Written early 2009. Chemineau thoughts.
I am a vagabond.
I belong to another place--a far country.
My soul is not tied to this rock.
My heart is free of cares in this world.
My life is bigger than the confines of the planet.
I am anti-gravity.
I go about in rags, wandering, destitue--looking for my home.
I am an alien. I am a stranger.
My eyes are constantly seeking, seeking the Great City.
I live in the Wait. I carry the Ache.
I am a whisper. I am a vapor. I am a phantom.
I am the breath of eternity. I ride upon the wind.
My heart is fixed on the journey.
I am pressing on toward Zion.
I am confident in the world unseen.
I rest assured in the reality of an invisible Kingdom.
My senses cannot confine me.
Write it across my brow: just passing through.
I freely admit, I do not belong here.
My longing is for another place.
My deepest affections are for another Master.
My aim is for another goal.
I am a traveler. Pilgrim. Vagabond.
----------------------------------------------
[Reprise]
I live in the Wait. I carry the Ache.
Looking...
Past the veil.
The beautiful unseen.
The glorious mystery.
Crying, "Come!"
Heart unfettered.
Anti-gravity.
Traveler.
Asking. Seeking. Knocking.
Desperate to behold.
Possessing no alternatives.
Willing one thing.
One great obsession:
Only Him.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tour ramblings
theFurnace just spent a week on the road doing nights of prayer and worship across the country. I went with a group of thirty college students to tour the west coast. We started in Roswell, NM, travelled through Arizona and California, and ended in my home church in Ogden, UT. It was an incredible experience, and we saw God move in magnificent ways. Once I write my ramble about our free day on the ocean, I may post it here. In the meantime, here are a few other rambles tapped out in a fifteen-passenger van on the freeway...
On the Desert
The road through New Mexico and Arizona is beautiful. It reminds me very much of the drive through certain parts of Utah. Especially as the sun drops in the sky and the shadows grow longer, the light casts a sparse, romantic beauty on the desert as it lies on either side of the highway.
This more than anything explains the unique charm of this country: the desert doesn't flow as the coast and its ocean; neither does it grow in the way of the plains. It simply lies with its dusty greens and dirty yellows, serene and a bit predictable surrounding four lanes of asphalt, without presumption or extraneous aspirations. Even the rocky growths that are repeated again and again in the view from the car windows seem to roll in and out of the ground in which they are planted, unlike the boldly stated mountains or the sheer and sudden precipices that can be seen elsewhere.
Our movements have fallen in with the rhythm of this land. They are paced and recurring. We listen to songs that flow in and out of each other. There seems to be something natural and familiar to this place.
Perhaps the desert is a faint echo of some plainer existence to which we feel an indefinite drawing. It evokes a memory of a life that is content with strength and tenacity, not caring for embellishments or handiwork to display. The desert is a life without trophies on its shelf, a life that is more interested in lying in quiet expanse than momentarily leaping from the earth: one that is deep and interior and silent, one whose power lies mostly in the unseen.
On Happy Jack
Making a drive across Wyoming is one of the less enjoyable experiences of my life, and one that I have undertaken many times. The landscape from I-80 is barren and notably indecisive. Even in colour, the topography refuses to commit to any shade or hue and instead muddles about in a dreary grey. After several hours of such a view, my eyes grow weary of constantly gazing on dustiness and endless horizontal lines.
Then comes the glorious moment of the trek shortly outside of the city of Laramie. One rounds yet another grey corner and is suddenly greeted by bright reds and greens shouting cheery platitudes from either side of the winding road. Pines are stacked up above the grooved face of the rock like an evergreen ensemble marching through a wilderness. The sign for the nearest exit reads “Happy Jack Road.”
Cheers, friends.
On the Desert
The road through New Mexico and Arizona is beautiful. It reminds me very much of the drive through certain parts of Utah. Especially as the sun drops in the sky and the shadows grow longer, the light casts a sparse, romantic beauty on the desert as it lies on either side of the highway.
This more than anything explains the unique charm of this country: the desert doesn't flow as the coast and its ocean; neither does it grow in the way of the plains. It simply lies with its dusty greens and dirty yellows, serene and a bit predictable surrounding four lanes of asphalt, without presumption or extraneous aspirations. Even the rocky growths that are repeated again and again in the view from the car windows seem to roll in and out of the ground in which they are planted, unlike the boldly stated mountains or the sheer and sudden precipices that can be seen elsewhere.
Our movements have fallen in with the rhythm of this land. They are paced and recurring. We listen to songs that flow in and out of each other. There seems to be something natural and familiar to this place.
Perhaps the desert is a faint echo of some plainer existence to which we feel an indefinite drawing. It evokes a memory of a life that is content with strength and tenacity, not caring for embellishments or handiwork to display. The desert is a life without trophies on its shelf, a life that is more interested in lying in quiet expanse than momentarily leaping from the earth: one that is deep and interior and silent, one whose power lies mostly in the unseen.
On Happy Jack
Making a drive across Wyoming is one of the less enjoyable experiences of my life, and one that I have undertaken many times. The landscape from I-80 is barren and notably indecisive. Even in colour, the topography refuses to commit to any shade or hue and instead muddles about in a dreary grey. After several hours of such a view, my eyes grow weary of constantly gazing on dustiness and endless horizontal lines.
Then comes the glorious moment of the trek shortly outside of the city of Laramie. One rounds yet another grey corner and is suddenly greeted by bright reds and greens shouting cheery platitudes from either side of the winding road. Pines are stacked up above the grooved face of the rock like an evergreen ensemble marching through a wilderness. The sign for the nearest exit reads “Happy Jack Road.”
