Keepers of the Faith.

Thursday nights were hot-dog nights at our house. Because hot-dogs were quick and easy to clean up. By 7pm, the vans would start rolling up our street and the families piling out. It was a diversified group, not all being homeschooled, not all being big families, different ethnic backgrounds, different walks of life. The common denominator being that all loved Jesus.

"Keepers of the Faith" was a huge part of my childhood. It was like a homeschoolers version of boy-scouts. Partially for socialization, partially for the purpose of learning valuable skills.

The families would all gather in our living room for a quick devotion and we'd sing our song as a group before splitting up to work on whatever skill we were learning that month.

We learned about all kinds of things from decoupage to baking to camping, knot tying and embroidery. (The 'knots' badge was meant for the boys, so even though we learned it, Mom wouldn't let us girls get it. She didn't let my brother get an 'embroidery' badge either.)

It was more than 12 years ago, but I still remember every word of the club song. It was playing through my head when I woke up this morning.

I want to be faithful! I want to be true!
I want to be faithful, in all that I do!
I want to be faithful through every test.
I want to be faithful. I'll give Him my best.

I think I've been depending on His faithfulness too much lately. I've done things I know I shouldn't, knowing that He's faithful to forgive me. When I'm claiming His forgiveness before I do something, you'd think that would be a red flag. And it is a red flag, but I've ignored it more than I'd like to admit.

Who knew that a song I learned as a kid could come back and convict me?

I ought to be faithful to Him. I don't deserve His goodness, His faithfulness or His love, yet He continues to give it. The only way I can repay it is to give Him my life.

I want to live for Jesus,
I want to please God's Son.
If He has found me faithful
I'll hear Him say 'Well done!'

I want to be faithful...I want to be true.

I'm praying that same prayer this morning that I prayed 100 times when I was a kid.

I'm starting over today.

"It's your life, whatcha gonna do?
The world is watching you!
Every day the choices you make
Are telling what you are and who your heart beats for..."

It started much like every morning starts... The gentle buzz of my alarm. Sharing a bedroom with six sisters causes me to use my cell-phone alarm, set only on vibrate. Using my cell phone alarm set only on vibrate is way too convenient. It barely wakes me up, and I can turn it off without opening my eyes.

"Every day the choices you make..."

"But it's been a long weekend, and I was up late.. It's okay to sleep a couple more minutes."

Or hours... By the time I woke up again, the morning was gone. There was no reason to get out of bed. Eventually I did. Eventually you just have to.

Making the choice that was convenient and felt good at the time quickly became the theme of my day. I'd already slept through my quiet time time, and at our house that hour of quiet only comes once a day.

Frustrated with myself and determined to make good, I wrote a list to work off of while I ate my breakfast, and started prioritizing the items on the list.

"Yep, I can turn a lazy day into a productive one! Just watch!"

Yeah right! I think that resolve lasted two hours. Choice after choice came up, and I continued to make the convenient-for-the-moment choices.

"Hmm.. Get up and clean the kitchen? Or continue to chill on facebook? Well.. I didn't mess up the kitchen.... that was someone else."

All day, the choices I made proved who I was, and who my heart beat for. I was serving myself the whole entire day. The funny thing is, there was no feeling of satisfaction. The more I served myself, the more I felt the need to do more things for me. When ten o'clock rolled around I went to bed disappointed in myself and unfulfilled.

My life is not my own, and I know that this morning. Today I'm thankful for His mercies, renewed with every sunrise. My life is what He's given to me, and I want to give it back to Him. I tried the alternative, and hoarding it for myself didn't work out to well.

A picture is worth a thousand words. =)

The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.

They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.

What if I lived in Pakistan?

What if I lived in a place where I needed God's intervention just to survive through the day? What if I was forced to search for him like a dying man in a desert searches for water? What if I could recognize that He is my rock, my fortress and deliverer? What if my way of life constantly reminded me that everything I am and everything I have is only because He gives it to me?

Would I fret about the same sort of things? Would I worry about anything? Would anything matter to me?

What if my faith was put to the test like it is for Christians on the other side of the globe? What would happen? How would I respond?

What if I was stripped of everything I have, everything I surround myself with to make me comfortable? My family, my job, my lifestyle... Would I still be the same person?

