Table Talk, Part 1

Beatitudes. . . Interesting. . . .

I've been pondering for some time now the significance of a discussion that occurred at lunch time two days ago. Prof. Elness Hanson has been hosting a series of "table discussions" wherein all are welcomed to participate in and bring a voice to various topics of religious significance. Wednesday's discussion was hosted by Dr. Grigsby and moderated by Prof. Elness Hanson. The topic was the Beatitudes, and the impression that was left on me was of particular significance.

I have always been the sort to require a philosophical understanding of a thing before I can accept its practical application; it's no use to employ a quadratic equation until I can grasp what it means to employ its use. Another way of saying that would be that it's no use describing the mechanics of a vacuum until I can understand its nature and why it exists in the first place. Theory before application.

So what do the Beatitudes mean? What is their purpose? Why would Jesus choose to speak these words? I cannot simply accept God's many blessings until I can understand why I am being blessed in the first place. And I certainly cannot employ the blessing's use if I don't understand its intended function, nor if I cannot reconcile the fact that I certainly do not deserve it. But finally, after some great while, I have been given an open window into the fundamental concepts that Jesus (according to the implied author of the Gospel according to Matthew) was trying to communicate.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." These are Jesus' reported first words in his famous "Sermon on the Mount" as recorded by the author of the Gospel according to Matthew. Without detailing a complete exegesis on the passage, I'll focus on the point that Dr. Grigsby made concerning that interesting phrase, "poor in spirit."

Both Matthew and Luke Gospel accounts use the word "poor" when describing those who are blessed by God. It is the same Koine Greek word, "ptochos," which communicates the same concept that "beggar" does in American English, but with the added socio-political quality that is of one who pertains or belongs to a mendicant social hierarchy (Strong, James. "New Strong's Exhaustive Concordance." Nashville, Tennasse: Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1996. Greek Dictionary, 78). Vine's adds the connotation "metephorically," suggesting that the Greek word, as it is used in context (Matthew 5:3; Luke 6:20), is not necessarily to be taken literally (Vine, W.E. "Vine's Concise Dictionary of the Bible." Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson, Inc, 2005. 282).

Dr. Grigsby suggested a number of possibilities; none of which I can entirely recall, and all of which I desperately wish to. Nonetheless, I do recall Dr. Grigsby presenting the idea that if the Biblical passage were to pertain only to those who were financially destitute or socially marginalized, there would be no "blessing" for anyone else.

Does this mean that Jesus wanted us to live our lives bereft of financial security? Cast aside by every wind of political upheaval? Eschewing any political and social voice in our communities? Certainly not, as verified by the whole of the Gospels. In my studies, I have found that God does not promise that we all will become financially wealthy Christ-followers. But Jesus' had a tendency to address issues of the human heart at the very core of human existence. It is not wealth that God takes issue with; it is the heart behind the wealth that makes all the difference. So then, were Jesus' words meant to direct us into an impoverished lifestyle in order to please God and receive His blessing? Certainly not; that conclusion is far to exclusive. However, that is an overwhelming conclusion one may come to if the Gospel according to Luke were to be taken literally.

So then, what was Matthew trying to communicate to his original audience? It seems that a more inclusive language was necessary to persuade not just those who were ptochos to begin with. Matthew included this concept of being poor in a more holistic way. One could then be financially affluent and politically influential while remaining entirely bereft of God's blessing. If one was not "poor in spirit" one then could not ever truly take hold of the "kingdom of heaven."

Again, Dr. Grigsby made an insightful suggestion; Psalm 51:17; "The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." The Hebrew word for "broken" is "shabar" meaning, "to burst (lit. or fig.):— break (down, off, in pieces, up). . ." (Strong, Hebrew Dictionary, 136). Another English term one could employ would be "shattered" or "fragmented."

What Dr. Grigsby suggests is that Jesus' words were not simply meant as a literal interpretation of those among us who are "poor." Rather, Jesus' words were decidedly inclusive and extended to anyone belonging to any socio-political hierarchy. Jesus was certainly not referring to the kingdom of heaven as another earthly possession to be accumulated, but a reward for those who endeavored to empty themselves of their own arrogant self-importance and accept by faith that what Jesus said was fundamentally irrefutable truth.

