Journal Four: Delight

IDENTITY PORN

The aftermath of any ravaging hurricane leaves an impression so deep that no puny wave can seek to alter. Such was the indelible rash I quaffed while lazily playing Cowboys and Indians in my father’s cave. I was pretending a chase while throwing my weight towards the bed, the pillows were rocks, the blanket was creek. The savages were in hot pursuit and I took cover. Just then, there was the unusual scent of stateside gloss, a misplaced reading book with a winking beauty adorning the front cover. I mumbled at the heading: Pl …ay..boy. There was something seductively glorious about the magazine. I rubbed the genie pages and in seconds, I set foot in a whole new world. I was a meager and eager five-year old boy thrown into the cistern of prurient men.

The centerfold material was a spreadsheet of everything that seemed ethereal yet alien; the bliss was suffocating to say the least. I was holding on to my eyeballs for fear that they might pop out from their missile-shocked sockets. My body temperature revolted with feverish angst until I heard the footsteps of my enemies … the Indians, well, not quite … my mother, searching for her boy. It was lunchtime; but my hunger was instantly transformed from my guts to some inner sphere. I suddenly felt possessed by some plague. As I heaved, I kept the book where it originally sat, making sure that I had attached a low jack to track its whereabouts, from now hence.

My father did not have the slightest clue on who was sharing his imaginary hetaeras, every single turn.

What I did not realize was my pummeling descent unto Aladdin’s cave. There was free entrance but no known keys for the exit. The scent of flesh decay was organically revealing a putrid cancer yet delicious in its cruel assault. My visual universe took on a tsunami that was mysteriously too wild to tame.

Lust became my adjunct lens wherever I looked for delight.

PSALM 123

A song of ascents.

I lift up my eyes to you,

to you whose throne is in heaven.

As the eyes of slaves look to the

hand of their master,

as the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress,

so our eyes look to the LORD our God,

till he shows us his mercy.

Have mercy on us, O LORD, have mercy on us,

for we have endured much contempt.

We have endured much ridicule from the proud,

much contempt from the arrogant.

DELIGHT

I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.

John 15:11 NIV

The decision to choose life with God grants the pilgrim a firm guide while imbibing an incredible accession of joy. Although this may seem to be most formidable in being able to navigate through the maze of our daily crossroads, the pull of other gods can be most trying.

The allure of pornography is subversively graphic. A virtual relationship is offered through the photoshop displays of unclad lovers. Who would not fall prey to an arrangement of affections where there is absolutely no need for committed accountability? Who would not be flattered by multiple flings, baring all, except their concealed languish, for a few cents per minute? Who would not hitch with a centerfold spouse or a web porn-star who never gets wrinkled and gets unstrung when the dishes are dirty and the toilet gets clogged?

Similarly, the attraction of opulence is its claim to omnipotence. The promise of money propels a sense of security and abiding trust that we shall remain on top of all things, ad infinitum. The insatiable greed that accompanies the pursuit of this delusion is deemed conventional and ethically impressive. We amass enormous amounts of wealth in a race that seems to preclude a finish line.

In parallel, the appeal of power is towards a desire to dwell at Mt. Olympus in affiliation with Zeus. The drive to control others translates into our convictions to herald the summa cum laude, the top jock, the beauty queen, the Silicon man, the face of the book, et al, as demigods whom we must emulate at all cost. Since they possess the eternal fountain of wisdom, theirs is our allegiance. Theirs is our delight.

To all these, our syllabus clamors for a serious audit.

Delight is the fourth crucial peg in our walk with God. Without the accompanying bridle of this volitional trait, we shall fall prey to the slightest provocations of any charlatan.

We are called to experience the realm of true delight by affirming our solitary allegiance to the LORD, our God.

The posture of this approach is determinedly upward. It conveys our humble, yet true place in God’s economy. We look up to our worthy Deity for we are His’ and not the other way around. We revel our attention to his majestic presence, firmly convinced of his integrity and life-giving mercies.

