Lewis, in The Screwtape Letters, discussed the entangled nature of spiritual and physical deeds. He argued, in a roundabout way, that kneeling was an important part of prayer. He reminded the reader that God doesn't hate physical matter; He made it. That particular passage in the book stuck with me because it ran so counter to much of what I had believed about the nature of this world. It's great when I find things like that - truths that rewrite my beliefs.
We are not solely physical, wholly emotional, singularly spiritual, nor only intellectual creatures. We are all of these things; and it's important that we address all aspects of our build when we consider how to grow and progress as human beings..
The other night, I was listening to "Fix You", by Coldplay. For some reason, I was listening to it as if I'd never heard it before; and all the things I love about the song were doubled in their impact. My heart was swelling inside my chest and my mind was full of all the losses and hopes I had walked through in my life. (Sometimes, listening to music can been a cheesily spiritual experience. Who needs Benny Hinn when we have The Piano Guys?)
Suddenly, almost violently, my whole being became repulsed with my current existence. I was disgusted at how petty my daily life had become. I sleep longer, accomplish less, and do more damage to myself each day than I could possibly excuse. From my health to my attitude to my lack of ministry, the man that I am now is not the man I am trying to be, not by a long shot.
People who know me fairly well have seen rants like this before, ending with hopeful declarations about how much I plan on changing. The problem is that I am, essentially, at war with myself. The me who looks to the future and has bright hopes for all that could be is constantly foiled by the lazy bastard who sees the current moment and wants immediate gratification. The healthy man I could be has to fight of the hungers of the man I am. The strong man I could be has to tussle with the comforts enjoyed by the man I am. The courageous man I could be has to overcome the fears of the man I am.
No one has ever accused me of having my act together; if
anyone did, it was because they didn't know me very well. They likely
regretted saying so moments after the words had been aired. I am
undisciplined in a lot of ways, prone to bouts of whimsy and seasons of
un-motivation. Once I get a proper start on something, I can do it well;
but, as I've noted in previous posts, it's getting started that feels
like I'm dead-lifting a beluga.
This battle of Isaac-the-Awesome and Isaac-the-Lazy-Bastard has become stale and discouraging; so, as I felt motivation, inspiration, and hope course through my heart to the beat of Australian pop , I knew I had to seize the moment and cement it somehow. I had to do something that would cause me to be constantly aware of the oath I was making to myself, something that would be inescapable. I needed a tombstone for the lazy bastard and a starting point for Isaac 3.0. You know, the one after he met Jesus. The one where he became a missionary, through and through.
So, naturally, I shaved my head.
It wasn't just a close buzz cut. I used a Bic razor.
It wasn't just the top of my head, either. My face is bare, too.
It made and makes perfect sense to me; but no one I've tried explaining this to seems to agree on that point. My attempts at sharing the thought have been mostly met with bewilderment. In part, I believe it's because people are too weirded out by the sound of my voice coming from a fifteen year-old overweight skinhead. The rest of it, I think, may be due to the fact that most people make drastic changes to their appearance for cosmetic reasons; and this is anything but.
Throughout history, hair styles have been symbolic of lifelong oaths and disciplines. Soldiers in China had their ponytails, Samson had his Nazarite vow, monks had their bald spots, and so on. My haircut was along those lines; and I believe it was an important moment in this strange path I am walking. I understand, however, the reactions I've been getting.
I don't look that great right now. Most people have tried to be kind; but their initial facial expressions give away their distaste. My closer friends have been a bit more blunt: I've been compared to Gru from "Despicable Me", Uncle Fester from "The Addams Family", and the Idaho potato mascot. And I can't really argue with any of the comparisons. Even I had to give myself a few days to become more comfortable with the mirror.
But my appearance isn't the point. The point is that, because my physical self is tangled up with my spiritual self, I sometimes have to resort to physical changes to give my spiritual endeavors a chance. The same is true with my intellectual and emotional self. Sometimes, I have to make myself feel the ideas I want to learn. Or I have to contemplate the issues my heart has already spoken on. Sometimes, I have to do before I let myself think. (But only sometimes.)
The hairless Isaac in the mirror is a representation of a new Isaac being formed. It's a picture of who I am trying to be. It's a fresh start, where a new beard will replace the old one, and the head will likely stay bald - because the entire point of a fresh start is that we mean to leave behind the former life.
