heaven

Innocence

“To the pure all things are pure, but to those who are defiled and unbelieving nothing is pure; but even their mind and conscience are defiled.” – Titus 1:15

Have you ever found some artifact from your distant past–a book, a souvenir from a family vacation, a CD–and reflected on how much life has changed since you last held that thing in your hands?

When you last read those words, touched the edges of that familiar nic-nac, pressed “Play” on that disc and absorbed the melodies coming from it 10…15…20 years ago, you had some form of worldview of what life was like. You had hopes of what your life would become one day. You hadn’t considered how or when your relationships could or would go away. You had no idea the people you’d meet who would bring you great gladness or open your eyes to beauty. Or introduce you to a pain you wouldn’t dare–or even know how–to imagine.

Sometimes, I’ll come across something–maybe a picture or a note from high school or college–I shake my head and grin as I face that younger me and reflect on how hard I tried to be funny. Or cool. Or anything else that I wasn’t. Can’t say I ever thought I had the world all figured out, but I certainly always wanted it to like me–and worked countless angles to make it so. The world scared me before I even really stepped out into it.

Now, what really makes my heart weigh a few pounds heavier are those pieces from my pre-adolescent-era life. When the only hurt I knew were my parents’ spankings and confirmations that, no, we weren’t going to Chuck-E-Cheese for dinner. So much innocence. Not that I acted innocently–hence the spankings. But I didn’t even know to expect anything out of life outside of countless pick-up baseball games, Little Debbie snacks in my school lunch and agonizing countdowns to overnight trips at the grandparents’.

The last time I read through the pages of a Henry Huggins book was at my son’s age of nine. My kids like me to read about Henry and Ribsy and Ramona Quimby’s adventures out loud, which I’m more than glad to do. Just like my son and seven year-old daughter now, when I last read this story, I didn’t know rejection nor had I ever betrayed anyone who trusted me and broke their hearts.

I hadn’t failed an important test or lost a job…nor lost a loved one…yet.

I hadn’t faced the fear of growing old alone or wondering where the money was going to come from to pay my mortgage.

I didn’t pine for the someone else’s approval of me to affirm that I was OK, in my humanness, as it was.

I hadn’t questioned if God really liked me, much more, loved me.

I hadn’t really messed anything up yet.

And then, for a minute, comes a deep longing to go back to that moment. Before I’d scarred or been scarred. When I read that book or listened to that song free of nagging pains of what my sin has done or what others’ sins have done to me circling my consciousness.

This is all kind of heavy thinking, for sure. Not to back-pedal, but it’s not that I live in this space 24-7. There’s freedom from that sort of misery. And I’m grateful for the journey toward that, fully. But how beautiful is that innocence. The kind I see in my 10 year-old son and seven year-old daughter, yet very much does dwindle away a little by the hour as travelers exposed to the World’s destined-for-death elements.

An author named John A. Ritenbough once wrote:

A well-known series of scriptures, beginning in Matthew 18:1, touches on innocence and its destruction. It starts with a question from the disciples: “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Jesus replies that unless we become as little children, we will not be in the Kingdom of Heaven. Is not the beauty of their innocence and the harmless vulnerability of little children a major reason why we find them so adorable? They produce no harm, shame, or guilt. But what happens as they become adults? They become sophisticated, worldly, cosmopolitan, cynical, suspicious, sarcastic, prejudiced, self-centered, cool, uninvolved, and many other negative things. They also seem to lose their zest for life. Sin does that.

Of course, we can never become children again; and none of us really want that anyway, really. God mercifully gifts us with wisdom (James 1:5) and discernment (Proverbs 2) as we persevere to mature through life (James 1:4), in spite of what we’ve done and what we’ve been exposed to. To live in naiveté as an adult is novel, but it’s also dangerous–which is why children can be rarely left unattended–and dumb.

I don’t know that I’ll experience the same “zest for life” again until heaven. Which makes me all the more eager to get there, though I also don’t want to die anytime soon. Father, give us the faith to believe that we are, in fact, whole and seen as flawless in your sight because–only because–Jesus’ blood has made us that way. Let us be glad in that above any and all of our deceitful hearts’ (Jeremiah 17:9) guilt or shame.

 

 

What We Don’t See

Several years ago, I picked up some incredibly memorable life-principles as an active participant in an intensive workshop called The Encounter Training, while living in Nashville, Tennessee. There was a lot of sticky doses of counsel that I’ve kept with me since then, but I recollect one in particular nearly every day:

The power of a promise

One of the most tangible ways to show love is to simply keep your promises. If you pay attention to the day-to-day promises you make to others, it creates integrity for you and lets others know how valued they are. We would also assert that a broken promise is a cry for help. It’s tangible evidence that certain aspects of your life aren’t working.

Where the power of a promise really came into play during this workshop was in abiding by the rules the group of 30 of us crafted ourselves. One rule agreed-upon by the entire group? “We start the first session each morning at 8 a.m.”

Simple enough and not asking too much. Following morning, no one thought much as some of the trainees rolled in at 8:01, 8:05…even 10 after. But our workshop leader did. Each person who walked in late was asked to stand up and acknowledge that they had, in fact, broken the 8 a.m. rule–and to that, a promise–they’d played a part in creating.

Of course, initially, it seemed a bit extreme to make such a big deal about a few minutes’ tardiness (including my own!). But as the instructor reminded us of our prior commitment to the “8 a.m. Rule,” and how it pertained to the above-noted Promise Principle, it all did strike a chord. When you and I agree to meet at the coffee shop at 9:30, we’ve made a verbal contract to each other. A promise that we’ll be there when we say we will. If one of us is late because of poor time-management or straight-up carelessness, it’s a broken promise.

