Stones

“John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham.” –Luke 3:7-8


“Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, ‘Teacher, rebuke your disciples!’
‘I tell you,’ He replied, ‘if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.’” Luke 19:39-40


A couple of years ago, I bought a Betta fish and named her Julie Andrews. Poor Jules didn’t survive the first night. So the next day, I took Julie Andrew’s fishy little corpse back to Pet Smart and traded her in for Johnny Depp (AKA Betta Version Beta). Johnny did not make it through the week. I took his fishy little corpse back to Pet Smart and got my money back. I was done with grieving dead celebrity-named fish. In fact, after that, I strongly considered just getting a pet rock. It’s hard to kill something that’s never been alive.

It doesn’t get much more lifeless than a rock.

I’ve spent a lot of time outdoors lately, so I’ve seen a lot of rocks. They sit there, looking…rocky. They’re nice to look at sometimes, but they don’t do anything. The rest of nature? It’s alive! Puffy clouds catch the sunlight, looking so peaceful and perfect as they float in the blue, blue sky. Large birds soar overhead, while little birds flitter from tree to tree. Squirrels rush around acting squirrelly. Flowers sway in the breeze, painting the green grass with tiny bursts of color and beauty. Butterflies and bumblebees dance from flower to flower, chasing the wind, enjoying the wonder of being alive, just doing what they were created to do.

Nature is alive with praise.

All living things have been given God’s breath—the birds and bees and even the squirrelly squirrels are praising God just by doing the simple things they’re created to do. They don’t have too much of a choice about it. They do what they do because God has made them the way He has made them. They praise God just by being alive.

But we do have a choice.

I forget sometimes what a privilege it is to even be able to praise the Lord. I have the breath of God inside of me. Without it? I’m nothing more than dust—as lifeless as a rock. Sometimes I squander that precious breath on such trivial things—things meant to build up my pathetic kingdom instead of God’s Kingdom.

Other times, I forget a very simple truth and start allowing myself to believe a very tricky lie. I allow myself to believe that God needs me, that I’m something special, that I have to do things because I’m important to the work God is doing.

But God doesn’t need me.

And God doesn’t need you.

If we chose not to praise God, or if we fail in our attempts to serve God, God would not cease to be God. God doesn’t need us to be His servants, and He doesn’t need us to praise Him. He doesn’t need anything. But if God needed servants or needed praises, He could raise servants and worshippers out of the rocks. The lifeless rocks. 

God doesn’t need praise. He desires it and is worthy of it because of who He is. And we were created not because God had a need for us, but because He desires us. He doesn’t need us; He’s chosen us. He wants us. He LOVES us. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a lot better to be loved than to be needed. It changes my perspective. I don’t have to be great and constantly fight to maintain my own greatness. God isn’t going to love me any more or any less whether I succeed or fail. He just loves me—without degree or condition—and that love doesn’t change depending on what I do. God doesn’t love me because I’m something amazing; He loves me because He’s something amazing. …and the awesome thing is that through His amazing love, I too become amazing. God doesn't change, but through Him, I am changed.  He's constantly working on me and in me to make me more like Him.

I started out as dust, as lifeless as a rock. That humbles me. It also helps me realize how wonderful God is.

He is able to give life to nothingness. He has given us His breath, made us in His image to glorify Him. We have a spark of His awareness and creativity inside of us. Out of all creatures, He has given humanity the ability to choose whether or not we will serve and praise Him. Out of all creatures, He’s offered us the choice to come and work alongside Him—not because we’re needed, but because He’s gracious enough to offer such a grand and glorious thing.

I’m thankful for His faithfulness. I’m thankful for His conviction. I’m thankful for the beauty of nature and the ability to see His hand in all of it. I’m thankful that He has given me life, inspiring the dust to move and live and breathe for His glory. I’m thankful for the power that is able to raise worshippers from stones, for the power that is able to roll stones away from graves, and for the fact that this power is at work in me.

I’m grateful for the Living Rock that makes all other life possible. If Abraham’s children are raised from the stones, I pray I might join their number. If the rocks cry out, I pray I might join their songs of praise.

He is worthy.

And I’m just humbled and amazed that One so mighty would want me for His child.

The Drive Home

My windows are rolled down, as usual, but the air feels different.  It doesn't yet feel cool and crisp as it does in the autumn.  In fact, the air is still distinctly summerish.  But it's different.  And I don't realize what it is until I catch the faint smells of chlorine, of steak grilling, of sweat, of freshly cut grass.  These are smells of goodbye, smells of people doing last-minute summer activities before autumn comes.  This is what is in the air--the difference that I feel.  It's not quite summer, not quite fall, but some kind of unnamed season that comes in between the two.  It is some kind of unnamed season that blends the two.  The wind blows.  The trees clap their hands.  The world feels alive, yet sleepy, as though it knows a colder, darker time is coming and it must finish its adventures while it still has the vitality to finish them.  Then, it can rest.

And I look up into the sky and fall in love with the colors there as they reflect off the clouds.  The clouds aren't puffy.  They seem to have been stretched out, as if they don't know exactly where they want to be.  So they just scatter everywhere, and the light that falls upon them seems cautious, almost afraid, as if its not sure the clouds are really supposed to be there at all, or if its supposed to shine on them.  The result is that they kiss the clouds with just the most delicate touch of pale, hauntingly beautiful color.

Blue is my favorite color.  I like the blue of the summertime sky when the sun is out and the clouds are full, but my favorite shade of blue doesn't come until the sunset.  Here the blue fades into a darker, deeper hue.  The daytime blue is rich and alive, but the evening blue seems secretive, as if it is hiding some precious and mysterious knowledge.  And once again there is something unnamed.  There is no name for the color that occurs when the sunset's orange blends with the evening blue.  But I know it must exist, for there is a place where the blue ceases to be blue and becomes orange, and where the orange ceases to be orange and becomes blue.  And in that place there is something that is either too faint or too powerful for my eyes to perceive.  Still, I try to see it.

I stop at a stoplight and look at the streetlights as they fail in their attempts to shine more brightly than the sunset before me.  And I think about how in a few short months, I'll be driving home by their artificial illumination alone.  The days will be shorter.  The sun will sleep earlier and wake up later.  The darkness and the coldness is coming, and maybe there will be a time when autumn will blend with winter into another unnamed season.  We'll make that last loaf of pumpkin bread and put away the Indian corn, and we'll pull out the hot cocoa and Christmas decorations.  And in that in between time?  We will reflect.

I pull into my apartment's small parking lot while some familiar song plays on my car's speakers.  I sing along and roll my windows up.  I turn off the engine and the song stops, though I keep singing harmony as if the melody is still playing.  Then I take in a deep breath of the air in my car that is quickly growing stale.  It takes so little time for things to become stale. 

And I'm grateful for moments like these, when I see and hear, smell and feel.  Life is more than sensations, but they are a big part of the experience of life, as are seasons.  Sometimes, there will be stale moments, and sometimes it's even important to walk through those stale moments, clinging to the truths we know even when we are too numb to feel them.  But for the most part, life is meant to be lived.  And right now, I feel very alive.