Cheers, friends.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sacrifice
"We must invite the cross to do its deadly work within us."
A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God
Cold, hard stone--
Coagulating blood--
The dwelling place of death.
I grip the ledge
And hoist myself
Up to the top.
Crawling like an animal,
I lay myself before You:
On this altar,
Let me die.
A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God
Cold, hard stone--
Coagulating blood--
The dwelling place of death.
I grip the ledge
And hoist myself
Up to the top.
Crawling like an animal,
I lay myself before You:
On this altar,
Let me die.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Today
Reflections on The Pursuit of Man by A.W. Tozer, chapter one.
The thing that is most necessary in the development of authentic pursuit is that a man actually be looking for God now. To attempt to satisfy the longing after God with recognition of Him in the past or an awareness of Him in the future leaves the soul withering under the reality of this moment. The seeker smiles weakly at professions of the God who has been and the God who is to come, but he cracks beneath the weight of his need for a God who is.
The man whose heart is alive embraces God in both the past and the future, all the while asking, "Ever-Present One, where are You today?" Each day, he seeks a discovery of Christ in the aspect of every hour. His is the spirit quickened to be familiar with his God.
I’m sailing on a ship that’s bound for life
I wrestle with the wind against the tide
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to where the water’s running sweet and bright
The sun is rising in the eastern sky
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to Your golden shore
- Sailing on a Ship, Phil Wickham
The thing that is most necessary in the development of authentic pursuit is that a man actually be looking for God now. To attempt to satisfy the longing after God with recognition of Him in the past or an awareness of Him in the future leaves the soul withering under the reality of this moment. The seeker smiles weakly at professions of the God who has been and the God who is to come, but he cracks beneath the weight of his need for a God who is.
The man whose heart is alive embraces God in both the past and the future, all the while asking, "Ever-Present One, where are You today?" Each day, he seeks a discovery of Christ in the aspect of every hour. His is the spirit quickened to be familiar with his God.
I’m sailing on a ship that’s bound for life
I wrestle with the wind against the tide
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to where the water’s running sweet and bright
The sun is rising in the eastern sky
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to Your golden shore
- Sailing on a Ship, Phil Wickham
Monday, August 31, 2009
Coffee Shop Thoughts...
[Live and Uncut]
“By dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit.”
Romans 7-8
That I might understand the tragedy of sin, the commandment was given to expose it, and my own sin put me to death. This is the master of my flesh, waging war against the righteous desires of my spirit and binding me up in depravity. There was no victory to be found in my being: it is rotten through and through.
My death could only be redeemed by the death of another. Christ took death upon Himself; He became my very sins and crucified them with His body. Now I am dead! I am the shell in which His Spirit dwells. I am the righteousness of Christ. This is my new master. I am one of those “who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.” My mind and heart are set on the activity surrounding the throne of God. I desire what I find to be the desires of His heart.
Once, it was impossible for me to be found pleasing to God. When I died to the nature that bound me and took up the likeness of Christ, I was made alive to Him again. By Him I eliminate the activities of the flesh, and so I am found to be the beloved child of God.
No longer am I enslaved to sin and fear; I call to Him, “Daddy!” He says to me, “Dear one, I call you My own; you are among the chosen heirs to My kingdom . Persevere through the struggle of this world, and you will share in My glory.”
This is the internal war in which I wage battle. I groan, I ache for His return, for His right to be enacted on all the wrong of this age. I wake every morning longing for what I have never seen, and I fall asleep every night in tears, desperate for His appearing. When my words run dry, His Spirit inside me cries out, communicating on my behalf in my wordlessness.
Though I am broken and sorrowful, none can accuse me. No charge can be made against me, for He has ordained that I would be made like Him, chosen, made right, and endowed with His glory. And though I shoulder His cross every day—though I cry His tears and groan with His grief—I am secure in His love, and I can never be removed from Him. I wait and I ache, but I am not shaken. I am His.
“By dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit.”
Romans 7-8
That I might understand the tragedy of sin, the commandment was given to expose it, and my own sin put me to death. This is the master of my flesh, waging war against the righteous desires of my spirit and binding me up in depravity. There was no victory to be found in my being: it is rotten through and through.
My death could only be redeemed by the death of another. Christ took death upon Himself; He became my very sins and crucified them with His body. Now I am dead! I am the shell in which His Spirit dwells. I am the righteousness of Christ. This is my new master. I am one of those “who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.” My mind and heart are set on the activity surrounding the throne of God. I desire what I find to be the desires of His heart.
Once, it was impossible for me to be found pleasing to God. When I died to the nature that bound me and took up the likeness of Christ, I was made alive to Him again. By Him I eliminate the activities of the flesh, and so I am found to be the beloved child of God.
No longer am I enslaved to sin and fear; I call to Him, “Daddy!” He says to me, “Dear one, I call you My own; you are among the chosen heirs to My kingdom . Persevere through the struggle of this world, and you will share in My glory.”
This is the internal war in which I wage battle. I groan, I ache for His return, for His right to be enacted on all the wrong of this age. I wake every morning longing for what I have never seen, and I fall asleep every night in tears, desperate for His appearing. When my words run dry, His Spirit inside me cries out, communicating on my behalf in my wordlessness.
Though I am broken and sorrowful, none can accuse me. No charge can be made against me, for He has ordained that I would be made like Him, chosen, made right, and endowed with His glory. And though I shoulder His cross every day—though I cry His tears and groan with His grief—I am secure in His love, and I can never be removed from Him. I wait and I ache, but I am not shaken. I am His.