The metaphor of slaves and maids points to the benevolent arrangement that occurs between two loyal persons: the master to the slave; the mistress toward the maid. Both of these relationships flow forth from a seasoned recognition of trustworthiness. There is an overriding sense of delight in conveying what needs to be done, while there is an equal relish in being able to serve well. There is not a hint of oppression, greed, or lust. All that is on the table is the matter of delight on what needs to be done, because it has to be done. Only the One who seats enthroned in heaven is able to initiate such a disposition.

The practicum of our call to delight in the things of God must be bounded by mercy. Mercy belongs to God alone. When mercy is granted, delight multiplies. When we receive favor for what we clearly do not deserve, our existence gets radically altered. When we turn to God with utmost concern for His delight, our eyes are resected. Suddenly we see things differently.

We look at people and we behold the image from which they were created. We begin to experience the stunning treasure of deep relationships. We give up control while allowing the spontaneity of flourishing grace. We cherish the jewels of forgiveness and intimate integrity. We do things for others, not to machinate our hidden agenda, but simply because of its joyful privilege. We cease undressing people, while constantly finding ways and means to clothe each other with beatified dignity.

We turn to our things for what they truly are: mere tools to advance the lumens of God’s work. We volunteer our glad labor while recognizing the mercy-favor that has gotten us to our points of responsibility. We discover the magnificent purpose of work: we toil not to secure our lot, but in order to allot the riches of the One who owns all, towards those who are truly in need. We become the true rich, secured in our favored heritage as recipients of opulent mercy.

We spot power for what it is. No one is more powerful than God. We rest content in our posture of utmost dependence. We simply look up and cease pursuing the myth of Olympus. God knows what we ought to do, where we ought to go, when we ought to move, how we ought to walk. We discover the wonderful distinction of traveling through life, being powerfully led by the Spirit within the sure cadence of God’s mercy.

The arrogant chooses to walk alone. Instead of looking up, the posture is reversed. Contempt prevails as their mother-language. There is no mercy. There is no grace. The eyes are forever staring on the mirage of self-absorption. There is no experience of delight. How can there be, when there is no accompanying light?

Our fourth call in the syllabus of our journey, beckons us to delight in the LORD. The posture of this delight is intentionally upward. Being true to our nature as mercy-laden creatures, we turn to our God for each and every concern. We start our day with a commitment to live it, according to what we are told to do. We end with a recollection of a string of delight that has been lavished upon us. As we fix our lives on this God-ward trajectory, we enlist in the practices of spiritual formation. We savor the work of God being coursed through our available lives.

As we look up to God, He peers through all our days, delighted with what He has granted by His mercies.

SINCERELY YOURS

The search for one’s true love is perhaps the most knotty in terms of grappling with the ghost’s of one’s own pretensions. If one is to be honest with undiluted motives, the purpose for seeking a lifetime companion seems defiantly elusive. My own journey towards this desperate quest had been dolorous not because of what I discovered about those whom I pursued but on account of what got disclosed about my heart. All my honest explorations have gone to the black holes of this enigmatic universe.

It was all about looking for the perfect ointment to balm my narcissistic pain.

My first try, revealed a heart so inept; it could not even pass its own shadows.  My second attempt accomplished nothing but validate my wild ego. The third episode revealed a script so cruel even to rewrite. And the fourth was catastrophic: inducing shrapnel wounds to innocent dignity, where the bleeding doesn’t seem to stop. My heart crimes deserve punishment and so I imposed a voluntary embargo, to stop any such seeking expedition and settle to be a eunuch.

But grace is an ocean. One New Year’s Eve, I made peace with God and myself, by rushing headlong to repentance. I lifted up my eyes and wailed for God’s mercy. I turned my heart’s restlessness over to the only One who can hold it still.

Freedom replaced my impulsive longings. At God’s opportune time, He led His chosen daughter towards my rested patience, while I was asleep in His garden. When I was roused, my flummoxed ribs pounded with joy!

There was no need to feign who I was not. In all my previous rendezvous, I was a complete stranger not only to the beguiled yet more to myself. But this was different. I was vulnerable, yet without shame. There was nothing to hide from her. She saw right through my soul and recognized the rib that she was to me.

One ordinary night, we were walking hand in hand atop a hill, circling a tennis court, just talking, when she somehow sensed the moment I was waiting for. The hour was ripe for my heart’s intent, but I was taking forever.

