Archive for the ‘From Paul's Desk’ Category

Monday, April 12th, 2010 by Paul

Day 3 – Papa’s Fire

IMG_4068

I have a friend. Her name is Jennie and a couple years ago, this is the email that I received from her.

(more…)

Tuesday, June 10th, 2008 by Paul

June 2008, Letter from Pastor Lawrence Rae

I get about 100 emails a day, plus regular mail, notes, cards etc.  I really do try and get to them all, and I am only a couple thousand behind – thank you for your grace and patience.  I received the following letter just a day or two ago and thought I would like to share it with you.  It is a devotional journal entry dated May 27, 2008, written by Pastor Lawrene Rae.  There is a simplicity and yet a depth that I appreciate very much, as well as insight into Papa’s heart.  This is posted with permission.

(more…)

Saturday, March 22nd, 2008 by Paul

The Beauty of Ambiguity (Mystery)

I am back in the warmth of the cabin, watching through the window as early spring rains drench the surrounding landscape, low hanging clouds darkening the day. A late snow is coming, but not quite yet. Even though the fire crackles and snaps as it eats through its main course, I still snuggle deeper into the heaviness of the quilt that Papa left for me. She is soon back with a cup of tea, something that smells of wood and mint and a hint of jasmine. I grin. She knows me best, and whatever it is that she is handing me, I trust.

(more…)

Tuesday, December 18th, 2007 by admin

Fiction, Truth, Reality and all that stuff…

It has been a long day; a lot of walking and talking.  Not enough eating if you ask me.  These crowds seem to be getting bigger every day especially as the rumors about  Jesus have stirred up things.  He pays no mind, as if a reputation is nothing of any real value; nothing that required any attention to maintain.  So as near I can tell, he has none, but still everyone shows up; as many people as motives.

Me, I tend to stay in the background.  Not very fond of the attention we’re getting, so I hang around the fringes; suits me just fine.  I’m not one to put myself out there, like some of the others.  To be honest, I’m not very brave and not above being disappointed.  But here is the strange thing.  I don’t know what it is about me, maybe because of my baby face (I’ve never been able to grow a full beard), whatever it is I seem to attract the strange ones.  You know the ones, that hang around the fringes of everything that is going on, people who don’t really have the want or nerve to approach Jesus directly.  So they seek me out. 

(more…)

Monday, November 26th, 2007 by admin

Do You Think They Brought Everything They Have? Pt 2

She was gone as silently as she had come, stepping to the side to let the successful people and their entourages loudly enter the treasury area that she had just vacated.  From somewhere the recorder appeared with scroll and writing instrument, probably summoned by the noise.  it was his job to record the gifts that were given and he smiled broadly to see the groups approaching.  These were known people, pillars of the community and they were the ones the temple professionals felt most dependent upon and obligated to.  Three groups had entered almost at the same time and there was a moment of awkward hesitation as each giver politely acknowledged the others, almost hiding the consternation brewing just beneath controlled expressions.  No strangers here. 

(more…)

Tuesday, November 6th, 2007 by Paul

Do You Think They Brought Everything They Have? Pt 1

So…here I am in this situation that is not the most comfortable.  I am listening to a conversation between a speaker and a group of friends and strangers.  The subject being dialogued doesn’t even matter…well it does, but not to what I am writing to you about.  What is important is that I was sitting there, not saying anything, and pretty much disagreeing with what is being said.  Now trust me, this is not a ‘new’ situation for me; I regularly am in conversations or am listening to someone presenting ideas or thoughts that are contrary to my own.  No big deal.  I know I have no corner on truth or wisdom, just ask Kim.  But today I am agitated.  The speaker seems to be creating a river of words that seem all wrong, and I am watching everybody just jump in and splash about as if they are totally unaware that there is a waterfall right around the next couple bends.

One of my best friends is sitting next to me and without looking, I can feel him glance occasionally at me.  He knows that this particular subject is one that is near and dear to my heart, and he has heard a few of my rants and raves about it from time to time.  Thankfully, I am sitting at the back and doing a fairly good job, I think, of controlling my body language.  Inside I am a mix of emotions.  Part of me wants to stand up and define in no uncertain terms that the conversation is filled with bovine waste material.  Part of me knows better, that such a declaration rarely produces anything that changes the aroma of said waste material, in fact, to do so usually simply adds to the pile.   But finally, I lean over and whisper to my friend my perspective on the agrarial nature of the discussion.  His response shoves me back into the river of grace where he knows I would rather swim.

