lengua de corazón

I'm in the process of unlearning most of what I'd formerly known from being steeped in Western Christianity, and certainly all I'd internalized about "American" Christianity. I grew up knowing of "the Jesus of suburbia" and then when I was sixteen I was introduced to him. But it turned out that Jesus never lived in the suburbs. The way of Jesus is so counter-cultural because what we think is the way of Jesus is really just some of his watered-down sayings slapped over top our American priorities. Some sugar-coated, "well that's not really what that means" Bible verses on our bumper stickers and even tattooed on our skin. Crosses and crucifixes everywhere you look, " God bless you" ringing out in public spaces after sneezes, and scores of children growing up knowing that some invisible person named Jesus loves them but having no clue that, without surrender and obedience, they're actually opposing him. And finally, surpris

Spoiler alert: This post is about the positives of change. I just couldn't resist borrowing the title of a Dashboard Confessional song . My most content moment of the day occurred when I flopped on my bed around 3:00pm and cocooned myself in a warm comforter that had just been removed from the dryer. As I lay there like a burrito, looking through the blinds at the afternoon rain shower, a thought popped into my head: “How marvelous it is that we are changeable.” (I realize this makes me sound like a complete oddball. I have no retort. Just push through, I guess.) Seriously though! I spend so many minutes of my inner monologue berating myself for being such an inconsistent human being. I am fully aware that I am moody, indecisive, and predictably unpredictable. But the realization that occurred to me this afternoon put all that frustration in a new light. God literally invented change. His nature is constant – immutable in his essence, mutable in his expression (sho

I’ve always detested exercise. My sister loves to tell people that I threw up on my socks in the 8 th grade when forced to “run” a mile in P.E. class. By a genuine miracle of God, my metabolism keeps everything fairly trim. It has not ever been because of any physical effort on my part... I’m just being honest. Yet, for some reason, I’ve gotten up twice in the past month or so to go for a jog. I can’t call it a run, in good conscience. (It’s not that serious.) But I did that, and I’ve been swimming laps one or two days a week for… you know… a week or two. I realize this is all largely unimpressive, especially to people like my former XC-running roommate, but I call it progress! Yesterday morning was the occasion of my second jog. I was not a bucket of cheer when I woke up. I started out mad. I blasted worship music in my headphones and mulled over the litany of things I was upset about. (Tip: Those two activities don’t go together. It’s impossible to keep rehearsing your p

“Now therefore fear the  Lord  and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness.  Put away the gods that your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the  Lord .  And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the  Lord ,  choose this day whom you will serve , whether  the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or  the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell.  But as for me and my house, we will serve the  Lord .” Joshua 24:14-15 (ESV) "Choose." If we're living in the reality of the Kingdom of God, I don't think there's any way to over-spiritualize. That phrase gets on my nerves like nothing else. I think we use it as a cop out, a way to sidestep the responsibility of living like the Kingdom has invaded every nook and cranny of our existence. Every choice is an opportunity to feed my flesh or feed my spirit. Every choice is a challenge - am I going to lean on my own understanding, or listen closely for the Father's will? E

My worldview has been wrecked on multiple occasions over the last year and a half. I almost wish that was an exaggeration, but it is not. Sometimes for the better, always for the unknown. Each time feels unprecedented, each revelation seemingly irreconcilable with life as I have known it. But that's the point. Each of those instances has been a point of no return. One cannot put bubbles back in the bottle after pouring out dish soap. We cannot shrink our minds or appetites for adventure back down to former size once God has blown them wide open with possibility. (Plus, it's much more fun to have bubbles everywhere.)  Faith tastes like the gunpowder-residue air that comes with fireworks. There's a right good chance that things will  explode, but it's going to be beautiful. Whenever it happens. However it happens.  Why is it that as we're eagerly searching the skies, refraining from blinking as much as we are able, barely hanging on to the edge of our se

For many, singing or playing an instrument in front of other people is a terrifying prospect. Music stands erect a barrier between the individual and the congregation, and are a constant safeguard against the potential humiliation of forgetting the next lyric or chord. Music stands are, in the simplest terms, a crutch for these persons. For others, singing or playing an instrument in front of other people has become as commonplace as  breathing  in front of other people. Music stands, while generally unnecessary, still put some distance between the individual and the congregation, and assure a recovery after an accidental slip-up. Music stands are a crutch for these persons as well. Before hot objection and defensive indignation bubble to the surface (if they haven’t already), I need to confess that I am not far removed from the tyranny of stands. In fact, this past weekend was the first worship set I can  ever  remember playing without chord sheets. This was after  years  of