She said in a most kind and soft verse: “I know that you are intending to say something, but you are being hindered … Here it is …”

I just graduated from the seminary and had no financial leverage to impress with. Despite my lack, I never truly felt any degree of poverty. God’s affluence had been my sufficiency. But that night, I was desperately hoping for some decent engagement ring for I knew it was the night to be. In prayer, I silently mumbled my cry for mercy: “Father, where do I go to offer the seal of engagement?”

“… (She gently removed her own sapphire ring from her finger, taking my palms, saying) … there … now, you have a ring … speak what’s in your heart.”

I never took God’s provision as literally falling straight from heaven. But that night, it expressly did.

“Will you marry me?”

I set the ring back to her awaiting embrace while witnessing the delicious poignancy of her affirming “Yes, of course.”

It was bliss at first sight: nothing hidden, but the rib from mine own, concealed in her Father’s most intricate gown.

He who spins the universe restored my sight towards a Son-lit delight in knowing that I am truly beloved.

The eyes of my heart regained its proper place joyfully looking up towards God’s powerful mercy.

Journal Five: Speak

LEVI STRAUSS

The era for blue jeans swept my generation like a swarm of locusts preying relentlessly on ripe luscious fields. Every teenager was on to bell-bottomed denims. It had to be the original, though. I remember a sad uprising of jealousy whenever a peer would show up with the iconic standard.

I constantly prodded and pestered my father to find generosity in his heart to get me the Levi’s. He would of course nod his head, somehow registering some fumbling reflections, and then proceed to whatever was occupying his moments. I kept on appealing for his sensitivities to at least understand why I cannot continue walking the streets of my generation, naked.

It was a humid afternoon when my old man came early from work. He had a crisp brown bag from the Big City department store clutched in his arms alongside his briefcase. There was an unusual glow in his countenance, which betrayed a forthcoming surprise.

He handed me the present with a sense of accomplished pride, while I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. This is the day that I had been dreaming of. A young boy finally clad with swag.

The glad tidings quickly got ransack by confusion when I tore the bag: there was no Levi’s. It was blue pants but with an unusual horrific twist. The pockets, front and back, were laden with feminine-accented paisley flowers: the kind that simulated a stained glass cathedral for lost souls! I was aghast at what I perceived was a cruel joke. I threw the jeans back to him, and hollered some bee sting invectives.

The jeans remained untouched throughout the day resting on his bed. I somehow retrieved the blue corpse, forcing my senses to befriend the insult. It just wouldn’t happen. I was so caught up with my own version of how the world was made and of how it ought to serve my self-actualized definitions.

There was surely a hidden dragon underneath all my self-serving needs. I felt the invisible entrapment of a raging flood that ensnared my personal glory, at the expense of others. Although, I sought to flee, the shackles seemed locked for good. Too proud to admit this, I kept silent. I did not speak to my father for a week.

Levi’s or leave it.

PSALM 124

A song of ascents. Of David.

If the LORD had not been on our side–

let Israel say–

If the LORD had not been on our side

when men attacked us,

when their anger flared against us,

they would have swallowed us alive;

the flood would have engulfed us,

the torrent would have swept over us,

the raging waters would have swept us away.

Praise be to the LORD,

who has not let us be torn by their teeth.

We have escaped like a bird out of the fowler’s snare;

the snare has been broken, and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the LORD,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

SPEAK

But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come.

John 16:13 NIV

When delight takes its form in the believer’s life, words are somehow commissioned to bear witness to its wonderful occurrence. The fifth aspect in our syllabus deals with the necessity to speak. We are called to serve as witnesses to the comprehensive triumph of God in our lives by way of rehearsing what He alone has done in and through our epic struggles.

We serve notice to the stark contrast of how we used to battle the insurmountable enemy using our own feeble munitions and of how God’s mere breath petrifies the opposition.

We join the shouts of remembrance: “If the LORD had not been on our side …” We speak of our redemption from sure doom. We make reference to our own myopic efforts as the root of our own damnation. We detect some nuance about the enemy and we quickly feign competence on how to quell the imposing dragons. If it were not for God’s intervention within our fateful rounds, we would have been utterly destroyed.

