a decade, and it became nearly impossible to travel a family of five. Time slowly did its part on the heart, but never on the memory. As grandchildren came the chapters of written careers begin to end, and a conclusions to their life's book began to draw near. The vision of their kin's kin, inspired reminiscence, and a longing grew bubbles large enough to touch across the mileage that separated them. So they met in Montecito, and the old convertible, looking warm as ever, was filled with familiar laughs and love.
I was blessed enough to survey the latter part, and create the former.
However, what if this dream had no resemblance to reality. Sure there is pain and hurt after living seventy years, but doesn't the charity of a poetic dream like that outweigh the gross, reality of life? Maybe this is where my poetic skew that loves happy endings and full circles ends.
I fell into a possible contradiction. The contradiction that keeps me from flying into optimism. Maybe these two couples have absolutely nothing in common, and all four have Alzheimer's, just happen to be at the same retirement community, and felt like a ride. What if the back ladies sit in awkward silence, while the men talk about all the women they got to "know" in the past fifty years. How the drivers feels lucky for not going through the three divorces his companion had, but knows he wished he would have abandoned his wife half way through the marriage to travel the globe with his secret love. What if the women are upset for the convertible, because each are so paranoid about the sun's power over their skin cells.
Neither world is more probable than the other, which do I live in? I am dual minded in nearly everything. I end to be the true poet stuck somewhere in the middle, and praying for the former. Praying for a day when it is all in the former.
I still believe, Maranatha!
Monday, September 14, 2009
metaphor(shore) break
Today feels like the end of an era. I will forever remember this summer as a gift, as an answer to prayer. I received the blessing of a living space filled with five young men. Evan Engle, Drew Tillman, Ryan Reiner, Craig Sewall, and John Carsenson. This is not a shout out, this is a memo to the world. World, if you ever get to meet these five men, give them a hug for me, look into their eyes and know there is depth behind the shades. There is faith, there is sensitivity, there is care, there is confidence, there is a Lordship alongside them.
I missed our fellow traveler, and when he left, the summer's current and relational chemistry that i began to know as home was washed away. But the surf of the five of us remained. As another departs tomorrow, I feel the surf slowly being swallowed by the sand. Each wave is made up of individuals, and I am grateful and touched to be mixed and welcomed into each wave. I am thankful for each particle of person, especially those five.
On Friday I move out, and on that day it will dry completely. The dryness is near. It does not frighten me, but the heat will come, and it will remind me that I won't last long without another wash of homeliness.
After I dry in the sand, after a time couch surfing and itineration through out California, I will throw myself to the sea. Wherein I will toss and toil, travel, rise in swell, and crash on a new continent. There I will mix with a brand new water, and be apart of a new wave.
This is community.
I missed our fellow traveler, and when he left, the summer's current and relational chemistry that i began to know as home was washed away. But the surf of the five of us remained. As another departs tomorrow, I feel the surf slowly being swallowed by the sand. Each wave is made up of individuals, and I am grateful and touched to be mixed and welcomed into each wave. I am thankful for each particle of person, especially those five.
On Friday I move out, and on that day it will dry completely. The dryness is near. It does not frighten me, but the heat will come, and it will remind me that I won't last long without another wash of homeliness.
After I dry in the sand, after a time couch surfing and itineration through out California, I will throw myself to the sea. Wherein I will toss and toil, travel, rise in swell, and crash on a new continent. There I will mix with a brand new water, and be apart of a new wave.
This is community.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Clouded Chests
Almost every other day this summer, 11am has meant, "almost lunch time." This morning it means, "post-breakfast-cereal-blog time." This past weekend I house sat at Dr. Tremper Longman's again. I paralleled it to my last visitation, what a difference eh? Last time i was praying about how Africa plans would pan out, and the rest of the summer, and was soaking up the solitude with joy. This time i was making phone calls about fund raising, ending my summer job, and wondering why despair had decided to join my shirt as its hanging from my neck. That's what kind of a weekend it was, and i have utterly no explanation for it. All i know is that I tried to remedy it, i went through a check list of possible solutions that often bend my physical, mental and spiritual equilibrium. I was eating fine (mostly), exercising, praying, and sleeping fine. There were a few other theories, some of which still remain in deliberation with the jury, but i know the basics were stable. However, for some reason this monkey clung to my back and began picking my nose and trying to make its way through my ears, clogging them, and the world felt deaf to me.
This feeling swelled, until I came back to my apartment. In the initial hours of my homecoming i thought this spell was over. Nope, it came back as soon as i realized it might be over. It swelled, until it crashed on the shores of my pride. I knew i needed to ask someone to pray with me, not just for me, but with me.
