Home Is Where The Heart Is : Family

This morning I woke up and called my brother. It's Thanksgiving, so calling the family is a must. It's practically protocol, right. All the sudden I was hit like a ton of bricks falling on a sheet of ice. Sadness, longing, misery, and despair. Now, this isn't my first Thanksgiving away from home. Ive spent many holidays away from my home. Spent them in Iraq, Europe, Africa, and other places. But this time its different... Now, when I speak of "home", I'm not speaking of the physical presence of Arizona; not even of the house where I'm all too accustomed to spending the holidays; not even the warm weather and sunny skies. . . .

Home: It's the glow on my nephews face. The hug from my Grammy. Wet kisses from my dog. The warm smell of pies, casseroles, and steaming cups of coffee. Laughter amongst stories of reminiscence. Talking football with my brother and gentle arm punches as we joke. It's all the quirky little things that make each family unique. The small traditions that are remembered each holiday.


See, in the past, when I have missed holidays, I was surrounded by another family. It was my brothers who took up arms with me in war. Who risked life and limb together in a desolate middle eastern country. At other times, it was friends who I have cherished for years. Who knew my soul inside and out. Friends who know my story, heart, and troubles.....  This time, I feel more alone. No doubt I am surrounded by individuals who care about me. I am certain of this. People whom I have grown to love in the weeks I have been here. But the key word in that sentence: weeks. Time is hard to replace. Time encompasses many things. Time to grow relationships. Time to love. Time to learn. Time to accept. We don't possess the ability to change time. We cannot take it back and we cannot move it forward. We are stuck in that moment. In that hour, minute, or second.

Now, I completely relish in the fact we have the ability to make the most of each moment. And we should! We should live each moment of our time like it could be the last. We should live each day knowing that Jesus could return in that hour. However, this is much harder to do than speak. Especially during the holidays. . . . .

     

My Uncle...Testing: Repentance, to Grace, to Transformation.

I've recently been listening to a lot of Misty Edwards (if you haven't heard her, check her out http://www.mistyedwards.com/). She has a song called "Fling Wide" that has resonated within me quite profoundly. I have spent many mornings and night in meditation on its words and through scripture.

Awake, awake o north wind,
Awake awake o south wind
Blow over me

Come o winds of testing
Come winds of refreshing
Blow over me

Awake, awake o north wind,
Awake awake o south wind
Blow over me

Come o winds of testing
Come winds of refreshing
Blow over me

Let the winds blow
 
Fling wide the door to my soul
Open up the door to my heart
Have your way, have your way
Have your way yeah

I wont be afraid
I will face the wind
I wont be afraid
I'll embrace the flame

It's really made me think about the testing God allows in each of our lives. How many times have I been tested...and failed? How many times have I not endured it? It makes me think of my uncle and his untimely death. It was five years ago October 5th.....
Let me begin by describing my uncle.
He was a man of character.
A faithful husband, a son to be proud of, and an excellent brother.
He possessed a heart of gold. Always caring and outpouring with love. He could bring a smile to your face in any circumstance, and the hardest worker I have ever, and will ever know.
While I was deployed to Iraq (at the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom; 2002-2003) he would send me a new stock of fine cigars every few weeks. I would receive letters and postcards from him regularly. And once we had cellphones he would call frequently. He took up my cause and made it his own. He was always there for me and the rest of our family. He was intelligent, full of moral character, and a noble fisherman. He was an electrician by trade, and I have often heard him referred to as the best in the business. Of course, he would not tell you that, for he was a humble soul as well.

He was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, a terminal painful disease, approximately five years before his death. It's hard to retrace the exact cause of the infection, but its believed he acquired the disease many years ago in his youth; possibly while receiving a tattoo in his teenage years at the Phoenix Swap-meet (which was a large attraction in those days). After his diagnosis, the disease begin to take over his body. Slowly, and painfully. He lost most of his weight and began to look like a skeleton covered with skin. Pale, yellow, lifeless skin. He would develop soars and cuts that could no longer heal. It began to destroy his liver. His liver began to shut down. Due to the lack of a functioning liver, his body could no longer process fluids through his system normally, if at all. He would swell up with fluid, and his abdomen would bulge, taking on large amounts of weight. This was extremely painful. He would go to the hospital often to have excruciating draining procedures to release the pressure. He was fortunate to be placed on the organ transplant list at the Mayo Clinic- a well renowned medical facility. He was fortunate to be placed on this list twice. He was fortunate to be moved to the top of this list twice. He was fortunate to be given two separate liver transplant operations....both which failed.
He lived the last years of his life in pain - hard, agonizing, deathly pain. He did this while he waited to die. However, when you saw him, spoke to him, he never mentioned the pain. He never complained or agonized in your presence. In fact, he did quite the opposite. He would smile, talk sports, talk life, talk politics, talk family...and in his old charming way, he would make you smile and laugh.