My friend leans back, and whispers a question, "Do you think they brought everything they have?"

The walls disappeared, the conversation evaporated and I was standing at the back of a crowd of men.  Conversations were muted and everyone was turning to look in the direction that Jesus was pointing.  With his other hand to his lips, he motioned silence, and a few final but hushed words trailed out into nothing.  At first, I had no idea what I was looking for and in fact heard her before I even saw her.  The sense of anticipation was palpable, elevated even higher by the fixed gaze of Jesus in the direction of the approaching sound.  I found that I was holding my breath as her approach neared and when she emerged I was stunned.  One feeble, little old lady shuffling toward the place where offerings were given.  Along with a number of the others, I glanced at Jesus, a little put off, a little surprised, a little disappointed.  But he only had eyes for her and his gaze forced ours back to watch her finish the final part of her journey.  She was ordinary, she was old, she dragged one leg a bit…not completely well, mostly blind it appeared.  It seemed that as far as she was concerned she was alone, neither acknowleging nor considering our presence.  She stopped at the box and reached up to draw a wisp of gray hair that had tumbled out from under her tunic.  Her face seems is etched by the unkindness of life, but her eyes flash with life and youthfulness, even if mostly blinded by the pain of sorrows.  She then reached into her dress and pulled out an old leather pouch, painfully slow in untying the draw strings and tipping it upside down onto her other hand.  Two small coins drop.  Hiding the pouch again inside the folds of clothing, she picked up the mites from her other hand, holding them between her thumb and forefinger.  Slowly she lifted it up, her face breaking across laugh lines into a radiant smile.  Then her cloudy eyes opened wide, her eyebrows raised as if she had heard something remarkable.  She snapped her gaze right to Jesus, and I glanced at him just in time to see him smile and bow a little to her.  Somehow she knew in whose presence she was…and it was enough.  The sound of approaching voices and she quickly wiped some tears that had begun to fall, dropped the coin and shuffled out of the way of busier people, leaving untraced and unnoticed, except by one who mattered.  And me, I was looking at my own feet, wishing that I was brave enough to take off my shoes.  And his voice of love gently pieced me like a blade, "Brothers, do you think she brought everything she has?"

Friday, October 12th, 2007 by Paul

A Story of Gifts – loosely based on Matthew 8

I walk out onto the dock. Three canoes tied along the waters edge. Sun warm in the early afternoon of Indian summer while a breeze tugs playfully at my clothing. I amble out to the furthest point of the dock and sit down, taking off shoes and socks and then carefully inserting my feet into the water that laps only a foot below. Its cold and send shivers through me, but after a little splashing my toes are numb enough to stand the frigid blue. I don’t even turn to look as he sits down next to me. I know who it is. I’ve been here plenty of times before.
 
“Hey, Jesus.”
 
“Hey, precious one.” I can’t help but smile. Even after all this time, I’m not used to hear him greet me that way. Without looking I can feel him grinning. He knows. I shift a little so that I can feel his shoulder touching mine, and I relax a bit into his presence. For a time we both sit quietly and watch the sun splinter into diamonds on the surface of the lake and listen to the humming of autumn insects busy about their agendas. I think I could sit here like this for hours, except I have come here with a purpose. As I think about what is bothering me, I can feel the emotions surface and my mind tangles searching for words.
 
“Take your time,” he offers gently. I take a deep breath and when I feel ready I start.
 
“I’m frustrated,” I begin. “I have all these people in my life right now who are obligating me to drop whatever I’m doing and meet their expectations. They are so demanding and I’m really tired and overwhelmed by it. They act like I owe them something, and sometimes I guess that I do, which doesn’t help. And what thanks do I get? Nothing! I just feel like I am getting walked on, taken advantage of. Don’t I have any rights? How much is enough? They aren’t doing anything for me, why should I do something for them, except when I have to?
 