I wish I could answer yes. The right answer is yes. "Who I am doesn't change depending on where I am or the things I surround myself with. I'm rooted and grounded in Christ, so circumstances don't matter." I wish I could answer yes.

I DO live in a place where I need God's intervention to survive. And I take it for granted. I AM a dying man, thirsting for Him. And I don't recognize the water when He gives it. He IS my rock, fortress and deliverer. And I don't run to Him. I don't hide in Him. I run out and try to fight my own battles, get myself slaughtered and then crawl back to Him so that He can patch me up. (Which of course, He does, over and over again.)

What if? I want my answer to be yes.

Practicing Pro-activity

This is what the Lord says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls."

I'm no English major, (In keeping with my honest/full-disclosure policy, I'm really no anything major. The only reason I didn't flunk out of high-school is because I was the only one in my class) but it seems like there's a lot of verbs in that sentence. "Stand...look...ask...ask...walk... and you will find rest"

The Lord wants me to be active. Actively seeking. Active in my pursuit of knowledge of Him and my searching out the right way, and actively following it.

I grew up in a Christian home. My dad is a pastor. My parents routinely counsel other people in our home. My six older siblings are all pursuing a relationship with Christ. My Grandparents on both sides are Christians. I prayed the "sinner's prayer" by the time I was four years old, and rededicated my life to Christ when I was nine. If that doesn't make me a Christian, what does?

To me, "Christian" means "follower of Christ." (There's an action word again.)

That verse I typed at the beginning of this post? I didn't write the whole thing. There's a really sad part at the end. It says: "But you said, 'We will not walk in it.'"

Not, "We will not look," or "We can't see the good way." They knew the right paths to follow and wouldn't walk in them.

I'm in danger of doing that very same thing every day of my life. I know the right way. In my head I could tell you all the right answers without batting an eye. If you ask me what's the best part of my day, I can rattle off an answer like, "Grace!" or "God's unfailing love!" when in reality, your question (or rather, my thinking about the answer) was the first time God had crossed my mind all day.

Israel knew the right way. They continued to do the sacrifices and to send burnt offerings, but their hearts weren't tuned toward the Lord.

I know the right way. I continue to go to church and read my bible every morning, but throughout my day? My heart isn't tuned toward the Lord. Someone in tune with the Lord doesn't snap at their brother for leaving a mess in the kitchen.

I can pray, "Lord, help me seek you, help me live in your presence every moment of the day, help me see you in the little things as well as the big ones! Teach me to do these things" But what's the point if I'm not being proactive about it?

Ask anyone who's learned anything. The best way to learn is to start practicing. And keep practicing, even when you're not good at it.

I'm going to take action today.

I should probably start with that mile-long to-do list that Mom gave us last night... wash windows, pressure wash house, you name it, it needs to be cleaned. =)

Harsh words and the workplace. (This is not a rant)

I was getting a lot done on a Monday morning. Cruising along, being productive, checking things off my list. Don't quote me on this, but diligence is like exercise, producing happy endorphins. For me anyways.

By 10 in the morning, I had so much happiness flowing I didn't know what to do with it.... until I got to the office and opened my email. BAM. Happy endorphins gone.

See, just like Paul the apostle, I have a thorn in the flesh. It's this lady who works for a general contractor that we work under sometimes. (We're a sub of a sub of a sub, and therefore should never have to deal with the general)

She threatens me, badgers me, demands ridiculous amounts of paperwork, threatens some more and makes more demands, all without the courtesy of a please or a thank-you. She's basically mean.

I give her the run around every-time, and nothing makes me happier than telling her I won't be complying with her demands since my contract isn't with her.

(Okay, I know my attitude towards her isn't right, but I'm being honest here.)

Anyways, happy Monday! Here's another email to ruin my day. It was ugly, telling me that she was going to report me to the state (the job is at a public school) because I was late at sending her something I had promised to send.

I quick-fired off a reply.

(ENTER NAME HERE), I put the original letter in the mail personally. I don't know what else to do. I don't know why you play such a hard nose jerk with me. My contract is not with you. Go ahead and mail a non-compliant letter. I'm on good terms with the compliance company, so I'm not at all worried. But even if we get in trouble, it would be a relief. I'd rather not ever have to work with you or your company again.