Around October 1st, 2005, he was placed in a hospice facility to ease the pain during his last days. He was laying there in one of those medical beds with tubes attached to him- dulled with morphine to ease the pain. He could barely speak, move, or open his eyes. But you had the sense he knew you were there. He looked over and asked my Aunt, his wife, "Who's idea was it to bring me here? I want to go home..". She replied, "Glenn, do you want me to take you home?" Now, this is the part that shows his true character. This is the statement of a man who had lived a incredible life, cut short, but full of integrity none the less. A life to be proud of. But also, a man who knew it was time, and had come to find peace in that. In his last years, he spent days reading the bible and growing close to God. Nurturing his relationship with his Father. Preparing for this moment. He said, "No. I want to go HOME. . . . . . Home to Jesus".

A few days later, the time to go home came. It was early in the morning, no one was there. Except for his big sister, my mom. She was there to watch her only brother, her little brother who she loved so dearly, be escorted to heaven with angels.

This event caused a tremendous drain of my faith. It led to questions. Hard questions. "Why God? Why take a man like this?" As hard as I tried to answer these questions within myself, I could never find an answer. This led to an eventual demise in God, God's character, and Jesus himself. It led to disbelief, which in turn led to betrayal. It led to bitterness. It led to hate and anger. It ultimately led to sin. Which led to consequences for my sin.......

This went on for about three years. I fled from God for three years. I fled like Jonah fled from God instead of pursuing what God was asking of him. I hid from God like the prophet Elijah did. I ran, ran, and ran some more. I was a marathon runner in full-sprint. I became the king of hide-and-seek. Now, any intelligent person knows, you cannot run from the Almighty. He found me, and when he did, he stopped me in my tracks. He stopped with His grace. His forgiveness. His love. Which brings me back to my song. The opening of the song quotes a verse from Solomon which reads:

"Awake, O north wind,
and come, O south wind!
Blow upon my garden,
let its spices flow."  Solomon 4:16

In this verse, the north wind represents "winds" of testing, or times of testing. The south wind represents "winds" of refreshing. Now, at first, the thing that struck me so profound about this verse is that the author (some theologians believe it was Solomon himself, and others believe it could be someone writing about Solomon, or to him) is asking for testing from God. How brave! How holy! That was my initial impression. The more I meditated upon this verse that changed. How awesome is it that after we endure times of testing, we experience times of refreshing. Blessings. We grow more complete; which in its original Greek translation, means mature. God has enough grace that he "grows" us, "blesses" us, "completes" us through our hardships. Makes us more mature in Him. He brings winds of refreshment in our lives following trials and struggles. How faithful is that!?

So, as I sit here tonight, I am staring out our huge front window; watching snow falling. Snow falling in blankets of pure whiteness. Snowflakes landing, covering the brown dirt and black asphalt of our city. I cant help but be reminded of how God covers us with his "snow". The blood of His son. Blankets of grace that are O' so refreshing. Pure. Loving. Genuine. Forgiving. Enduring. Snow that doesn't melt. See, I can look back now on my uncles death with a sense of peace. Knowing that God had a purpose for it, and that my uncle is in a far better place than this world. No more question. No more lack of faith. Besides, who am I to challenge the sovereignty of our God. The soverignty that always brings refreshment in our lives; and does so in perfect timing.