It is my initial conclusion that Jesus was issuing a call to anyone who would listen to participate in something altogether beyond our comprehension: Jesus was communicating to us that the new reign of God on earth—the participation of God in our lives and in our midst; making his "dwelling place" within and throughout us—has come, and those who remain "fractured" of their pride and self-entitlement will take hold of this "blessing." This all leads into a very missiologically minded series of "blessings" which I will attempt to address in a later posting. But for now, it remains enough for me to have come this far in my initial understanding of this well-worn scripture.

So then why the discrepancy between Gospel accounts? What of the issue of faith? How is one truly "blessed" by God when they are "fractured?" When does the fracture itself become a "stumbling block?" These are the things that keep me up this late at night. Perhaps tomorrow I may find an answer. Until then. . . goodnight, God bless, and be sure to tip your theologeon.

A Personal Psalm

A confession: I do not understand enough about the varying classifications of the Psalms to identify in which category this belongs. However, I was assigned authorship of a "Personal Psalm" in my Religion 103 class and would best describe it as one of "new orientation" wherein I personally move from a place of disorientation to a pursuit of God's Torah.

So without further ado, here it is.

A Psalm of Anthony J. Morrow to the LORD Almighty.

The city of Everett belongs to the LORD
and all who live within city limits;
Though there are murderers and drug addicts,
prostitutes and homosexuals,
and those who disregard YOUR existence;
all have been called YOUR children.
So then, who are we accountable to?
Who is able to judge?
Who among us can say they’re “perfect” already?
For all have fallen short of YOUR BLUEPRINT,
every last one of us needs YOUR grace;
YOU alone made that which exists
because YOU are EXISTENCE.
Why then should I refuse to get my hands dirty?
Why then should I fear reaching out to the lonely?
The sick? The hungry? The violent?
The merciless? The ostracized? The embittered?
After all, YOUR BLUEPRINT builds a new kind of community;
one that includes all people
from all walks of life.
YOU even gave us YOUR Spirit,
so we could be empowered
to build from YOUR BLUEPRINT
a mighty house of inclusivity,
that could never exist in the richest neighborhoods;
For YOU exist in the midst of the marginalized and the profane
just as much as the wealthy and the wasteful;
YOU are close to those who are furthest from YOU
because they need YOUR touch the most.
YOU desire that all who are lost would turn to YOU,
being united in love and community;
and those who are led by YOUR Spirit
will find themselves in their midst;
so that all will know of the abundant hope,
the free gift of grace and peace,
that awaits those who freely choose YOUR embrace,
give up on selling out
and follow YOUR BLUEPRINT.

I will not comment further, except to say that this was an excellent exercise in self-examination and furthering to grasp the core tenets of my faith-life. It was a privilege to bring a poetic voice to my theological wrestlings.

Grace, Part 1

Since life is a journey, it seems fair that I report on it in "parts."

So. . . Grace. . . yeah. . .

Near the beginning of this year I made God an interesting proposal. I struggled (and in some cases, still do) with many doubts concerning the core tenets of my faith. One of these areas was God's grace and what it meant for myself, personally, as well as the world as a whole. So I asked God to grow me in that area toward maturity. Boy, what a thing to proposition God about. . .

I lack the clarity to go into much detail at present, but I wanted to record some of the highlights for further exposition after much meditation.

Firstly, I did not realize how performance-driven I was in my relationship with God. I was, in essence, endeavoring to earn God's love and acceptance by doing acts of service; by setting unreachable expectations for myself and then beating myself up for not reaching them. "I can do better." "I'm better than this." "Give me another chance to prove it to You."

The argument looks something like this: If I can win God's favor, then He will love me. To do this, I must endeavor to become like the thing I desire. The thing I desire is infinite by nature. I, however, am finite by nature. Therefore, I must somehow move beyond my own finite-ness in order to achieve my objective. So then, if I can set, pursue and achieve the impossible, then I will be reconciled to God and will have earned His favor.

Rationally, one must presume that I suffer from an obsessive compulsive disorder manifesting itself in perfectionism wherein my entire sense of self-value and validation arise from what I can do for God, as if He was terribly wrought with some previously unknown shortcoming. A logical fallacy, to be sure, but what a terribly self-defeating thing for the patient (myself)! It would be bad enough if this were in response to another individual's continued (albeit co-dependent) involvement in my life; but within the context of an infinite super-being? How would one ever cope with the continued failure to measure up to that impossible standard?. . .surprisingly well; but it's the result of grace and not my works that I live to ponder these matters.