We may not think much of it because we are surrounded by people (including ourselves) who run late as ritually as we check our Facebook. Or make plans and don’t follow through with them. No matter how culturally-common it may be to not follow through, a broken commitment is a broken promise. Is it a cry for help as the principle states? I’m not sure. But I know when some of the prepetually-late people in my life say they’ll “be there at 7,” I don’t totally trust they will. In my mind, I’m like, “Yeah, see you at 7:15, then.” And trust is everything. Which is why I’ve been known in my household to take the kids to the fro-yo place at 9 p.m. when they should be in bed–because at some point during the day, I absentmindedly committed to Let’s Spoon.

And those two have the gift of recollecting my promises in the nick of time.

Plus, it’s fro-yo.

My point in all of this promise-talk is twofold: 1) Trust is essential in thriving relationships; and 2) Sometimes, the cause of a delay has nothing to do with errancy.

If I’m waiting for my good friend Jeremy to pick me up at the airport, and he hasn’t shown up an hour past the time I’d told him my flight would land, I’m not going to be annoyed by his irresponsibility and thoughtlessness. Years of relationship has taught me that Jeremy’s prompt and reliable. Thus, I assume something happened that messed up his plans beyond his control. Maybe a flat tire? Daughter blew out a diaper right after putting her in her carseat? I don’t see or know what’s going on, but because of our history, I trust that his intent was to act on his commitment.

Sort of similarly, almost everyone I know is waiting on God to do something in their life. Give them direction on a career path. Heal a sickness. Provide a spouse. Restore a damaged relationship. Bring financial stability to the family. We’re waiting on God to answer some type of prayer.

But those I know who have established a relationship, history and knowledge of and with God the Father–those who have developed a mature faith in who He is and what He says–aren’t typically cursing Him as they wait for some sort of deliverance or answer.

And here’s where I take another slight turn on the subject.

One thing I don’t think about as often as I should is the spiritual forces at work that might actually be delaying the answered prayer. In fact, in my weak moments, I’m way more likely to chalk up an unanswered prayer to poor performance on my end (not praying right, not behaving well enough…)–essentially make it all about me–rather than consider there is a literal spiritual war happening in the supernatural that might be getting in the way.

That said, I’ve been camped out on this scripture passage pretty much all week:

“A hand touched me and set me trembling on my hands and knees. He said, ‘Daniel, you who are highly esteemed, consider carefully the words I am about to speak to you, and stand up, for I have now been sent to you.’ And when he said this to me, I stood up trembling. 

Then he continued, ‘Do not be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to them. But the prince of the Persian kingdom resisted me twenty-one days. Then Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, because I was detained there with the king of Persia.'” – Daniel 10:10-13

The prophet Daniel can’t understand why one of his prayers is going unanswered. He’s fasting, praying, crying for weeks, and nothing’s happening. Eventually, an angel shows up to explain what’s been going on in the unseen world: for three weeks, the angel had been trying to overcome resistance from the “prince of the Persian kingdom” in order to answer Daniel’s prayer, and only recently had received help from archangel Michael, who I have to imagine is just an absolute powerhouse.

I read that and have to imagine Daniel never prayed flippantly again. And, I mean, this is a guy who’d already prayerfully-survived a lion’s den.

How interesting–and inspiring–is it that there is a battle going on for us that we can’t see? Yet, it’s through our prayer that we become part of the battle ourselves. John Piper puts it this way:

“…it’s no accident that the messenger said that his struggle with the prince of Persian lasted exactly the same amount of time that Daniel’s fasting and prayer did—21 days. The reason for this is that the warfare in the spirit realm was being fought in a real sense by Daniel in the prayer realm.

And so it is with more of our prayers than we realize. We should wrestle in prayer and fasting for the things that we know are God’s will in our lives and our families and our church and our city and our world. But by and large we should probably leave it to God how he will use angels to get his work done. If God shows us more, we will use it. But the essence of the matter is not knowing the spirits but knowing God (emphasis Matt’s) and praying in the power of Holy Spirit.

To pray and trust like Daniel did. To be aware of the warfare we can’t see but is very real, and passionate enough to prayerfully and actively wrestle against it through the Holy Spirit’s power. To follow through with promises as timely as God does. May that be the prayer for each of us who read this far into this blog post!

It’s written on our hearts

“If I find myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I wasn’t made for this world…

The fact that our heart yearns for something Earth can’t supply is proof that Heaven must be our home.” – CS Lewis

“He has put eternity in the hearts of men.” – Ecclesiastes 3:11

A mega-produced concert from a band playing some of my favorite songs.

A courageous leader with conviction and integrity to lead America.

A week-long vacation in a cabin in the mountains or a beach house by the ocean.

Even a specialty doughnut, coffee, beer or hamburger.

In my flesh, I always hope these things will give me the beautiful, restful, palatable, life-giving, experience they sound like they should. And, often, it does–but if I’m honest, there’s still disappointment attached to it, somewhere.

Something malfunctions.

There’s not enough.

I’ve got some other life-worry distracting me from fully enjoying the moment.

Someone disappoints.

I may seek a glimpse of heaven in those moments, places…even people. And often I’ll pay good money and put forth great effort to experience those short glimmers when and wherever I can. But I’m convinced more by the day this world can’t really deliver what my heart is truly looking for. Until heaven, I’m always going to want more.

It’s in our DNA as masterfully-crafted, God-designed humans. We’re made for a perfect heaven.

In light of the world–the beautiful and terrible things within it that I see each day closer to death, I’m increasingly grateful for the hope of eternity. And as Paul asserts in Romans 5:5, hope never disappoints.