But, God had intervened. Alas, we have been extricated from our deep dungeons, set free by his emancipating grace.

And so, we are called to speak our praise of the LORD!

The fowler’s snare speaks of the cunning nature of both our personal and corporate entrapments. We are quick prey to our mindless preoccupations. We are quickly driven into passionate pursuits without reviewing their vital connection to God’s purposes. We tend to create our own little stories and magnify their imagined significance so that we can acquire a semblance of pragmatic reason. But anything done, apart from the primary point of serving the praise of God misses the mark. No matter how grand the enterprise is, no matter how monumental the endeavor is, if God is not in the equation, it is a mere entrapment; a snare that distracts us from our true point. We wonder and wander about the viciousness of the cycle we are in. And so, whether it is mere clothing or career, we need an honest scrutiny of why these things revolve either from within or from without. It is only then, that we find a way to escape from the invisible traps that are set to swallow us alive, engulf and tear us apart.

When we intentionally speak the praise of God, we cause every conversation to rush back to Christ’s victory at the Cross. When this witness is spoken, demons literally outsprint their intent to do us harm. Satan and his cohorts stand paralyzed at the mention of the Blood of the Lamb. When we speak God’s redemption as our life’s preface, we boldly call out the freedom that has been endowed to us by grace.

The name of the LORD is our refuge. This matters only because the Maker of heaven and earth knows us by name. His name meets our wandering identity and as we turn to him for help, we are granted so much more than a first, middle and last appellation. We are handed a white stone: a new name, known only to Him who has bought our freedom.

Through our desert experiences, we are granted a chosen identity, a chosen race. Suddenly, the ethnocentric hold of culture loses its grip upon us and we enter into a realm of new citizenship. We have been infused with a kindred blood from the consular station of the cross: Christ’s crimson spill delineates our shared DNA.

We have become a royalty of priests. We are granted direct access to God’s holy throne as intercessors: who serve the world with Kingdom prayers. We represent the transforming will of our Father as He seeks to change the world of darkness into a realm of everlasting light.

Such is our pedigree: a holy nation, delivered from entrapment and reserved for God’s exclusive use. We have received our designated assignment to speak in behalf of his glorious work. With the testimony of our transformed lives, we describe the darkness of our former way of life and expose the stunning resplendence of our new life in Christ. We cease being silent. We open our mouths wide, both to receive God’s provisions and to declare His praise.

Because of God’s help, our speech is forever altered. We articulate the holy wardrobe of praise-worthy vestments. Our new life becomes our dress, while our witness becomes the sacred tattoo of our grace-laden heritage.

GRAVITY

My youngest daughter is alluringly quiet. You always got cued when she is excited–her feet wiggles in a rhythmic pendulum. She was born in mid-September, which somehow catalyzed the mild yet effervescent purity of her soul. After but a few minutes via normal delivery, I took her in my arms absorbing all the vestiges of a grand miracle.

Her sense of purity is epochal. She spoke few words, yet her vertical extent released a chorus so magnanimously refreshing. Everyone gravitates to her guileless world.

She weeps in whispers, not because of any fear but due to the ineptness of words in representing what she thinks and feels. And so, she resorts to the unabridged capability of her soul to non-verbally declare the foreign language of unmitigated truth.

Barely three years old, we were visiting her cousins in California when she got invited, along with her elder sister for a swim. This was all too exhilarating for our little mermaid!

What was not quite foreseen was her penchant for solitary adventure. Driven by sheer delight, she wandered alone into a separate pool. In a split second, she was drowning without any boisterous yelp. Water filled her lungs and stomach; her lips blistered to gray-pale; but somehow, defying gravity, held afloat by her guardian angel.

Within these precious moments, without any provocation, her sister providentially moved to the other pool where she spotted the floating body of her unconscious sibling. Immediately lunging towards her, they eventually got pulled out to safety.

It was a long night of resuscitating silence. I cradled her next to my heart, while tears and prayers sought to assuage my vacillation between hope and anguish. The miracle of breath was restored but not a single word was pronounced.

The following morning, I was shocked to see the spectacle of running and frolic like nothing transpired. The purity of her resilient life cannot endure silence. She emblazons the horizon of every sordid doubt with unrelenting witness.