Therefore, it is my prayer tonight, that God makes us less like Jonah...and more like Job. Having complete trust and faith in our Father, without questions, but with maturity and endurance. May we ask for the north wind to blow in each of our lives, and that we may find joy in our sufferings, knowing that the south wind will be here soon. May we live a lifestyle of repentance. True repentance that allows grace to overflow in us. Repentance, to grace, to transformation. Our God is so good! He is so, so, so good to each of us. May we remember that in our sufferings- He is there with us. May we remember that we worship a God that has been there before. A God that sent His own Son to experience worse suffering than we can imagine, suffering that surpasses our own. He has been there, so he always knows what we are experiencing. Find solace and peace in this! Amen.

The Youth Of Our Times

This past week I have experienced the pain of our current generation. I was given the opportunity to take part in a program here called "Building Bridges". It gives high school students the opportunity to miss class for a day and concentrate on the issues that plague their lives. To be themselves. To share their lives. To free themselves of burdens that they might be harnessing on their own. To realize they are not alone.
At one point during the day we divide the kids into what we call "family groups". Each leader takes about ten kids and opens the floor for them to share their fears, troubles, problems, worries, feelings, hopes, and failures. The things these teenagers shared floored me. I was completely unprepared.... Molestation, thoughts of suicide, loneliness, addictions, anger, pain...so much pain...feeling unloved, feeling hated, feeling alone.... I hated every moment of it. At such a crucial moment in their lives, they are experiencing so much hurt. I wanted to wrap my arms around each one of them, draw them near, and tell them they are loved..so loved.
I think of my own niece and nephew... Tillman and Codi. They are so precious. So innocent. I love them so dearly. I wish there was only a way to hold their hand and guard them, protect them, shield them from the pain of this world. Envelope them in a blanket of love that is hurt-proof. Of course...this is impossible. However, there is one who can. Who calls us to find refuge in Him. Who will never, EVER, leave our side. I'm living proof. I should be dead ten times over...But he carried me through. When the rain poured down and the thunder rose... He was there. When the darkness closed in....He was there.
It is my prayer that Codi and Tillman, and every other child and teenager alike find the treasure that awaits in His arms. In a world that makes the Christian an outcast, the outsider, the different one, I hope that they find Him. I pray that they indulge in being the different one. That they find joy in living outside the realm of secular perceptions.
See, the pain of this world will not cease. It will be here; past, present, and future. Our God is not one who says "come to Me and I will make your life painless...perfect...harmless." He is one who simply says: "when your life does get hard... I AM HERE, and I WILL ALWAYS be here. I will NEVER LEAVE you". Who else can say those simple words and mean them with absolute certainty. Your parents? Friends? Siblings? Spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend? No. Only Jesus can say those words and mean it. That is a gift alone worth receiving.
For He can not be defeated...not by hurtful, abusive parents. Not by rumors, sarcasm, or teasing. Not even by death itself.
May God OUR FATHER, draw our youth into his arms....so their hearts may dwell in His...so that when this world throws everything it has at them...they cannot be defeated. This is my prayer. This is my heart. This is my cry.

My mother.....the kneeling Christian.

This post is about prayer. The power of prayer. The blessing of prayer. And the transformation through prayer. I have recently started using the phrase, "I am a product of a praying mother". It has taken me years to realize this.

When I was sixteen years old I was a junior in high school. I was young. I was blind. I was lost. I was hurt. I was looking for acceptance in all the wrong ways from all the wrong people. My insecurities soon led me to hanging out with the wrong crowd at all the wrong places. Partying and drugs became my forte. Academics became secondary and attending class was only an option; and option that I chose not to exercise most days. Soon, my appetite to fit in with others and to be considered "cool", "hip", "popular", and "loved" consumed me. This in trade led to drugs, alcohol, and sex. My morning routine would look something like this: Make a drink to carry along with me at school (usually this was a large bottle filled three fourths with Vodka, and the rest Gatorade). Go to a friends house and snort an eight ball of cocaine. Than smoke a joint on the way to school. I did this all day- everyday. I found my self in courtroom after courtroom, but found no conviction for my deeds. Only anger. I needed to find a means of financing my addiction- so I turned to stealing. I would rob, steal, pillage, and hurt to get what I needed. Cars, houses, people, stores- it didn't matter. I eventually began to steal funds from my mother. I would steal blank checks from her and deposit them into an ATM. The amount I stole from my mother ended up totally over eight thousand dollars. Money was the priority, however, I would steal her jewelry, clothes, possession- her love. .... The whole time she prayed. She prayed. Prayed. Prayed. And prayed. She loved me unconditionally. She tried with all her means and every bit of her soul to prevent her son from dying. She tried to save me. She tried to reach out to me. She prayed. I cant imagine what she went through. I cant begin to understand the hurt she felt. The questions that arose in her mind.
Eventually, she was given the advice that if she didn't intervene drastically- her son would up dead, and soon. She had no choice but to withdraw me from school. She withdrew me from school and sent me to live with my dad. I returned a month later where I finished school alternatively and joined the army. The struggle didnt end there, but that season ended. Long story short, I sit here today redeemed, saved, forgiven, called, loved, blessed, in the process of restoration, and on fire for my Savior. I also am proud to call my mom the love of my earthly life. My best friend. Nothing comes before my God, but my mom is second.

