The Butterfly Effect

By Him, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that confess his name. Hebrews 13:15

It's been said that when a butterfly flaps it's wings in Brazil, it can set off a tornado in Texas. This idea is taken from an old theory called the Butterfly Effect which postulates that even the smallest of actions in the world, when extrapolated over time and space, can have enormous, widespread effects.

I am intrigued by this concept, even more so outside of the realm of science, because I'm not sure any of us are quite aware of the extent of our sphere of influence - how every tiny thing we do, every little thing we say, every single way we act or react to situations - has a positive or negative effect in the lives of those around us. And as Christians, I think we have a much greater responsibility for our actions. Someone once told me that every decision we make as Christians brings those around us one step closer to or one step further from God. I believe it, because I have seen this in action.

There was a girl, Jennifer, who moved back to Raleigh after college and joined our small group. Several weeks later, we got a call from our leader asking us to pray for her and her family. Apparently, her father had been rushed to the emergency room with heart problems and was not expected to make it. We found out at this time that her mother had passed away from cancer 17 years earlier.

This was taking place during a rough time in my relationship with God. I was pretty annoyed with Him to tell you the truth. I was struggling with the idea that God was good because my life was not going the way I wanted it to, and I had yet to understand that God being good and life being bad were not mutually exclusive entities - that both could be simultaneously true. So witnessing this tragic sitation with Jennifer's father was just more fuel for my angry fire.

Her father survived the extensive surgery but remained in a coma. On Sunday morning Jennifer came walking in to where we normally sit for service. All of us were pleased but shocked to see her. There was a soft buzz traveling around the rows. She picked a chair in front of me. I gave her a hug. She started to cry. I started to cry. As we rose for worship, I shook my head at God and this whole disgusting situation. As the band began to play the opening chords of "How Great Is Our God", I internally rolled my eyes. How great is a God who would do this? How great is a God who could save her dad instantly but instead lets him lie in a coma? How great is a God who could orphan a girl at 23?

I looked up to see Jennifer crying. Not soft cries, but huge, snotty, hysterical tears. But then straight through them, as I stood awestruck and open-mouthed, I watched her sing:

How great is our God, sing with me,

How great is our God, and all will see,

How great, how great, is our God.

Name above all names, You are worthy of all praise,

And my heart will sing how great is our God...

I imagine I felt just like the Grinch when he woke up stupefied on Christmas morning to all the Who's in Whoville singing joyfully despite their stolen presents. It was if God had smacked me out of my introverted stupor and instantly I could see clearly. And as the million watt lightbulb hovering over my head finally flickered on, I thought to myself:

Wow! How GREAT is our God!

No sermon or Bible study or theological lecture has ever taught me as much about God as I learned that day, in that moment, from the simple act of worship by one terribly broken but amazingly godly woman. And that simple action she took didn't cause me to take just one step closer to God, but a flying leap directly into His arms.

"Quack" Goes the Duck

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. Matthew 7:7

I heard an allegory recently that many of us are like a bunch of ducks sitting in a small, dirty, barely sustaining puddle of water. And God has a huge pond for us just over the hill, full of food and sun and shade and space, but we can't see it. And so we cling tightly to the mediocre life that we've got because we're too scared to leave behind the safety of "certainty", and too scared to trust God for fear of being disappointed and ending up with nothing. So we spend day after day sitting in our pathetic puddles, somewhat safe, but never truly flying.

I'm getting out of my puddle and seeking the pond.

It's frighteningly exciting.

Closer Than My Skin

Sometimes you're further than the moon,
Sometimes you're closer than my skin.
Obsession, by David Crowder

I love worship music. I definitely have some favorite artists, but I can appreciate most all worship music at this point in my life because I finally understand that the beauty of worship is not to be found primarily in the quality or style of the band or the lyrics, but first and foremost in the greatness of our God.

Before I was saved, worship music used to make me gag. I thought it was just horrid. Terrible really. And quite frankly, a bit embarrassing. I didn’t get it at all – the lyrics, the raised hands, the blissed faces. Gospel was an exception. And I thought gospel lyrics were still cheesy and “churchy”, but I simply ignored the words and grooved to the soul and funk inherent in the sound. The only other kind of worship I had been exposed to was the stereotypical church soprano (her bright-pink lipsticked little mouth forming a tiny “o” as she sang), very much lacking soul and definitely not having any funk.

So, I hated worship music. That is, until I heard it done right. I started going to the night service at my church called Movement. They do it right. The music is loud and lifting, sometimes harsh and mind-altering. When the lights were set low and the amps turned high, even before I was saved I would somehow find myself singing these same “churchy” lyrics that used to so embarrass me. Because the music just somehow reached into me and through me, each beautiful, weighty note etching circles into the night, recalling sweet memories of years ago...