“Hmmm, doesn’t seem fair at all,” Jesus offered.
 
“It’s not!” I state a little more emphatically than I had anticipated.
 
“Anyone or any situation in particular bothering you right now?”
 
I know just what he is doing; drawing me out and into the light, but I don’t care. “Yes! At work I am supposed to do everything that is in my job description plus stuff that my supervisor adds to the pile, that I don’t have the time to do, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be possible. The whole place is just messed up and…”
 
He lets me ramble and rant for the next however long, and finally I run out of words and silence drops between us. Even though I don’t need to, I do feel a little foolish, as if I have said too much and spoken with emotion unsuited to the present company. I am quiet now, wondering what he will say. I don’t wait long.
 
“Thank you for trusting me with your emotions…you do realize that this is something rather new for you and me?”
 
I nod, watching the water dance while I try to anticipate his next words. He surprises me.
 
“I think we need to get you a pig.”
 
“What?” I look over at him and he’s grinning. “What do you mean, get me a pig?”
 
“Not just any pig,” he laughs, “You need one of those critters that can sniff out truffles under the ground. Only you need a pig that can root out all the lies you believe.”
 
“So, I believe a lot of lies, do I?” I am not surprised at my inner bristling when I hear something that sounds like I’ve failed to live up to some external standard. But I know that he understands; we’ve been down this road plenty of times before.
 
He drapes his arm over my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “That’s an observation, not a value statement.”
 
“I know.” I lean into his hug to communicate that I understand.   “I just don’t like all this process stuff. Don’t you have a blue or a red pill that I could take that would make me think right?” I lie back onto the dock and look up at the cloud formations breezing their way across the azure sky. He does the same, but points to the horizon where a congregation of cumulus seems to have fashioned a billowing butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. 
 
“That’s funny,” I mutter a little sarcastically. “Did you do that?”
 
“Nope, but I know who did!” He pauses, and then continues. “This is a journey not a performance and this is not about the destination as much as it is about the company you keep. It is quite an intricate process…this transformation. The battle is largely in and for your mind. Lies are often like slivers in the mind that have to work their way out over time.”
 
“It’s the over time part that I’m not so wild about. I just want to be able to react better…properly…and now would be good.”
 
I can still feel him grinning, but his voice comes clear and tender. “It’s not so much about reacting properly to people and circumstances, as it is responding to and with my Spirit that lives inside of you.”
 
“Okay, I understand that.” I pause. “You mentioned that there are lies I believe that have me cornered?”
 
“Remember the process of transformation is, in part, exchanging lies for Truth. So let’s talk about something that is Truth about your concerns; Truth even though it may not appear to be.”
 
“Okay,” I say hesitantly, not sure if this is going to help.
 
“What do you think you are surrounded by? You think it is demands and expectations, grumpy people and work piling up, right? You think that people are taking advantage of you, using you and being inconsiderate and thankless?”
 
“I’d say that pretty much sums it up.”
 
“What if I told you that the Truth is that you are surrounded by gifts, and furthermore, that you are gift to all these people, often unopened, but a gift nonetheless?”
 
“If I didn’t know you were God, I’d think you were nuts.” At that Jesus laughs and so do I.   “Seriously,” I continue, “How can any of what I told you be a gift? I need a little help here.”
 
“Let me put it to you this way…each of those events, demands, people, expectations…each exposes a window into your inner world revealing areas that need healing and restoration. You still believe the lie that experiencing life and being in relationship with me is about your performance. Even the person who wrongs you, or the one who places an unjust burden on you, or the one who makes you feel in their debt…any of these are a gift to you, if for no other reason than they expose what you work so hard to hide.”
 
“And you are saying that is a good thing?”
 
“Absolutely! When the crap is forced to the surface by circumstance or people or someone else’s agenda, it is a wonderful thing because…”
 
“You just said ‘crap’.” I interrupt.
 
“I know…let it go.   It is a wonderful thing because now the crap can be worked on and healed. Why shouldn’t we consider the person or situation that is the catalyst, a gift?”
 
“They don’t deserve to be gifts.” It comes out harsh but resonates with how I feel.
 