See, it was my mom who stood with God during those times. She who held His hand and whispered prayers into His ear. It was my mom who pleaded with Him to save me from this storm. It was my mom who didn't give up. It was her who saw the goodness in my heart darkened by the world. My mom is a prayer warrior. She prayed until her knees bleed and her voice was gone. And God came to her and said, "I have a plan for him, my beloved, find peace.."

I look back now and find solace and gratitude in my past. I am more than confident God will use it for His glory. I have already seen the fruits of this. I love looking into an adolescents young eyes and being able to say "I've been there....and there is a better way. But I understand. I know what your going through."

I AM the product of a PRAYING MOTHER....and God IS in the family business. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of this. I praise my God for his mercy, for my deliverance, and for blessing me with a mother who finds the Lord as her rock. She is a woman of many talents and strengths; but motherhood is her greatest second to her immense love for Christ. Many say that they have the best mom in the world.... I don't believe it. I DO. Thank you Karen Jean, my mother... I love you.

Being Prepared

Today I attended a service in Seattle at Mars Hill Church, It was AMAZING! The following is my insight on the sermon:


The time we live in is a tedious time. We live in a society where people are constantly trying to pinpoint the time of Christ's return. Various church leaders pick dates of when they have somehow calculated Christs exact return. People are always trying to point out who and where the anti-christ could be. See, what they fail to realize is that the "end of times" began when Christ brought the Kingdom to earth. This time will continue until He returns triumphantly. We live in the in-between. Jesus tells his disciples not to worry about the timing of His return, but to go forth and make disciples of all nations. Not to worry. To keep our eyes on the Kingdom and furthering His glory. The question really becomes: Are we ready for His return? Are we prepared? Are we prepared not just as the Church, but as individuals? Are we being good stewards of our time, talents, and treasure? After all, when we come to Christ we agree to forfeit all that is ours to Him. Therefore, all our time, talent, and treasure belong to the Almighty.

I sit here this afternoon in prayer contemplating my use of what God has given me to use for His glory. I pray that the Lord makes me a steward, a slave, to use ALL that He is endowed upon me for Him, and for Him only. Its so easy to see the application of this principle. However, so difficult to apply. The enemy is constantly trying to use my time to distract me from the Lord. Using my finances in ways unglorifying to God. My talents in selfish and prideful ways.
May I bind Him in all ways counter-productive to being a complete steward to all that is Holy. May I be a steward that prepares me for the coming of our Savior. In Jesus' name,

Make Me Like You

My Prayer today:

I don't want to build any walls up inside of my soul;
Come inside, you are welcome here, Yaweh.
Be mine Lord, forever and always;
Let's run together Lord, run forever to eternity and beyond..
Let's laugh together God, be sad together, and find hope together;
You are my hope Lord. All my hope, all of me rests in you God!

Grow me, teach me, shape and mold me... I am but warm clay in your hands Father, soft and moldable
Shape me to be like you.
Mold me to be used by you.

Give me wings like those of eagles;
Wings to soar among the weak
The impovershed, the needy
And the broken.
Give me a heart like yours O' God;
A heart to show love in colorful
bright, evervescent ways that can only be known to come from a Father like you.

Make your voice louder God
Make your voice clearer
Make your conviction stronger
Make your path wider
Make your wisdom better ...
In me.

Let your Love flow God,
FLOW,
Raging like a current with no bounds;
An ocean tide,
A clear mountain stream,
teaming with your abundent Grace and mercies
Never ending and refreshing
Overflowing
Pouring out
In me.

