Taking God’s Holiness Seriously

Instant death.

As “The Armchair of God on Earth,” the Ark of the Covenant was carried with extreme decorum and ceremony for good reason. Anyone who who disrespected, touched, or even looked at it DIED. This happened more than once …

When wandering in the desert, the priests carried it with gold plated poles so as not to lay a finger on it. When the Israelites pitched the tabernacle for the last time, the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies only once a year to make atonement for the sins of the nation … with a rope tied to his foot so if he died they could drag him out and bury his body. Our loving merciful God of the New Testament emphasized His requirements for holiness in the New Testament. 

Hefty stuff.

Today, we as Christians carry within us the Holy Presence of God.

Which is the Greater Honor?

Bearing the Ark of the Covenant or bearing the Holy Spirit?

The Holy Spirit. Obviously. 

So when someone claiming to be a Christian casually disgraces something God deems Holy - I shudder. 

Going back to the Ark of the Covenant, here’s a story from 1 Samuel: 

The Ark of the Covenant once made a tour outside of Israel. 

The sons of Eli the priest thought a “Holy Gold Box” was a lucky charm for the them not getting their butts kicked as a consequence for living lives of flagrant selfish disdain for the Holy God they were called to serve (idiots!). The country followed their example in not living according to God’s laws. 

The Ark got captured in battle and the sons of Eli died. 

That’s example Number 1:

Don’t Treat God like a Lucky Rabbit Foot when you’re living Opposite His Plan.

As a battle trophy, the Ark sat below the pagan god in the enemy temple. Not only did the statue of the pagan god fall on its face and crack it’s neck, the men of the city got  hemorrhoids. So they sent the ark away to another city and those men got hemorrhoids. So they sent the ark to a third city and all the guys who didn’t get hemorrhoids … you guessed it … died.

That’s example Number 2:

Don’t Put God Underneath Anything. Something’s gonna Break. 

So they sent the Ark back to Israel in a cart with some gold to atone for their mishandling. When the Israelites saw the ark coming back to them, they were ecstatic! They stopped their wheat harvest and made an offering to the LORD. Unfortunately, the ark was uncovered so a bunch of them died too.

I could go on but you get my point. God takes holiness seriously.

So when I heard The Fray casually drop the f-Bomb in concert Sunday night, I was rather dismayed. 

Yes, I understand the desire to be mainstream and relevant. 

Yes, I have said the f-bomb myself and I’m not proud of it.

But when you feel God has called you out of the “Christian music genre and into a secular market” you have a responsibility to Him and His calling. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t include setting a bad example 

I disrespect God by accident all the time and He hasn’t struck me dead yet. That’s the miracle of His Grace. And when He tells me my sin, my heart hurts for disrespecting Him. I love Him too much to want to do that.

Don’t live life in the gray. White is White, God is Holy and as bearers of the Holy Spirit, we need to live in the Light as He is in the Light. 

This post was also inspired by Jessie Busboom’s post which you can read here:

http://JessicaBusboom.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/our-role-responsibility-in-worship-leading-christy-nockels/

Don’t Put YOUR Talent In a Box!

I talked with a couple girlfriends about my last blog and got approximately the same response: 

“Your’re so talented/I have no talents.”

Both of them meant it.

These beautiful, friendly ladies both think they have ZERO talent!!! What is that!  One an amazing restaurant hostess and the other a gifted personal shopper … you’ll never meet friendlier ladies in your life!

So here’s my thought … we need to step away from the arts and rethink about ourselves and our “talent” or perceived lack thereof. 

My uncle is into sparse matrices. 

“Huh?”

Yeah, me too … basically it’s code for the coders and only a handful of guys do what he does. How well does he do it? Well, Google thinks he’s cool. If that doesn’t spell “awesome” then I’d have to explain his math stuff and you don’t want me to do that because I can’t. 

Now, completely unrelated to the arts, my uncle does something very very well that helps other people. 

That’s it. 

How about that for a definition of a talent? Outside the box, right? So what is it that you do? 

Think about the stuff you do that helps people that you have fun doing! Cause that’s how you know you have talent! And you DO have talent! So use it beautiful you person you! 

And tell me what it is, alright?

;-) <3 ?

