My first breaths.

Sometimes you are struck so squarely in the face with God that you look at the people around you and wonder how they could possibly be so calm. Maybe they are like you and are struck by Him, too, and they just feel silly laughing out loud or dancing or crying for joy. But mostly they just seem stoic.

I wish I could be like David and dance without fear of ridicule. Anyone who does not dance in public shows the true signs of lunacy - how can one sit still and stare blankly when God is everywhere? Can any person sit idly by while Christ beckons for us to walk with Him through the Gardens of our lives, while he so patiently and lovingly teaches us children about what it truly means to love?

I tend to ignore his pleas for me to follow him, but every once in a while something will remind me to avert my gaze from the stains of the blood on my hands. I scrub and scrub but all I get is more blood.

And, when I finally raise my eyes to look anywhere but the sick tragedy of my own sin, the disgusting hatred I have in my heart for this world and its prisoners, the intense fear that God will see my nakedness if I come out of hiding, what do I see?

I see His arms stretched out in earnest, and He smiles at me.

"I have been waiting for you for such a long time," He says, "and I know you will leave me soon because it is in your nature to seek happiness where you cannot find it. But please, stay with me as long as your fleeting heart will allow, and maybe you will remember the shelter of my love when this world has finally defeated you again, and maybe you will lift your eyes from these terrible stains to find me. Do you see? I have washed them away already - your hands are as an infant's, and your soul is perfect again.

"My beautiful daughter, know that I will never stop being sad when you refuse my love and that I will always hold out hope that one day you will come home to stay. But for now, take the time to see me in the eyes of each person you meet, regardless of what they have done and how they treat you, and remember the depth of my love as you listen for my voice in each and every moment of your life."

And for that brief window of time, my soul cries out to be undignified like the humble king of Israel, to shout out in triumph over a mundane existence that is more like a nightmare than reality, to jump and dance and sing in public in front of judgmental stares, humiliated in my own eyes.

But mostly I am just stoic; I have figured out that stoicism is a desperate attempt made by the human condition to repair the fragments of humility that come from being vulnerable and naked in front of other people whose humility has also been shattered. We are never unfeeling - we are only ever hardened, and underneath there is a jubilant soul coated with the thick shell of pride, or there is a weeping child beneath the toughened skin of a hurt and angry grown-up.

God can soften any tough exterior and wipe away the tears of the child beneath, and he can shatter pride with a quiet little prayer if you let him, and he will rejoice in you and bless the jubilant soul that has been hidden for years.

It is strange the way God reaches us. For me, it was something so unexpected but so obvious it seems silly to never have noticed it. I am so fortunate to have people planted in the soil of the Garden of my life. But He does not just plant daisies, or roses, or even orchids. God plants flowers so exotic and colorful that they sparkle like jewels in His light. They give life to my Garden and they encourage me to keep the soil clean and fertile.

My friend Carter is one among many of these flowers. He reminded me of my good fortune last night at a concert in which he performed. I talked with J about how when he first started performing he seemed sort of reserved about it and not really all that sure of himself - even though he has always been an unbelievable musician - and how he now seems so comfortable onstage sharing his music. It struck me what an honor it has been to sort of see him grow from one great thing to the next.

It's sort of like, if you shake his hand, you expect to come away with your fingers coated in a thick layer of paint the color of rainbows (I think that's what concentrated creativity looks like, anyway: rainbow-colored paint). What a joyful reminder God granted me last night in the form of my friend's music!

We are all vessels for His glory, even when we might feel that we are just playing a concert at a hazy venue in Lynchburg for the pure joy of making music.
Even when we are in an unwelcoming town with nowhere more dignified to sleep than a stable.
Even when we feel that we might just be stuck in a boat catching fish to make a living.
Even when we are dancing in the street and being laughed at by others.

My first breaths make me wonder why my lungs have been here for the last twenty-two years and then I am reminded that I have always been a vessel.

I exist as proof that being reborn is possible.

"I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes." Samuel 6:21-22

END.