“Hmm, back to deserving are we? Remember, how you feel doesn’t always tell you the Truth.”
 
We are quiet as I think about what he has said. My emotions are not happy about it, but I understand, and just that allows me some room to move away from the weight of what I had been lost inside.
 
“I understand now how these can be considered gifts…”
 
“Can be embraced as gifts.” He is pushing me, but it’s okay.
 
“Alright, embraced as gifts, but you said that I was a gift to them? And you said I was mostly unopened?”
 
“Exactly!” I turned a little surprised at the note of excitement in his voice. “Here is the fun part. If you want, you and I can turn a debt, an obligation, a demand into something unexpected…into a gift.”
 
“I can?”
 
“No, we can.”
 
“How exactly?” I ask, now intrigued.
 
“Remember when I told the disciples that if a soldier demanded that they carry a pack for a mile, to go ahead and carry it two?”
 
“Sure, but I always thought you would be smarter if you just avoided the soldiers in the first place.”
 
“And miss out on the fun? Are you kidding me? Just think, what do you imagine that conversation was like the second mile?” He winked. “Do you want to know?”
 
I was stunned. “You mean… you?” I stammered.
 
“Of course! Do you think I ever asked anyone to do something that I had not? That second mile he told me all about his family, especially his new baby. He told me how hard it was here and about his disappointment with the political situation. I actually walked with him almost four more miles before we said goodbye. We did not part as enemies and even if we had, what I had done would have made no sense to him and would have pestered his conscience. Such is the power of love. It can disarm anything or at least bring important questions to the surface whether openly acknowledged or not.”
 
“I had no idea.”
 
Jesus reached out and lifted my face to his. “You want to know the coolest part?”
 
“Please.”
 
“Years later, when his servant was deathly ill, he came and found me and asked me to heal. But he wouldn’t let me walk one step to do it. He knew I had already done all the walking that was needed.”
 
Now I couldn’t talk as the tears began rolling down my face.   He reached and gently wiped them. “Precious one, you are surrounded by gifts. Allow others to open you into their lives. I promise…it will be worth it.”
 
 

Friday, September 21st, 2007 by Paul

Future Tripping and the Presence of Joy (Peace)

The reason that ‘Peace’ is in the title of this post, is because for some of us the issue of ‘peace’ in our lives is more tangible and crucial right now than the presence of ‘joy’.  So wherever you see the word ‘joy’ please feel free to substitute the word ‘peace’, not because they are the same but because every thing I want to say about ‘joy’ equally applies to ‘peace’.

First, let me explain the term ‘future tripping’.  I love good science fiction writing.  A book like Perelandra, by CS Lewis, or Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card…they just take me someplace where the imagination is allowed to roam more freely than in most other literary genres.  Some folks think such writing is silly and adolescent…oh well…sorry.  I will tell you that Orson Scott Card’s book, Speaker for the Dead, taught me more about conducting a funeral than anything else I have ever read (but that’s another story).

I’ve been thinking I could make a good case that every human being is a science fiction writer; that we each develop an incredibly powerful ability to create imaginations of the future, usually our own. Unfortunately, we are almost as good at horror or tragedy; our imaginations of the future are rife with catastrophes and difficulties.

A little more than two years ago, ‘Joy’ became my constant companion rather than an occasional acquaintance.  This was totally unexpected and more than a little remarkable.  Many times in my life I had experienced Joy dropping in, ’surprising me’, and then leaving…sometimes within a couple days, but usually within hours or minutes.  I loved the visits but instinctively knew that Joy must have other (probably better) things to do but had stopped by long enough to bless me with a touch of encouragement in a difficult time, or a taste of something wonderful when the world seemed particularly grey and flavorless.  Usually the sudden presence of Joy had no rhyme or reason, at least, not that I could tell…a surprise visitor who was always welcome, slept in the guest bedroom and was normally gone before the first light of day, bed made up, a note that said ‘thank you’ and ’see you again soon’.

But to ‘move in’ and stay…that was unexpected.  For the first six months I was a little on edge about the whole ‘new’ relationship.  It seemed that it would be rather rude to simply ask, "Okay, why exactly are you still here?"  Perhaps, I was a little apprehensive that such a question would remind Joy that there were more important things to do than hang around me, and off Joy would go.  But I liked it…the presence of Joy…a lot!