The years have gone swiftly. When beauty and purity are choreographed with symbiotic craftsmanship, design is etched to speak. She is currently pursuing Visual Design in Fashion as her call to describe sacred glamour.

One winter day, she asked what I thought about her desire to acquire a tattoo. I always had reservations with embedded marks just because I prefer clean skin. I did not have much leverage, so I just braced myself for some aesthetic surprise. She chose word marks: one for each inner forearm where the elbows swung. “I am yours” and “You are mine.”

When I first saw the almost microscopic encryptions, I was quite repulsed by its visible audacity. But then, the more I looked at it, the more it made pure sense. I was being drawn to its message. Indeed, her true help, the Maker of heaven and earth, had vanquished the torrents of dragon and raging waters sweeping through her life.

Why must she hide the only reason why her life still breathes with boundless joy?

She is left with no choice, but to speak.

Journal Six: Stand Firm

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Fifth grade seemed magical. The boys seemed to transform to little men while the girls bloomed into resplendent sunflowers. I was not quite prepared for this awakening but when she sat one desk behind me, I thought I was caught up in the seventh heaven. There was no flaw in her porcelain-glistened skin; her facial symmetry would be Michelangelo’s delight; her speaking voice was that of a siren from a Sri-Lankan depth; her posture was ordained with a royal gait; her eyes were simply azure with a glint of Saturn’s rings; her redolence was a concoction devoid of any mortal whiff; she was a goddess–sent to magnetize my quiescent affections.

Every single day was Disney-flavored. All that was needed was a glimpse towards her shrine. There she was: constantly reciprocating my incessant innuendos. The perceived mutuality of our undefined soiree escalated in my imagination. I hated class dismissals and longed for its initial bell. How can I withstand such an intense call towards destiny?

One afternoon, a silly game of “truth or consequence” was being played. It was her turn to answer a question with hard truth. She was asked “who is your crush … your inspiration … the love of your life?” Of course, my heart palpitated while I carefully eavesdropped upon her sweet disclosure. Surely, my name shall resonate the halls of her heart and listeners.

Opening her floral lips, the words of a name so foreign detonated my heart with fragments so numerous I internally bled unabated. The object of her affection was some guy from the other classroom. I was left with no strength to even reflect upon this holocaust. I shrunk unto a staggered molehill, shaken by the aftershocks of my fleeting foundation.

I was not even ten years old, but it felt like I vaulted to eighty years with a spine that would not hold nor stand firm.

Beauty died as I began breathing like a beast.

PSALM 125

A song of ascents.

Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion,

which cannot be shaken but endures forever.

As the mountains surround Jerusalem,

so the LORD surrounds his people

both now and forevermore.

The scepter of the wicked will not remain

over the land allotted to the righteous,

for then the righteous might use their hands to do evil.

Do good, O LORD, to those who are good,

to those who are upright in heart.

But those who turn to crooked ways

the LORD will banish with the evildoers.

Peace be upon Israel.

STAND FIRM

But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him to his feet, and he stood up.

Mark 9:27 NIV

The sixth anchor in our syllabus describes the appropriate stance along the highway of faith. As the journey ascends God-ward, we are called to maintain a steadfast posture. We are to stand firm.

To trust in the LORD is portrayed akin to the formidable stability of Mount Zion, whose imposing strength reveals an eternal breadth. The symbolic imagery refers to the centrality of God in the life of faith. The infrastructure of our dependence relies upon the rock-solid stability of our core existence. Our trust is in no one else, but in God.

The encompassing security of God’s care upon his people has been guaranteed “both now and forevermore.” Our flawed vision somehow leads us to dangerous paths. We lay victimized, once over again by the cunning deceitfulness of our own hearts. Our imaginations betray us, both the young and old, as we recoil from being rising stars to plummeting beasts, devoid of any beauty to rescue. We slip and slide through our self-crafted tracks, oftentimes wondering where and how, we missed the right turn. Through the mishaps, we are taken by a deeper surprise, we have been kept standing.

We are admonished to stand firm on the muscularity of God’s loyal love. The strength that surrounds our frailty comes from the established hold of God’s promised covenant. We are hemmed in by his love, forever.