Grace seems to be less concerned with performativity and more concerned with relationship. It's easy to imagine a God who is so transcendent that He demands our capitulation in whatever He wills. It's exceedingly difficult for me to imagine a God who is so transcendent (beyond my limited grasp) that He will never stop loving me, no matter what I do. This seems so wrong. What kind of infinite being could love someone, even if they turn their back on Him?

I've heard the sermons on the prodigal son more times than I can remember. I've even preached it myself. But it was never so real to me until recently, as God opened my mind to accept the notion of what grace truly affords us. To have a God love us jealously; to have Him never stop pursuing us with His love and grace; how can I have missed it for so long?

Here's the problem inherent in the argument, and it's not in the unreasonable expectations nor the misunderstanding of validation and acceptance:

I want control.

That's it. Control says that I can make myself look like God. Truth says that there's nothing I can ever do to look like God. Grace says that God loves me so much that He's committed to transforming me so that I can then begin to look like Him. Grace says that God looks down upon my pitiable state with a kindness and compassion that I certainly do not deserve, all the while working through my many failures to draw me closer to Him. And as if that weren't enough, there are innumerable bi-products of this undeserved proximity including peace, holistic wellness, freedom from former "atonement" methods, and the indwelling Spirit of God who never stops breathing His life into me, the effects of which I cannot fully form into a coherent articulation. God's love just is. I don't deserve it; but He gives it to me anyway. All I have to do is take it, trusting that when I fail (and I will fail) His love won't stop beckoning me back to Him.

In the next post, I will go into further detail about what life is like without God's presence. But the gist is simply this: It sucks. Don't recommend it. Stay tuned.

The Language Of God, Part 1

I hate when books sit there for months unread.

So I decided to do something about it. I picked up Francis S. Collins' book The Language of God and began reading through the introduction. I found his statements both alarming and exhilarating.

Collins would say that his own upbringing was not entirely bereft of the knowledge of some form of formal deity, but that he was discouraged from participating in any practices associated with the worship of, or relationship with, said discouraged deity--save for singing in the local Episcopal church's choir, but only for the music lesson it accompanied.

Collins entered college at age 16 and pursued chemistry. After completing his degree, he pursued physical chemistry at Yale. Two years into his Ph.D., he left and pursued medicine at the University of North Carolina. His driving passions were the "mathematical elegance" of physics and its direct application to helping people in the realm of biochemistry. These goals seemed in line with his adopted atheistic viewpoint.

But it was at the bedside of a dying woman that Collin's life would be forever changed. He was a practicing atheist, sure. But she was a devout southern Christ-follower. The way in which she embraced her fate haunted Collins in a way that mirrored his feelings toward the question she left him with:

"What do you believe?"

He choked. All that knowledge he attained could have developed a perfectly rational response to her innocent question. And he choked. He didn't know. And so he began his search to find an answer to that very question.

In a remarkable turn of events, thus far into my reading, it seems as though it was not a profoundly emotional experience that lead him to turn from atheist into a believer in a benevolent God. Rather, it was a purely logical one. And Collins' studies were not limited to the Christian understanding of God as Christ, but to all world religions. He was drowning in a sea of questions that, to him, were monumental; and, self-assuredly, he felt as though he were the first human being in all of history to ask such questions. But in an ironical turn of events, it took the posthumous mentoring of a once and recanted atheist—celebrated author and Oxford professor C. S. Lewis—to bring logical harmony to Collins' scientific, reductionist mind.

I have found in my personal spiritual journey a remarkable thing: I had once relied solely on my experiences with God and my "personal relationship" with Him as my only touchstone for truth, a sense of growth and development, and a feeling of purpose in an otherwise chaotic existence. My story is quite the opposite of Collins, but not quite to the degree that I'd consider myself sojourning from "saved" to confirmed atheist. I am merely arriving at the same questioning landmarks that Collins found himself in. And interestingly, as my path converges with his, I find that my journey is one of an intellectual reconciliation between personal truth and universal absolutes where my only docents left pieces of the map scattered throughout time and place.