So what happened?  Why had Joy decided to stick around and permeate my every day, even the really tough gut wrenching ones?  Even as I write this, Joy is standing just over my shoulder, leaning on me just enough so that I know… and watching (with a grin) what I am writing.

Okay…I am nuts, that must be it!  But I am not…so back to my question.  What happened?

As I mulled this incongruity over and talked with friends and family I began to understand part of the reason for Joy’s permanence in my life.  A couple of years ago, I decided to stop ‘future tripping’.  ‘Future Tripping’ is ‘taking thought for tomorrow’, it is creating imaginations of what is going to happen and then actually take a mental and emotional trip to live there for a bit.  It is ‘what am I going to do if _________ (fill in the blank), what am I going to say if __________, what would our family go through if _____________.  I confess to you that I have experienced many un-realities and their attendant emotions this way.  I have repeatedly suffered huge financial losses, ended up living under one of the city bridges, been abandoned by my family, suffered the loss of each of my children, had my closest friends turn out to be villains, embarrassed myself in public, was put on the spot and said something stupid, been to my own funeral (more than once), unsuccessfully tried to stop something horrible from happening, failed repeatedly to live up to somebody’s expectations, been horribly maimed in every kind of imaginable accident known to man, lost all my teeth, lost every job I ever had, came down with every disease possible, regularly looked like an idiot, got my lights punched out for no reason, explained my driving to a police officer, lost my friends, went to school and found out I wasn’t wearing anything, got mugged, imagined the situation that I currently was in was permanent…that nothing could ever or would ever change…

…you get the idea.  I have written volumes of imaginations in my own head, things that have no substance, no reality, and are empty, vain imaginations.  But I treat them as if they are real.  I feel all kinds of terrifying and horrible emotions, and scramble to control my life so that these imaginations won’t actually come to pass.  THESE IMAGINATIONS ARE NOT REAL!!!!  But I had spent most of my life in or around them.  GOD DOES NOT DWELL IN ANYTHING THAT IS NOT REAL!!!  In these imaginations, Papa is conspicuously absent.  Why?  Because Papa has no interest in living inside something that isn’t even real to begin with.  So in my ‘vain’ empty imaginations, I am the only ‘god’ there is.  I have to fix things, make sure things turn out right, try to get a handle on people and events…and frankly, I do a very poor job of it…this playing god thing.  So, my life tended to be gripped by fear and I worked hard to get some ‘control’ to prevent these imaginations that I feared.  I had a habit of treating something that had no reality or substance as if it were truly real.

A couple years ago I stopped this insanity.  And here is what I discovered.  JOY has a name.  Joy is not only a fruit of the Spirit of God, but a manifestation of the presence of the very ‘real’ Jesus who dwells inside of us.  In fact, JOY had ‘never’ left me at all; it was me that continually left Joy, to run into some imagined future and resultant fear.  It had never been Joy that was the occasional acquaintance…it was me that had been the visitor.

For two years now I have stayed inside the confines of the grace that is for ‘today’.  Today is where Papa dwells with me; today is where ‘eternity’ intersects my life, and even when I get to tomorrow, it is still ‘today’ when I get there.  If grace, in part, is what energizes me to sense Papa’s presence, to hear his voice…I was obviously wasting what grace was given me for the ‘real’ day on imaginations that weren’t even real, had no substance and were empty (every vain imagination that raises itself up against the knowing of God).

Do I make plans for tomorrow?  Sure, but they are held loosely and with an open hand…and I don’t live there.  I live in his present(ce), which is TODAY.  How many times are Grace and Peace, or Grace and Joy linked together in the New Testament?  If you try and hoard up grace for more than the Day, you will end up with something that is rotting and can’t be lived on.  If you run away to empty imaginations you will neither sense his present(ce) or hear his voice. 

I read Joy’s blog the other day, and it began…"A couple years ago Paul became my constant companion rather than an occasional acquaintance…"  Sweeeeeet!