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Skewed Prayer

I grew up with an angry father. Maybe that's an understatement. I grew up with a violent, mad, selfish, controlling, depressed, abusive, belligerent, father. In fact, most of my childhood memories involve him either fighting a friends parent or throwing some thing across the dinner table. There was the time he hit my mother. I remember watching out the front window as he was put in the back of a police car; hands behind his back, face down while the officer pushed him inside the cab. Or there was the time he locked himself inside our garage. His truck stereo blaring, pedal down, trying to kill himself while his family sat on the other side of the living room wall. Other times I remember putting on ten pairs of my Scooby Doo underwear to protect my backside from his belt lashes. Never ask a question, those were for mom. "Don't bother me, I'm watching the game" was a common phrase. This was my father. This is my father.
What a contrast between OUR heavenly Father. The difference couldn't be more black and white. However, the difference didn't seem so different for me for most of my life. I subconsciously viewed God in the same manner I grew up viewing my dad. When I prayed I viewed God as a vengeful angry man with the word "NO" resting on the tip of his lips. Condemnation must have been his middle name, and defiance was mine. How messed up is that? The God who loves us so much that He would give His own Son to bare suffering for our sins. The same God who allows me to come before Him- the creator of everything! This concept had completely skewed my view of prayer for most of my life. This in turn caused me to blame the consequences from my sin and actions on God; in the same manner I was blaming my broken childhood on my father. I wish the word "excuse" could permanently be deleted from my vocabulary. For my actions rest with me. It took time to realize God was there with me the whole time. He was up above cringing and crying with each bad decision I made. I can picture Him saying "Matthew, I didn't create you for this. I created you to be a ROCK, faithful and steady. I love you...It's okay".
This made me think. How many children are in bondage today with a skewed perception of who God really is? All because they have a dead-beat dad. What a painful thought. Hundreds?Thousands? No, millions. May God rescue them and revel His true nature to them. My hope is that he uses all of me to set them free through Him. To show them through truth and love. To led them to deliverance through their true Father. I wish I could hug each of them and cry for them. Tell them they are loved and that there is someone above who really DOES love them. Who loves them more than they can imagine. God says imagine. Imagine what we think He can do- and HE WILL DO MORE! I imagine Him rescuing all these children from their abusive fathers, and showing them HIS fatherly compassion and love. I imagine Him making these children cycle-breakers, and legacy-makers.