More Than Talent

Heart. Passion. Sacrifice. These matter most.

Talent? I’m sorry … I am so over talent. Talent comes by the bucket full, I don’t care what your artform is.

Dedication? Now that’s rare. Self-sacrifice? Even rarer.

Mike Weaver of Big Daddy Weave will tell you no one is more surprised at his longevity in the music industry than he is. However when you watch BDW walk off the stage to pray with their audience members in the most unusual concert/worship service/ prayer service you could ever experience …  there is no surprise at all!

Contrast that with a girl who’s so into her own feelings she dances for her own satisfaction to the distraction of all observers.

Yeah I’m speaking of myself.

Before I criticize I’d better be honest:

When it comes to “self-expression for the purpose of self-satisfaction” I’m the biggest God-Glory thief I know.

It’s a hard thing to describe in print.

Much like dirty pictures, we all know self-pleasing art when we see it. It screams: “Look at ME! Am I not the most special thing you’ve ever seen/heard/wanted to smack upside the head!?!?!”

Cue upchuck.

So what am I to do when my stomach acid reviles so much “Self-Proclaimed Art?”

Look for the heart.

With heart comes passion, passion begets dedication, dedication multiplies talent.

There is nothing more inspiring than watching someone do something they were created to do. I don’t care if you’re selling shoes, making screws, designing code, fixing commodes  … doing something with heart makes it art.

It’s this thing called Excellence.

Sure not everybody is going to appreciate the beauty of your html code in its raw form but some will. That’s what friends are for.

So don’t put art in a box. Don’t put musicians or dancers on a pedestal. And don’t think that your work is any less important. It’s not. Filing those documents exactly the way you were shown will save somebody a big headache down the road. And yeah they might not know it was you who kept the office files so organized. In fact, they probably won’t.

But you will know.

And God will know.

Live life like its one big Art Project for Him and you’ll appreciate beauty in its most unexpected forms. 

Because Everyone has talent. The Question is what do we do with it?

Here’s some music from Big Daddy Weave:

Benevolence

I really didn’t want to be here. 

It was my first day off since my car “exploded in my face.” The airbags at least. 

I hadn’t slowed down enough to get the blood pressure relaxed or quench the “fight or flight” adrenaline that kept squirting into my veins. 

And I was sitting outside the church offices asking for help with money. 

I really didn’t want to be here. 

I had spent months working and saving and auto-withdrawing to more savings to prevent myself from sitting here. I had to be 10 when Papa showed me the miracle of compounding interest. I counted all my receipts from my chore money then hoarded my paper route money until I bought a bike … to use on my paper route. Talk about reinvesting in the business! After Carlisle and the $6 dollar grocery run, I worked hard to always have money saved. When working fulltime, I set up savings account after savings account with auto-withdrawals for each so I didn’t have to remember.

Then I dipped into my savings for Shine. 

Then I quit my job. 

Then the part-time holiday hours disappeared. 

It’d been over a month in my new job. I’d borrowed family money for my tires and was just getting my head above water to get rid of the credit card bill for good. 

Now Sandy was gone. And I needed help. 

It took a lot out of me to sit here, in the same seat as people who I judged for making foolish decisions. I was better than them I thought. And surely I would never need to ask for benevolence. 

Boy was I wrong. 

Who did I think I was? Am I exempt from tragedy? Does anyone asking for benevolence wake up one morning a year before and make it a new year’s resolution? I DON’T THINK SO!

My realization?

We can save like a squirel, invest like a rabbit, and buy insurance like a turtle but we are all human. Stuff happens. Spouses grow cold. Parents die. Friends reject. 

Just because I have something tucked away today doesn’t mean that tomorrow it won’t disapper like the “mysterious stock of Enron.” Don’t ever depend on money for your security. You’ll never have enough for you to sleep like a baby. In fact more will probably make it worse. 

Our only security must be Jesus Christ. He is our rock and shelter in the storm. 

He is our Life in the driest of places. I’m trying to remember He is all I need. 

Will you join me?

The Energy-Efficient/Lazy Girl’s Guide to Pasta

Information you Need to Endure #FirstWorldPains

Spaghetti - I am your basic boring pasta. Cook me when you have no imagination.