Have a wonderful day.

My finger was itching on that send button, let me tell you.

I sent it to my brother instead, and tried again.

(ENTER NAME HERE), I was out of town for my brother's wedding when the letter came in, so I didn't get to it until a week later. My apologies. I should have sent you an email when I dropped it in the mail last week. And I should have responded to your last email so that you knew I wasn't ignoring you! Sorry about that!

Anyways. It is in route. You should see it in today's mail.

Proverbs 15:1 says that a soft answer turns away wrath, but harsh words stir up strife. Even if the other person has already started in with the harsh words, it takes two to fight. (That's what mom always told me anyways, when I gave her the "it's not my fault, he started it!" routine.)

Ten minutes later I got an email back from the lady.

Thank you so much! I totally understand. I hope you're having a great week!

Lesson learned. (Until next time, anyways)

Why I dive..

Getting up early is hard to start with. Getting myself out of my cozy bed on a cold foggy Sunday morning to go to the beach? No way! When my alarm went off I was thinking up excuse after excuse, trying to find one viable enough to run by Dad. None of them were, so I ended up dragging myself out of bed.

"Diving dehydrated is dangerous" I reminded myself, looking longingly at the coffee pot as I passed through the kitchen. I fixed myself a shake instead and we headed out the door.

It was almost 7:30 by the time we got to the beach, and the 50 minute drive peppered with deep, thoughtful discussion had finally woke me up. (or else my internal clock had finally caught up?) Either way, by the time we hit the sand, I was ready to go. We scouted the surf for a few minutes, timing the sets, judging their size and strength to plan out entry accordingly before we headed back up the hill to the truck.

Getting in and out of the ocean through a shore-break isn't really a big deal. It's the 60+lbs of gear and the 1/2 inch thick neoprene suit we wear that makes it complicated. For me, anyways. I don't like being tossed around in the shore-break like some beach ball.

Wetsuit, booties, hood, gloves, buoyancy compensator, weights, tank, regulator, dive computer and dive knife on, mask and fins in hand, we hike back down to the beach, not stopping until we hit the water. The water feels so good by this point! (Here's the advantage of planning your entry ahead of time.) =)

Kicking out to the middle of the bay, we drop down and cruise over to the reef. Sometimes this is my favorite part of a dive. The sandy bottom is like a barren desert wasteland at first glance. You have to slow down and look again. A puff of sand, and I see a baby turbit burying itself. A set of eyes, part of a mouth, and I unearthed a ten inch halibut. A second glance at a little stick and it's a stingray's stinger. (I didn't try to get that guy to show itself)

It's been awhile since I've been diving, and even longer since I've been back to this spot. A year ago, the reef was dying off, if not already dead. I'm no marine biologist, but anyone could tell you that. Covered with empty shells, no plants, no fish, no coral and way too many sea urchins. Maybe what made this dive so fantastic was that I had low expectations. When we got to the reef, a horde of fish came out to greet us. Even before we started feeding them. Garibaldi, blacksmith, senorita's and surf perch. Looking up at the reef, I wasn't sure if we were in the right place. It was covered in live coral, teeming with life, decorated with beautiful flora and vivid color.

Did you know that sunlight can't filter all the way through water? You start to lose color and light the deeper you go. At 20 feet deep, you lose the color red, 30 feet, orange, 40 feet, yellow, 50 feet, green, etc.. until down at 80 feet where everything turns into a purplish gray color.

Being down here, cruising along at 30 feet, all of the sudden it's worth it. Worth getting up at 6 on a Sunday. Worth the back pain from hauling the gear. Worth losing sleep. Worth being tired all day. Worth all the work of getting ready, and later, cleaning up. All of creation truly testifies God's power, His goodness and order, His plans, His love. Even the tiny purple guys who live in the coral tubes with the many antennae, reaching them up toward the sunlight, toward heaven.

When you're down at 80+ feet where everything turns into an ugly purplish gray color and you turn on a flashlight, all the brilliance returns. All those colors, those beautiful designs, those perfect formations, all down there where no one can see them.

"Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created." Revelations 4:11

Well, almost no one, anyways.