As for my prayer life with the Christian God or "Jesus" or "Christ" or whatever you will. . . I am woefully aware of my wretchedness. It seems that I have fallen into a logical fallacy; I know from experience that I ought to simply receive God's grace, as it is a free gift that affords humanity many benefits; I also do not wish to abuse such a rare and precious gift; yet I am in constant need of said gift; and I continue to behave in ways that are antithetical to my aim, that is, to live a life worthy of the good news of Jesus Christ. And there are still these questions. . . Am I really hearing from God? Were all of my experiences conjured by some deep longing within me that craves meaning and acceptance? Are those miraculous experiences easily downplayed and explained by the scientific method? And what sort of response can I give to a God whom I still love more than life itself? To use a metaphor, is it enough to mumble through the words hoping to learn the melody?

I don't know. At this point, I am firmly aware of two things: Yahweh is love. And love hurts. The hope, one must assume, lies in the belief that God is not harmed by questions, as He already possesses all the answers. At present, I guess I'm just a confused little kid wanting his Dad to help sift through the sandbox with him.

Bruggemann

This week I have learned some interesting things in class.

In Brueggmann's booklet Spirituality of the Psalms, he lays out a wonderfully simple construct for the Psalter consisting of three parts: 1) Psalms of Orientation; 2) Psalms of Disorientation; and 3) Psalms of New Orientation. He goes on to say that this model is not always linear and perhaps remains chronologically consistent and cyclical throughout one's life, but that it stands as a mode to describe our relationship with God to which creation itself will testify.

Though allusions can and have been made to Messianic prophecy and the life of Jesus of Nazareth throughout the Psalms, Bruggemann offers a wonderful interpretation based upon uniquely ancient Hebrew tradition. This is epitomized in his proposition:

"Much Christian piety and spirituality is romantic and unreal in its positiveness. As children of the Enlightenment, we have censored and selected around the voice of darkness and disorientation, seeking to go from strength to strength, from victory to victory. But such a way not only ignores the Psalms; it is a lie in terms of our experience (Preface, xii)."

This proposition is shocking to me for at least two reasons. First, it stands firmly in my mind as verification of the present activity of the Spirit of God in my life up to this point. But perhaps more importantly, secondly, Bruggemann's interpretation calls us to acknowledge the parts of life that Westerners spend a great deal of time and money trying to forget.

What does this mean? To face a life of near-cyclical reorienting? What paradoxes does this present the Christ follower who's only understanding of God is that He exists to please our needs and quiet our fears? What if some should fall away on account of this proposition?

Without writing volumes, I can say that my experiences seem to lend themselves to the notion that God is more pleased with me when I venture forth into the dangerous, perhaps violent, and certainly uncomfortable breech of uncertainty. It is there that I seem to find God's pleasure; where His will and desires for my life are fulfilled (or in the process of being) as He continually transforms me from the "inside-out."

There is much in the way of Biblical interpretation that stands to verify this point of view, but I will not focus on that aspect of the argument nor waste precious word-processor space recounting it. It seems like a very Western-Enlightenment-systematic-theology thing to do to provide 35 points of reason to back up such claims. But there is a Voice that cries out to us often in spite of reason that can only be heard when all else is stripped away; when all else is silenced; when we are in a place of primal fear and foreboding; when the bottom has fallen out; when we've broken through the ice; and when we refuse to let our circumstances dominate us, instead choosing to take the authority we've been given and allow God to dominate the situation.

There is a Voice in our experience. There is a Voice in our relationships. There is a Voice in our greatest tragedies. And that Voice is closest to us in the midst of those tragedies, and closest felt when we turn to It.

I have lived through some terrible experiences. These experiences have happened apart from and in the midst of my relationship with God. But it is only through the understanding of my proximity to God as a "relationship" can any of the heartache make sense.

There is a constant longing in the heart of God to be with His people. We are told that God is "jealous" in His love for us. We are told that God has a "hope and a future" for us and that it includes our "holistic well being." We are told that His "loving kindness leads us to repentance." We are told that Jesus didn't come "into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him." We are told that God is constantly building up a cup-full-of-wrath, but that He stays His anger to those who turn to him. God says, "You will be My people, and I will be your God," and, ". . .you will call me 'My Husband' and no longer will you call me 'My Baal.'" We are even commanded to "Love the LORD your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength," and to "love your neighbor as yourself."