I then realized i was staging an inner battle. As if behind your rib cage there are two clouds colliding, a stormy one that wishes to weigh you down with its soaking drops, and a bright, pure, and white cloud that wishes to brighten the day from the inside. But the trick is all along, the rain cloud only has so much water before it dissipates, and the white cloud of righteousness is fueled and ignited by the warmth of the sun. I have not a strong idea of what the sun is, whether it is my own ability to keep searching, or the Holy Spirit, or Christ "in me," but i do know that whatever it was, it blazed in a time of prayer, and burned away the gray. I went to Ryan and Craig, and asked them to pray for me, and failed to express my feelings (big surprise there right... well maybe sometimes i guess). As they both prayed for me, somewhere amongst there sentiments and pleads to our Lord, i felt something swell against the wave of despair, and "it" was over.
Thank you Ryan, thank you Craig, thank you God.
This feeling swelled, until I came back to my apartment. In the initial hours of my homecoming i thought this spell was over. Nope, it came back as soon as i realized it might be over. It swelled, until it crashed on the shores of my pride. I knew i needed to ask someone to pray with me, not just for me, but with me.
I then realized i was staging an inner battle. As if behind your rib cage there are two clouds colliding, a stormy one that wishes to weigh you down with its soaking drops, and a bright, pure, and white cloud that wishes to brighten the day from the inside. But the trick is all along, the rain cloud only has so much water before it dissipates, and the white cloud of righteousness is fueled and ignited by the warmth of the sun. I have not a strong idea of what the sun is, whether it is my own ability to keep searching, or the Holy Spirit, or Christ "in me," but i do know that whatever it was, it blazed in a time of prayer, and burned away the gray. I went to Ryan and Craig, and asked them to pray for me, and failed to express my feelings (big surprise there right... well maybe sometimes i guess). As they both prayed for me, somewhere amongst there sentiments and pleads to our Lord, i felt something swell against the wave of despair, and "it" was over.
Thank you Ryan, thank you Craig, thank you God.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Two Face
I had promised myself to continue writing blogs. That seems to be the only prompting for this blog, a promise. I sit here, again, with no compelling thoughts that i must share before they split my thorax, screaming like the infamous little friend in the blockbuster hit, Alien (and Alien 2, and 3). We'll shouldn't promises be something worth writing about? Yes... the answer you were looking for is Yes.
I think promises are metaphors of faith. Sometimes being faithful is simply sticking to your commitments and promises. Even though they make no sense, even though there is no reason or inner compulsion, you should stick to your promises. Just like faith, faith is not faith if it is only convenient, and sensible. Both faith and promise require follow through no matter what, and for no reason. Half of life is presence, showing up, continuing in your commitments.
Now let me express to you my dualistic mind by turning the coin. If half of life is just showing up, and all you do is show up, you have only living half a life. The other half i think comes with expressing the seven virtues of presence. Recently i have been reading Foster and Beebe's book, "Longing For God," and it continues to blow my mind. I am constantly realizing that much of what i have thought, believed, experienced is congruent to those of the expressions of our Church Fathers. Thank you Evagrius of Ponticus for outlaying the Seven Virtues. I would also like to call them the Seven Practices of Presence. The other half of life comes when you are present and expressing temperance, justice, courage (fortitude), and prudence (wisdom), faith, hope, and love. A practical expression of these is possible in every single moment and every interaction of our day.
I'm not sure which is harder. What i do know, is that i am about to be late for a dinner with my beloved family if i don't stop this blog in five seconds so maybe right now promises are harder, but i doubt it because
I think promises are metaphors of faith. Sometimes being faithful is simply sticking to your commitments and promises. Even though they make no sense, even though there is no reason or inner compulsion, you should stick to your promises. Just like faith, faith is not faith if it is only convenient, and sensible. Both faith and promise require follow through no matter what, and for no reason. Half of life is presence, showing up, continuing in your commitments.
Now let me express to you my dualistic mind by turning the coin. If half of life is just showing up, and all you do is show up, you have only living half a life. The other half i think comes with expressing the seven virtues of presence. Recently i have been reading Foster and Beebe's book, "Longing For God," and it continues to blow my mind. I am constantly realizing that much of what i have thought, believed, experienced is congruent to those of the expressions of our Church Fathers. Thank you Evagrius of Ponticus for outlaying the Seven Virtues. I would also like to call them the Seven Practices of Presence. The other half of life comes when you are present and expressing temperance, justice, courage (fortitude), and prudence (wisdom), faith, hope, and love. A practical expression of these is possible in every single moment and every interaction of our day.
I'm not sure which is harder. What i do know, is that i am about to be late for a dinner with my beloved family if i don't stop this blog in five seconds so maybe right now promises are harder, but i doubt it because
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Bold as Love
It has been over a month since my last blog. I don't know why, I've played all kinds of positions on the baseball diamond of life over the past month. Surely there has been some worth while thoughts worth recording, i don't know why they never got their blogging recognition. But i finally figured that i needed to get back into the habit, especially if i am planning to keep a steady, organized, and thorough blog while i am in Africa; i should get some practice now, at least habitually. So here goes the beginning of a habit (they say that psychologically it takes 30 days to create a habit... i always thought it was seven repetitions... oh well, either way, raise your glass with me as i begin and toast to habitual blogging!)