-paul

 

Thursday, September 6th, 2007 by admin

Learning I’m Loved – a Response to Gil

This sweet brother dropped me the following note, and again, we both feel like the question and response might be helpful to others, so here goes:

Sir: I am finishing reading your book.  Wow!  Let me tell you, I have been a Christian going on 31 years and this is undoubtedly one of the best books I have ever read (and I have read a lot of them).  I, like you, am a seminary grad. I graduated Western Seminary, Portland, OR 1994.  Presently, I am a prison chaplain at the Washington State Pen.  I have one question for you (at least for now).  How did Papa, Jesus and the Holy Spirit affirm to you, or re-affirm, that they are most loving and care intensely for you?  A deep question I’m sure but I deal with a lot of very broken people who say, "there’s no God and if there is, he could care less about me."  I had contact with a missionary pastor who had witness first hand the genocide in Rwanda between the Tutsi and Hutus.  After that experience, he had concluded God is there, but He’s not loving.  He then went on to say that over time God worked with him to convince him otherwise.  I spoke with him briefly to find out how God did that.  He said email him and ask.  I did, but he never answered.  Maybe it got too close to home or brought up too many bad memories.  Anyway there’s my question and some background.  Thank you.  God bless.

I actually didn’t graduate Seminary…ran out of money, but I had a couple years worth (more than enough…grin).
You ask a very cogent question, one deserving a well thought out response that resolves the issue at the heart… good luck with that.

So, I will tell you how it has been for me and you can toss it wherever it fits.

One of the main differences between my journey and the journey that the book character (Mack) experiences, is that I never turned my anger against God.  Many do, but my journey was a little different in that respect.  Now that does not mean that I was at all convinced that he loved me, and I ran the performance wheel most of my life, but for whatever reason, even as a child, I instinctively knew that the issue was the heart of human beings, not the character of God.  As a sexually abused child, the biggest piece of my anger was self-directed anyway and the shame kept me on a tightrope that existed between the tension of perfectionist performance and suicide.  Again, I always believed that the ability of human beings to do terrible things was an affirmation of both the respect God has for his creation and the magnitude of his resident image in each person. It takes a powerfully created being to do the kind of damage that we do.

Now, having said that…there was a 50 year process before I ‘knew’ in my heart that he tenderly, compassionately, overwhelmingly loved me.  To ‘love’ is Papa’s character and the healing process in our lives is to restore the damage incrementally, bit by bit, so that we begin to live in the truth and are not so lost in the lies.  That process, at least for me, almost killed me.  It was brutal, full of blood and terror and loss, until I was dismantled to the point where the only thing left at the edge of the cliff was a single, tiny, solitary seed.  Then the rebuilding, slowly painfully exchanging one lie at a time for the truth.  I will tell you this…there is no part of my being, or my theology that hasn’t been significantly tampered with. One thing that must be stated loud and clear: at no point in the process is Papa perplexed, angry or disappointed in us.  It is a process, and he seems to like process: it seems to be something scheduled for us all.

The Shack, which was a story for my 6 children, was born out of that process.  I could not have written it at the age of 49…I wasn’t quite healed enough.  Even though the story is fiction, the pain is very real, the process is real, the conversations are real and the character of God is real.

Gil, I would love to hear how The Shack impacts prisoners.  You know that whether we are behind bars or not, most human beings are shackled and captive.  Incarceration of the soul is our common experience.  Please contact Brad Cummings at office@windblownmedia.com if you would like to find out about discounts for books and what we might do to help get the book into prisons (something in my heart leaps at the thought of setting captives free).  I think this book was ‘created’ for prisons.  Not much of a stretch to recognize the root connection between Shack and shackle.

(I would like to add that if any of you want to help fund getting books into prisons, also contact Brad at the above email address – you’ll find out how much we have no idea what we are doing).  :)

Paul

Thursday, August 30th, 2007 by admin

More Stories

Venturing out to the edge … of the precipice Staring into the Grand Canyon of Papa’s love, Letting the wind blow in your face the freshness of a breeze whose scents you’ve only barely tasted before You take the risk …it’s time… You take the step …it’s time… You plunge…and suddenly… You are flying…

(more…)

« Older Entries