God is all about love. This is what Christianity in modernity affords us. Yet I sometimes experience greatest love in the context of personal sacrifice and humiliation. We can never experience true growth without pain; but it is possible to experience pain without growth. My "orientation" seems to be under assault.

Some old sayings come to mind; "It's always calmest before the storm," and, "It's always darkest before the dawn." I wonder if nature itself testifies to the model Bruggemann presents, and I wonder if it is impossible for humanity to appreciate the vastness and richness of God's love unless there existed a seemingly equal and opposing void that forced us into the embittered uncomfortableness of the paradox that is our relationship with God.

It seems to break God's heart when I choose things that hurt others; even when the only one I hurt is myself. Sin is no longer "as defined by law" some terrible consequence for a crappy rule-follower. It is the result of my turning away from God's desire for my life. And it is fascinating to think that this causes God pain. And when viewed in the context of a relationship, this makes perfect sense.

My desire, then, is not to avoid breaking rules for their own sake; rather, my desire is to love God so much that the thought of causing Him pain repulses me from the desire to "sin." And this is okay because we know that in the end, God desires us to be well in a holistic sense.

Does this paint our God with wimpy colors? What kind of victorious God could possibly be hurt by betrayal? Wouldn't God be beyond such a human and emotionally base experience?

Well, no. And that's okay.

It seems to endear us to our loving God rather than repel us from Him. God is intimately in tune with human experience due to the fact that on some nearly imperceptible level He experiences some of the same things we do.

Peterson refers to the life of Jesus of Nazareth in this way; "He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum" (Isaiah 53:3. Peterson, Eugene. "THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language. NavPress Publishing Group, 2002.) Jesus Himself, being the expressed image of God, being fully God and fully human, experienced life in the same way we did, immersed in it, though not conformed by it.

I can only imagine what Jesus felt as He screamed from the cross, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" that is, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46, NRSV). Jesus experienced the most extreme form of disorientation, and that seems to bring us great comfort because we are a species that continually struggles with realities of life and death, forgetting just how amazing our God really is and how deep is the reciprocity of identification between One and the other.

So to the original point, with no further ado. It seems to me that by embracing the disorientation of humanity and allowing our loving God to propel us into dangerous, painful territory, knowing that He desires our ultimate benefit, using our former tragedies as touchstones for His loving kindness, and that the mature faith is rooted in this equivalent exchange of trust and goodness, it seems entirely plausible that Yahweh would have us face our greatest fears and accept our every "orientation" as a sign of His closeness and activity in our lives.

Beauty From A Beast

So much has been transpiring, and yet, as with many aspects of my life, I have neglected to journal them so as to have a record of my life for the times that memory fails me—which is an unfortunately frequent occurrence.

I have been struggling in a number of ways.  One of which is my own self-perception.  I have always seen myself as the “Beast” to someone else’s “Beauty,” never deserving of that last transformation from beast to prince.  This has caused a great sum of pain over the years.  Yet I believe that God has been working to change all of that in the last two months.

I was recently cast in a musical stageplay by Stephen Sondheim called Into The Woods.  This was significant for many reasons, some of which I’ll detail.

My previous acting experience as Owen Musser in The Foreigner, though officially lauded, left me emotionally drained.  I was and am grateful for the precious gift of working with Director Bob Henry, under whose guidance I learned a great deal about the precious gift of acting and interacting with creative professionals.  However, once the show came to a close, I decided not to perform again, instead pursuing whatever God would place before me as my vocation.

One year later, I was told the following: “Yeah, they’re having auditions for the school play in a couple of hours.  You should think about auditioning.”  Right.  I won’t even bother describing how many things were technically wrong with that invitation.  I will suffice it to say that I feared that even if I were able to scrape together an audition from my repertoire, I would be unable to rise to the occasion.  But God had something altogether different in mind.

I happened upon a chance encounter with TLC’s Playfest overseer.  She keenly assessed my reluctance to participate and extended an invitation nonetheless.  I told her that I had never performed in a musical before.  She responded with grace and a warning that it was not for the faint of heart, but that I must audition nonetheless.

So I did.