Angel Hair - I am the ultimate lazy girl’s gourmet pasta. Dip me in and I’m done! Don’t expect me to crawl onto your fork for you though; I’m still high-maintenance and like a photo-shoot before enduring consumption.

Linguine - I’m the staple pasta you go to when you don’t feel like cooking but want to feel like you cooked something. I only take 9 minutes which is enough time to boot your *ahem* “computer” as you call it while texting Lisa about how you promise to check out the youtube music links she sent you. Add olive oil and some dried parsley from CVS and you can pretend you ate a meal. (Really though, you better eat something filling for breakfast or else!)

Fettuccine - I am the patience tester! I take all of 12 minutes to cook, pull me out too soon and you’ll forget you ever liked “al dente.” Cook me when you have the fortitude to use your fork and want time to write a post about how much you overanalyze pasta.

Rotini - I’m your pick if you don’t have enough drama in your life and you forgot your hair is plenty curly on its own.

Elbows - Where’s my cheese?

Bowties - No really I’m too high maintence and I’m allergic to your fork so don’t even bother.

Tri-Color Rotini - Seriously … you have time for pasta salad?!?!

Lasagna - You expect me to come withsauce and ricotta?! I have a dinner date for you. Her name’s Marie Calender. 

And there you have it! If there’s any more useless information you need to help you through your troubled 21st century life I can upload a video blog explaining the names of my sunglasses! Sure, we all know about Dina the Massively Fabulous Diva featured in Way Beyond Myself, but don’t you want to see Sergeant’s “Matrix” impersonation?

The Richest Pauper

I’m looking for my Pauper 

in a dark and dreary land.

He has no place to rest, 

His feet covered in sand. 

He’s nothing for himself

but everything to give,

He didn’t come to condemn

He counts sins in a sieve.

He owns the whole world

but He hasn’t a bed; 

No title or position 

but they want Him dead.

If Caesar was before Him

He would not be impressed,

It was Caesar’s birth 

that He Himself blessed. 

___

It may seem as if

they made Him to die,

Yet it was His own choice

He let them crucify.

Beaten, Battered, Bloodied.

Thrashed, Smashed, & Ripped.

Then He crawled up a hill

of His very own will,

Laid His arm on a beam

and put breath in the soul

that tried to nail God

to an earthen, wooden will.

___

All cursed be

those who hang on a tree,

True Love and Sacrifice

He allowed us to see.

For the Mayans, Aztecs,

and Incas all knew:

Only atonement with 

Human Blood would do.

But there’s no heart so pure

among our dirty race

that can appease a Holy God

for our sins disgrace.

… 

I can’t speak for you

but I know I suck,

If it weren’t for my Friend Jesus,

We’d all be out of luck. 

___

I’m looking for my Pauper

He’s the richest man I know,

for He’s the only one

who has redeemed my soul. 

The Narrative of the Car Accident

For the people who’ve met one too many airbags, I’m sharing my story. 

Thank God there was no broken bones or oncoming traffic. I could be attempting to fold clothes with a cast arm. I could be comatose in the hospital, white as oreo icing squished between two cookies. I don’t know why God allowed this to happen. I don’t know who He is going to comfort by my experiencing this suffering He ordained for me. I have accepted and recieved it as a knee scrape on my journey which will strengthen someone else along the path. And before you think I’m so holy my fart smells like roses, please read my immediate reaction to the accident. Authenticity requites openness. I live Inside-Out.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy or hugs with pats. If you’ve never had an accident with airbags, please comment wisely. It’s hard to understand the trauma of real world bumper cars.

___

10:39 am. I post a blog on change and ballet.

11:40 am. I leave the house. I need to be at work at 12:30pm. I’m determined to be on time. 

11:45 am. Sitting at the stoplight to leave my neighborhood. I post a tweet. I set the phone down. The light turns Green. I make the turn. I feel the temptation to pick up my phone again. I think of “DoGoodorDoNaught’s” youtube comment on my video confession that I need to be a safer driver. I keep both hands on the wheel. I approach an intersection. The lights are green. 