I love the band U2 and have seen them play live several times. It is always a transcendent and surreal experience. I started dating a guy at a U2 concert awhile back. We had gone in as friends with amazing seats in the pit, right up against the catwalk. As Bono strolled past us on his way to the B-stage during With Or Without You, gauzy sheets of translucent fabric fell down around us. Light sprinkled across the cloth and we found ourselves happily trapped inside this canopy – this peaceful, light blue, bayou. The night’s beauty was unfathomable and we felt privileged to be one of the chosen few in the inner circle.

Our overwhelming emotions soon got the better of he and I and we started slow dancing to the song, holding one another tightly as we swayed back and forth to the beat. Despite the visual buffet of boy and Bono and blue and bayou, I closed my eyes, trying to make a lasting memory the best way I know how – by cutting off the blaring sense of sight (which by this point had had time enough to store up images), and concentrating instead on the more forgotten senses.

I smelled the air. It was sweaty, aftershave-y. I recall the feeling of safety, of closeness, of his arms around me, the rising and falling of our chests as we breathed together. I remember being politely pressed in on all sides from adoring fans desperately heartbroken to be closer to Bono. They gazed up at him wide-eyed, starstruck by the moment – an insane intersection of their wildest dreams and this very reality. I felt tied to each one on some invisible heart plane. The bass’ rhythm thumped in the floorboards, resonating in my feet and traveling slowly up the length of my body. And I can recall the wailing of The Edge’s guitar in my ears, slightly muffled by the presence of the stubbly five o’clock shadow wedged up against my cheek. I stood this way for the rest of the song, trying to record each sensory stimuli for proper recall at a later date. And now, years later, if I am feeling homesick for this sense of communion with man and fan and rockgod, I can close my eyes and flash back to this moment and it is all right there.

The Movement band has given me more of these moments to file away for future use – these memories of overblown senses, of overflowing nights, of inclusion. Not with a friend or boyfriend or Bono, but something much bigger (yes, even bigger than Bono) – God, the Lord of the Universe. In the midst of the stage backdrop of brightly lit stars, the ebb and pulse of softly flickering candlelight, the sultry wah-wah’s of the electric guitar, the vocal harmony braiding together with the melody, and the lingering scent of coffee in the air and on my breath, God speaks to me. He tells me that I am His and He is mine and week after week I leave in awe of that magnificent and weighty knowledge and with the amazing sense that God was recently so very near to me, perhaps even dancing right next to me, feeling at times, closer than my skin.

I'm The Real Slim Shady

They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator—who is forever praised. Amen. Romans 1:25

This Bible verse has been rolling around in my head lately. Finally, it wanted to come out. Why must ideas always wait til 2:00 am to get restless?
Anyway, this diddy is called - Me, (B.C.) :

I traded the truth of our God for a lie
Spent so much of that time just inflating my pride
And oft God would whisper (like an off-stage aside):
"It's not about that. That's not why I died."

Still...
For years God He chased me, He ran alongside
But I wasted time foolishly, self-occupied
My heart closed to Him, as well as my eyes
Ignoring the God-shaped hole deep inside

An insincere smile, sweet but fake saccharide
I tried to play happy, stayed unsatisfied
My moods they fluxed quickly, like Jekyll and Hyde
All sides of my aspect just doomed to collide

In massive implosion both Ego and Self died
(Or perhaps in despair, their joint suicide?)
"God help us please!" their last cry, unified
Then I became His, Abba, Adonai

It's All About Me

I wanna talk about me, wanna talk about I, wanna talk about number one, oh my me my. What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see...I wanna talk about me. Toby Keith song lyrics

So, I'm selfish. I've realized this. It's a problem.

When I really try to dig down and investigate the motives behind much of what I do, I see that on any given day the thoughts running through my head are very similar to an opera star warming up: "Me-me-me-me-mememememeeeeeeeee!"

I heard a speaker recently discuss James 4:1-3: What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? You want something but don't get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.

Preach on, James.

I am praying for more of God and less of me. That He would increase and I would decrease (or as I saw on a bumper sticker: +>i< ). It can be hard for a girl who used think she was the center of the universe and sometimes still forgets she's not. And even when I am actively striving for this God-centered attitude instead of a me-centered focus and am successfully living in such a way that is indeed glorifying to God, if I am not careful, it can be so easy to fall into the pride trap, patting myself on the back and thinking, "Wow, I am being SO godly!"

When I actually type that out, it seems ridiculous. But it is true.