I still don’t know why I did.  My experience as an acting major at Cornish and my many acting experiences since then represented a life that I had spent considerable time trying to escape.  And yet this time, from her in particular, I felt something nearly spiritual beckoning me to return to a once hallowed ground—a foundation that no matter how hard I tried I could not raze.

Having moments to prepare, I chose one of Buzz Hauser’s monologues from Love! Valor! Compassion! and the song “Free” from A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum.  I remember waiting outside the audition space for my name to be called thinking, “Whatever else happens, just be honest.”  I decided to, if nothing else, practice the presence of God by allowing each continuing moment to be led by God's desire for me rather than my desire to succeed.  Then my name was called.

I said to the director that I had not prepared in any way, that my voice had not been warmed up, that my technique had been rusted from non-use. . .blah blah blah.  And with that, I was instructed to proceed.  I was amazed at what happened next.

It didn’t suck.  At least, not completely.  Of course, when I attempted the F# it was outside my capability and resembled something like what I imagine the sound of a badger with a sore throat in a slow blender would be.

After the bits were done, I was given a new bit for an improvised sketch and told to work on something for five minutes, after which I would perform it for the tribunal.

Great.

So I went outside, and as I did, the funniest thing happened: words and technique flowed into me as if from somewhere else entirely.  Jokes, double entendre, rhetoric, satire, melody, dialects, gesticulations. . .they came rushing back.  And when I was called back into the rehearsal space, I simply allowed it all to flow right back out.  I became concerned when the director neglected to call scene that I would run out of material with which to improvise.  But when I began to run out of steam, scene was called and I was thanked for my participation and instructed to await the callback procedures.  It was over.  I went home and that was that.

A little over a week later, I received word that I was asked to return for callbacks.  This time I was given a song to perform and two scenes to improvise with a scene partner.  I guess the real bummer was that I couldn’t remember how to read sheet music.  I listened very closely to what everyone else was doing, endeavoring to recall how the song went from the recording I had heard a week earlier.  The only thought that continued to push me forward into this frightening arena was this: “Be honest.  Don’t worry.  Give it your all.”  And so I did.

I sang the song “Agony” as best I could with a male scene partner.  I also improvised a scene with a female partner in which I was the Big Bad Wolf endeavoring to instigate some less-than-virtuous rendezvous with Red Riding Hood.

Before the final phase of the callback audition, I was pulled aside and asked about my scheduling conflicts and my reluctance to play a large role.  I told the director about my full-time work status and part-time school work load.  I told him that I would love to participate, but only in a way that would be most beneficial for the ensemble as a whole, after all the show is only as strong as its weakest scenes.  He said that he had seen enough of my audition and was not considering me for any other roles than I had already auditioned for him.  With that, I thanked him and left.  A couple of weeks later, I received a phone call that I will never forget.

I remember praying that whatever God would will with this experience would be done in me.  I also remember saying that the Big Bad Wolf would be fun, that I could do it, and that I had experience enough with grotesque characters to make him compelling.  But if I could wish anything, it would be that I could play Cinderella’s Prince because I had never played someone desirable before; I had always been a tertiary or villainous character.

Then the phone rang.  It was the assistant director.  He said, “We want to thank you for auditioning.  We were very impressed with your improv as the Wolf. . .” to which I thought oh well. . .then he continued, “We would like to cast you as Cinderella’s Prince.  Is that something you would be interested in?”

I paused.  I had never been approached in this manner before.  Questions?  Would I be interested?

I said, “Do you feel as though this is the best decision for the ensemble?”

He replied, “Yes, we do.”

“In that case, yes, I would be happy to play the part of Cinderella’s Prince.”  I don’t remember anything after that, except hanging up the phone, dropping to my knees in shock and weeping at God’s faithfulness to grant me the desires of my heart when I seek after His desires for me.

And that was that.  I am now in the midst of the rehearsal process.  The show opens in a month-and-a-half.  I have thirteen brief scenes in which I appear onstage.  I have five full musical arrangements to memorize.  I have two duets with a fellow prince.  I have a “moment” with a baker’s wife.  And all the while the Lord has been showing me that I am no longer a “beast” to be imprisoned but a “prince” to be maintained with all humility and dignity.

God is faithful to take our past failures and disgraces, mix them with high heat and purpose, and make from them something altogether beautiful.  I look forward with great expectation to what great things God will do as He continues to propel me into the realm of holistic well-being.