The last few days I have been pondering a question we must all ponder if we are to call ourselves Christians. Where is Jesus? How do I love Him now, today?
I walked along the beach yesterday pondering this question while waves crashed and proved a distraction for my senses, allowing my mind to run freely. "If only Jesus was still visible!" I said. If He had a physical body, if i could talk to him, if i could feed him, it would be so easy! I can serve my apartments by cleaning the house or kitchen, but i can't even do that for my King and Savior? Do we as a culture even know the fullness of Kingship if we live in a culture that is anti-serfdom. That's a tangent for another day, maybe tomorrow's blog? Anyway, why is it that i readily move grease from the stove-top to the paper towel, and then the trash out of love of cleanliness and my friends well-beings, but can't i can't figure out how to love Jesus?
Then, alike the arrival of golden toast, the epiphany flies and settles on the springs of my cortex. Didn't Jesus break the bread, and call it his body? Whoa... that takes toast to a whole new level... No stop it Thomas, get back on topic. Okay wait, His body is the Church right? Well shoot, what are his eyes? His eye's are all those who believe? But what about God sending rain on the righteous and unrighteous? Uh, is God's body everyone? Or the Church? The Church is his body, but God loves all, being apart of a body is a choice... maybe...
An angler throws his lure, preferably fly, into a pool of water. He places it in that spot because he can sense, or see the shadow of a fish just below the shimmering surface. He longs for the fish to follow curiosity and hook its snout, he longs to get a glimpse and experience the being he has sought and hunted with skill, he longs for his own curiosity to be satisfied. It is with that same longing that i have longed to see the eyes of Jesus. But i am beginning to believe that when i gaze into eyes of another person, i see the eyes of God, I see Jesus' eyes, the body of Christ. The metaphor is less metaphysical than i assumed. I hope to make this a reality.
When i was younger (ha) I believed a line to be true. To butcher it politely, it went something like this, "The confident, the strong look people in the eyes when you talk to them. It shows respect." Somehow over the years i lost the ability to hold a gaze. When I look someone straight in the eyes i feel something, I'm almost scared. It's almost sacred. I can't explain it. But I think it shows love. Its hard for me to look someone in the eyes continuously, while simultaneously speaking. But i will try. Pecos does this well, he always has, and when he does not, i know there is something wrong. To me, love is bold, Jesus is bold. To look someone in the eyes and understand that those are Christ's eyes peering back at you, is bold. Lets see how this goes.
The last few days I have been pondering a question we must all ponder if we are to call ourselves Christians. Where is Jesus? How do I love Him now, today?
I walked along the beach yesterday pondering this question while waves crashed and proved a distraction for my senses, allowing my mind to run freely. "If only Jesus was still visible!" I said. If He had a physical body, if i could talk to him, if i could feed him, it would be so easy! I can serve my apartments by cleaning the house or kitchen, but i can't even do that for my King and Savior? Do we as a culture even know the fullness of Kingship if we live in a culture that is anti-serfdom. That's a tangent for another day, maybe tomorrow's blog? Anyway, why is it that i readily move grease from the stove-top to the paper towel, and then the trash out of love of cleanliness and my friends well-beings, but can't i can't figure out how to love Jesus?
Then, alike the arrival of golden toast, the epiphany flies and settles on the springs of my cortex. Didn't Jesus break the bread, and call it his body? Whoa... that takes toast to a whole new level... No stop it Thomas, get back on topic. Okay wait, His body is the Church right? Well shoot, what are his eyes? His eye's are all those who believe? But what about God sending rain on the righteous and unrighteous? Uh, is God's body everyone? Or the Church? The Church is his body, but God loves all, being apart of a body is a choice... maybe...
An angler throws his lure, preferably fly, into a pool of water. He places it in that spot because he can sense, or see the shadow of a fish just below the shimmering surface. He longs for the fish to follow curiosity and hook its snout, he longs to get a glimpse and experience the being he has sought and hunted with skill, he longs for his own curiosity to be satisfied. It is with that same longing that i have longed to see the eyes of Jesus. But i am beginning to believe that when i gaze into eyes of another person, i see the eyes of God, I see Jesus' eyes, the body of Christ. The metaphor is less metaphysical than i assumed. I hope to make this a reality.
When i was younger (ha) I believed a line to be true. To butcher it politely, it went something like this, "The confident, the strong look people in the eyes when you talk to them. It shows respect." Somehow over the years i lost the ability to hold a gaze. When I look someone straight in the eyes i feel something, I'm almost scared. It's almost sacred. I can't explain it. But I think it shows love. Its hard for me to look someone in the eyes continuously, while simultaneously speaking. But i will try. Pecos does this well, he always has, and when he does not, i know there is something wrong. To me, love is bold, Jesus is bold. To look someone in the eyes and understand that those are Christ's eyes peering back at you, is bold. Lets see how this goes.
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