The hounding presence of evil lurks alongside our journey. The unrelenting stratagems of unseen principalities always come in full force. We experience shipwrecks, earthquakes, landslides, and depressions along the way. We get the sense that forces wrestle us beyond our visual recognition. We audit our arsenal and find our bullets inept against the wicked infantry. We cower in seeing the triumph of evil in our land, wondering who might be capable to dislodge the egregious scepter. To this gloom, erupts God’s oath: “the scepter of the wicked will not remain over the land allotted to the righteous.”

As we choose to stand firm under God’s might, we are providentially tethered with His armor unbeknownst to our enemies. God Himself, fights in our behalf. Through the exquisite warfare, we stand firm, amazed with whose side we’ve been drafted in. The enemies are vanquished indeed!

The hurriedness of the world we live in diametrically opposes the requirement to stand firm. We would rather join the rush, the panic, and the maddening sprint to quell what seems to threaten us. But God calls us to a sacred hush: a divine stillness. We are called to reconsider our posture and as such, turn all our cares to the One who truly cares.

And so we are called to a stance of belief: we stand firm by choosing faith upon faith to claim that Christ does the doing in order for us to maintain our being. We rest by breathing oxygenated trust in all aspects of life by choosing not to conform towards wickedness but to be transformed unto Christ’s goodness. This we do by committing to memory God’s promises: both word and will.

When we stand firm, Peace enters our lives. Not by some manufactured human ideology; not by some perceptive psychology; not by some sophisticated sophistry, but through the grounded reality of sacred geology: our Rock-Mountain fortress shall stand guard over us with his enduring word of peace.

BEAUTY REDEEMED

Her name means “beautiful one belonging to God.” She was born with a face lit by the morning sun while clad with a demeanor reflecting the dance of glittering stars. Dress became her imprinted personality. At two years, she knew the elegant runways of vogue. Her speech was loquacious but enchantingly pure. Naturally, she had her first boyfriend at five, a little prince in the neighborhood.

There was always a signature of charm wherever she went. My eldest daughter was an encapsulated bliss, which I incessantly pondered on, wondering what sort of purpose God had for this jewel. Her intellect was organic. Her social rapport was politic. Her spirituality was resonant. There was only one thing that seemed misplaced: a true mirror to remind her of who she really is.

Years of riding on the accolades of one’s genius can somehow take an awkward toll. Her accomplishments have gone too numerous even to recount. Her glories too elaborate to rehearse. And so, the invitations for relationships have gone unabated. Young men have been smitten with much exigency. A few were rewarded for their patience and resiliency. She knew how to love but the oil of affection constantly lacked in luster. One by one, those who sought her endearment died on third base. The explanation for this demise is rather simple, they were all seeking to pursue a rose that seemed devoid of thorns, only to be pricked by the reality of her pedestrian struggles.

One day, love came by swiftly through the enticing hymns of an eastern troubadour. His wealth promised her the galaxies and beyond. My daughter was no match to the ravishing weight of the prince’s offer. When I met him, I was hypnotically mesmerized by his distinctive suave. Finally, a mirror for my child or so I thought.

What took place in the aftermath was horror beyond words. Instead of redemption, there was machination. The deception, which took over our hearts, wrecked the simple foundation of trust I had for decent humans. As I watched the incarceration of my daughter’s soul, I bled with a resolve not to trust in garbs of young men, ever again.

One ordinary day, she came home for a visit while I lay slumbered in bed. She tucked herself close to where I was and whispered, “Dad, you have to pull yourself up from this hole.” I looked up and saw a glow like I’ve never seen before. Her face was lit no longer by some manufactured lumens but with radiance so ethereal.

We had a long chat that afternoon, reviewing the enduring goodness of God and renewing the rekindled peace of loyal redemption.

She recently got engaged to a man of no pretense. His opulence rests upon his wild integrity. He offers none of his own but, all of his Father’s kingdom. His songs are deeply spoken in verses of love, joy and peace. When I met him, he called me Papa.

Their story follows a script written by the original author, ebbing with a heartbeat far deeper than the beloved tales as old as time. For theirs is no tale, but the very life of redemption captured by a mirror truthfully reflective of their Father’s loyal love.