11:50 am. On the other side of the intersection, a vehicle makes a speedy left turn. It continues it’s journey. I admire it’s timing. A white truck pulls into the center of the intersection. I’m used to this. I expect the driver to notice my existence as oncoming, right of way traffic. More slowly than the previous vehicle, he turns. His vehicle is in my direct line of fire. I have no where to go. I relinquish control and accept the inevitable. 

11:51 am. Loud bang. Smell of gunpowder. Airbags deflating. The moment has happened. “F***!” I’m angry. I know how much trouble everything is. I know how much time will be wasted patching life back together. At that moment, I don’t care if God thinks this is a good idea. I’m ticked I had to experience this again … and it wasn’t even my fault. I turn my anger off. “There’s no point in taking this out on anyone.” I get out of the car. He gets out too. 

“I wasn’t expecting to meet you this way. I’m Meg.” “I’m Jon.” “I guess I’m going to be late for work. I’d better call them. Can you call 911? We’ll need some help.” “That sounds like a good idea.” 

I call work. I’m factual. I’m ok right now, but I won’t determine anything until the adrenaline wears off. 

I look at Sandy. She spun from his sideways motion. Blood and Oil streak the ground. Faithful engine sits crumpled & bleeding. I never wanted to see her like this. 

My hands start shaking. I know what needs to happen, but I can’t do it by myself. My shop is just up the street.

“Service Center, this is Ken.” “This is Megan [We are on a first name basis] I had an accident just down the street from you. [My hand starts shaking. My voice cracks. I’m losing it.] Can you come and help me please?!” “I’ll be there.”

12:05 pm. Official peole are already flocking to the scene like blood in a wound. Swelling. A wandering ambulance parks next to us as a shield. “Maybe you can get it fixed.” He’s an EMT. “No. The airbags went off. It’s dead.” I know too much. 

Ken pulls into the corner gas station. “Thank you for coming.” “Of course. You’re ok. Cars are replacable. You are not.” My surrogate father hugs me. I hand my papers to the investigative cop. I show her my right arm. It’s scratched. Bag burn.

“This is proof both hands were on the wheel.” She understands. Jon gets a citation. 

The tow truck comes for Sandy. We’ll park her at Ken’s shop until her time comes. Her front is so mangled the driver has trouble hooking her up. An extra $50 bucks for the insurance. 

She rolls away. The last journey my baby will ever take. My most faithful companion is leaving me. 8 years, she was so strong. I loved her so much. Excluding my five-month fling with the ill-fated Cordelia, Sandy’s been with me through everything. At least now I have people I can hide inside of. And I was just savoring what a journey we’d had. 

Ken drives me to his shop. Ruth takes me in her arms. We pray thankfulness. I know I’m safe. I’m alive … and for that we are happy. 

___

5:00 pm. I’m almost at work. Victor is my Dodge Avenger Date for the week and he very kindly took me to the urgent care. A few more phone calls. A few more x-rays. “It’s just a contusion, but we’ll get a radiologist to double check.” My knee is bruised. Thank God that’s all. I like my patelas hockey-puck solid, not cookie crumbled. I like jumping.

5:05 pm. I park in the garage. I’m not used to a buff macho car like Victor. I take my time finding a spot. The Hertz kid whined I wouldn’t buy his insurance. Self-centered sales person. I guess he hasn’t met any airbags lately. Get over your quota and care about people. I just put a bunch of stuff on my credit card that is already carrying more than it can handle. Get some life experience and find some compassion. 

5:10 pm. My associate gives me the low down. We’ve had a busy day and there are projects to accomplish. “We can do this.” My back brace squeezes me so tight I wonder how corset-laced girls ever ate anything. Beauty is funny. We move the shelves, fold the shirts, even get Miss Manila Quin in the window. Her sisters are hiding in the closet, begging for attention. They’re not going to get it. 

9:30 pm. The drawer is counted. The shirts are straightened. The deposit is made. I lock the door and go find Victor. I’m not used to push-button key. The “Click” sounds so nice, like a choir of miniature apprentice gears harmonizing on the unnoticed beauty and simplicity of “Science, at your service.” No one thanks him unless a wire breaks. Then we crank and kick the fridge. But not tonight. Tonight the simple harmony of a remote unlock is singing the comforts of my fortress Avenger. Victor takes me home. It’s been quite the journey. 

The best is yet to come.