looking through me

Tag: faith

November 16, 2014

foundations

I read about a neighborhood that’s sinking. And at the same time things are surfacing—spark plugs, glass, car hoods.[1]

Turns out they built on a landfill. Voids are created as items degrade below the surface. Houses settle and crack. Depressions riddle once flat ground. Foundations give way beneath once stable structures. And what lies beneath emerges.

It’s life. The visible, aboveground structures crack under stress; they fracture and splinter; they slip; they expose the quality of the subterranean foundation.

Character—who we really are deep, or not so deep, down—rises to the surface as the temporary fills decay. Our essence starts breaking through the thinning surface.

But we fixate on the structures.

We keep patching the cracks and throwing on new coats of paint. We rearrange the furniture to cover the warps in the floor. We landscape the yard to give the illusion of level ground or to make the lumps and bumps appear intentional.

We stop at cosmetic changes when the problem’s foundational.

How many diversionary jokes can I crack to cover my shortening temper? Can spackle and paint patch my chronic impatience? Will another flowering shrub take the edge off my harsh spirit poking up where I buried it?

Am I hanging degrees on the walls to paper over the shifting instability that comes from trying to anchor identity into titles?

Really? At what point do I step onto my lumpy lawn in front of my crooked house and admit there’s a landfill under there?

It’s time to stop dealing with the structures on top and start dealing with the ground of my being.[2]

Who I am lies much deeper than job descriptions and relational roles. I am more than my resume and seat at family gatherings.

When everything else is stripped away—when the structures and the refuse are removed—I am made in the image of God, a co-heir with Christ. There is solid ground, a firm Foundation and Cornerstone on which to build.

 

[1] Bean, Daniel. “House Built on North Carolina Landfill Has Sinking Feeling.” ABC News. ABC News Network, 29 May 2013. Web. 15 Nov. 2014.

[2] Wiman, Christian. “A Call to Doubt and Faith, and Remembering God.” Interview by Krista Tippett. Weblog post. On Being. N.p., 23 May 2013. Web. 15 Nov. 2014.

 

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November 13, 2014

growth

As I washed the dishes I saw the cuttings on the kitchen windowsill. They need to be planted. The roots have grown long and are searching for dirt to call home.

Such an up-close view of growth is fascinating. Cuttings in a jar of water sprout roots that grow rapidly. But eventually the water and sunlight isn’t enough. They need more. They need to be planted.

Sometimes growing seems that easy and obvious, even in my own life. A little water and light, and I can practically see the changes through the jar. But that kind of growth has its limits. It’s temporary.

At some point I have to leave the protected windowsill and enter the real, messy world. The one where my roots are just as real, but they’re hidden under the dirt of life. The one where I still need light and water, but I also need to draw nourishment from the soil. The one where sometimes there are dry spells or heat waves or cold snaps or downpours. The one where the bugs and irritants are persistent. The one where my growth isn’t always noticeable above the surface.

It seems plants both need to be fed and need to be encouraged to feed themselves. And so do I. I need the sustenance that comes from others pouring into me, whether that be mentors, family, small groups, sermons or corporate worship. But I also need to use my roots. I need time alone with God and time rooting deeper into the word. I need the times of lifting my leaves to the Son and letting Him turn the food of prayer and study into strength to get me through the droughts and floods of life.

Life in the jar—on the windowsill—might be easier; but it’s a fraction of what I was made for. My best growth is still to come . . . planted by living waters.

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