The Ropes End

Have you ever been at the end of your rope. Not just in one instance, situation, or moment. Not for a day, week, or even month. An end where there is no turning back. This isn't a four-way stop or detour. You cant turn left or right and there are no more excuses or lies to be said. You find yourself face against the wall desperate and anguished. Tears become your solace and blackness envelops all light. Your so deep in a hole your yelling up "go ahead and start shoveling on the dirt". ... Your a broken down car on a road leading nowhere. A flower absent of water in a decade of drought...
I'll share a quick story that happened to me over this past summer. I woke up one morning after another night of destruction. Gazing out my blacony across the ninth hole of the golf course that lay in front of my place was a foursome looking up towards the sky. There conversation seemed tense to me, as if something was wrong. I gathered myself and stumbled out my door and down the stairs. Folllowing the path around the corner I noticed there was no one else around and the golfers had continued their round. Cars were absent from their assigned spots and traffic was non-existant. A rational mind would have simply figured it was mid-morning on a weekday, and people were at work, school, or admist their daily routines. But my mind, having recently been polluted by alcohol and drugs, came to the conclusion that the rapture had come. This was it. The end. I had been left behind. With this I rushed to my keys and back down to my truck. I called my brother, "Marc where are you man?! The world is ending bro! GET IN YOUR CAR and GATHER the kids!". Convinced this was really happening I continued to plead with him, "Its just you and I bro....hurry..we need to get to safety before sh*t really gets heavy!". I must have called my mom at some point before this because next thing I knew I was shoving her aside, desperate to get my truck going... her arms embraced around me...begging and pleading....frantic and wet with tears.... Soon she became a blur in my rear view mirror as I jolted around the corner, leaving her in the thickness of diesel exhaust and hopelessness..despair, worry, and pain...so much pain. Two miles down the road I managed to run out out of gas. I deciced it was best to leave "big blue", my truck, as I like to call her, smack in the middle of the road. Abandoned. "What next Matthew...where should I go..how did this happen!? Me? Left behind???" I thought. Grabbing a large stick from the ground I strided forward, destination unknown. A picture for you: here I am, parading down 48th St. still dirty from the night before, holes in my clothes and dirt on my face. A large staff made of wood in hand for protection against whoever may attack, fearful others would soon be finding out the bad news and panic as I was..... I made it back to my apt and down the street to Burger King. At some point during my three mile walk back to my place I must have finally realized the world wasn't ending. Staring out the window of BK I noticed a sea foam green corrolla parked across the way. My mom. This upset me. How dare she follow me?! The audacity for her to still care about me after my episode! I was going to gake care of this and really give it to her. Maybe, just maybe, she'll finally give up. Maybe she'll finally release me to relish completly in this life of hell I was living, literally. "Would this woman finally stop caring..stop loving...just let me be... give up already!" Of course not... she met me still with open arms, lovingly. "Now look, here comes my friend and mentor around the corner to help as well....DAMN you God! Can't you see I'm trying to kill myself here!" The police followed as well.... this story ends with the kindness of the Phoenix police department giving me an option: jail or the VA hospital. That was an easy choice...the hospital. The hospital. The fifth floor. The pysch ward. The hospital I would later check myself out of. Check myself out and find ways to lie to myself that anything had happened.
That was one day of many. One day that had begun months and years before. Looking back now, I can laugh. I find joy in that story. You see, my story is of deliverance. If I had not found the depths of hell I did I would never have realized how much I needed a deliverer. I HAD to hit "rock bottom". I had to realize how much I needed more. I had to reach my ropes end. And while I was pulling on that rope with all my might...when I reached the end and grasped for that last inch, that last thread.... a hand was there. Waiting. That hand that had been there the whole time, waiting, saying "Let me help you my beloved."
And that same hand that was there at the end of the rope is the same one that was strong enough to pull me out of that deep, dark, lonely pit. And when I asked to be buried- he shoved aside the enemy who held not just a shovel, but was ready with a bulldozer, and said "I am your God and have called you by name. You whom I love". And that road to nowhere... that road now leads to eternity and infinite love. The flower without water...that flower now blooms with the most awesome of colors. It was a simple invitation. Three words, "take my hand".

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Why Blog...and why start now!??

Well.... I never thought I would be a "blogger". In fact, I rarely find the time to read other individuals blogs either. However, after encouragement from a few friends (one in particular, mmhhhmm, Michelle!), and prayer - I have given into the mighty world of internet blogging.

I do want to be clear though... the thoughts, prayers, stories, poems, or words I express and convey through this blog are meant more for ME than you. Many of my entries will be my own journal entries or prayers. It is not my desire to sound prideful in this comment but to express my intent for writting this blog. I DO hope others read my words and I hope that many can share in my various experiences with me. I hope that those reading can possibly relate to my entries and find encouragement or insight. I hope that those reading will read with an open heart and clear mind.

With that being said... I am not new in my walk with Christ, but new in the freedom I have recently found in Him. I have found freedom from the bondage of legalism, shame, guilt, anger, and other strongholds that have claimed my relationship with the Son and Father for so long. Now, longing for more freedom in Him, I am picking my way through this journey of life -  with Him as my light and His voice as my guide. ...

Today: Here I sit in Patterson, California on my trip to Tacoma, Washington. My truck blew its transmission on the first day of my drive on the I-5 about an hour south of Sacramento. .... Praise God for this interruption! The past two weeks leading up to my departure have been an absolute whirlwind of distraction and busyness. The enemy has crept in ever so sly and used my preperation against me. I realized this the first night I spent here. I had lost my focus. Not my desire, but my foucs. My eyes had strayed from His. My eyes were no longer looking up but forward. It is my prayer today that I stay where my feet remain. That my eyes remain on Him... that I may grow in these days, waiting, patiently, growing in perserverance. Patience has never been my friend but always a foe. I ask for patience, Lord. May my prayers be not one of wants or needs, not full of dismay or impatience, but only to align my will with Yours.