-isaac
17 February 2014
12 February 2014
Hot Cocoa Apothecary
I cannot stress enough the value of a cup of tea and a good friend. I can thank a friend named Sarah for teaching me this.
When I met Sarah, we could hardly have had less in common. I was a boy with strong convictions and a heavy attachment to propriety and politeness. She was a self-described "woman of doubt" who smoked and cursed. We met at a Starbucks with our mutual friend, Danny; and she quickly became one of my favourite people.
There are some people who are so ridiculously intelligent that you cannot prove them wrong even if they are. You could be standing under a sky as blue as any sky has ever been, and that person could prove to you definitively that the sky was actually chartreuse. There are some people who are so deeply poetic that their nonsense comments feel like a spiritual truth wrapped in a heartbreaking love story. You could be discussing the unrealistic explosions in an action film, and that person could utter an onomatopoeia that would stop your heart in its tracks. There are some people who are so practical and wise that their very presence lends your mind clarity. You could be in the throes of an existential crisis, and that person could provide for you the whole answer simply by the manner in which she sipped her tea. There are some people who cook for the heart and the tongue at the same time. There are some people who hug with their very souls. There are some people who see the very best in a person and call that very best out into the world. There are some people who are capable of healing wounds by the medicine of their very company.
And then there's Sarah, who puts those people to shame.
Sarah lived in a small apartment in the older part of town when we first started hanging out. It had shaggy carpet and a tiny kitchen that was always immaculate. When Danny and I stopped by, we'd usually slum on her couch while she gave us tea and shared her thoughts with us on whatever topic came up. Eventually, I started visiting her on my own when the occasion arose. We debated about a lot of things; she was always better at it, but never unkind or unfair. We also encouraged each other in a lot of things. She called me a unicorn once; and that was one of the nicest things anyone's said to me. No matter what we talked about, whether we were exchanging good news or stories of heartbreak, there was always a cup of tea in my hands. There was always a warm welcome when I arrived and a gentle nudge toward the door when she was ready to be an introvert again.
When she moved into a larger apartment, the ambiance of warmth and the scent of boiling water followed her. When I ran off to Uganda for a bit, the kind words and sympathetic ear chased me around on the internet. When I visited her at her home last October, I left with a long hug and a bag of pumpkin cookies.
So, why am I gushing on like this about my friend?
I can take a lesson from Sarah's ministry to me - because, really, that's what is has been. I can take a lesson in being a host. I can take a lesson from how safe I feel, and how blessed her friends are, when Sarah opens the door to her home. No matter where she's lived, the girl has made her abode into a home for whoever's in the room at the moment. I want that.
I want people who visit me to feel safe and cared for. I want my home to be refuge from the nonsense and heartache outside. What's more, I want it to be where people come for healing. I want to be an apothecary to the heart and soul. I want to bring peace, warmth, and a breath of fresh air to people who traverse a frantic, harsh, and toxic world. I want folks to come visit me and run smack into Jesus when they cross the threshold.
I've been working on it. I have a basket of teas, a knack for making some of the world's best hot cocoa, and progress on finding people to invite over.
But affection is hard for me to express aside from my words. I can say and write some lovely things; but only a few people can prompt me to offer a hug, never mind that I LOVE hugs. I'm also bad at initiating friendships. I usually let people who enjoy my presence come find me. Unfortunately, that means that some people I should be blessing aren't getting the things God means for me to give them.
And then there's that fact that I'm usually pretty terrible at baking.
In my heart, there's an image of two people at a table, steaming cups and heartfelt dialogue filling the space between them. That is my friendship with Sarah; it's been a large part of my friendship with Aaroneous (The best man I know, you may recall); and I want it to be a platform from which I show Jesus to people. In my heart, there's an image of a scared and lonely person sitting on a couch, wrapped in a blanket and clutching a steaming cup. That is how my closest friends have been to my heart; and it is what I want to provide for other lonely hearts. In my heart, there's an image of a sick man sitting at a table with a steaming cup while the owner of the house rummages through cupboards, concocting a home remedy. This is what I want to do with my life - heal and comfort and engage people who need a friend.
So, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by my place. Let's have a cup of tea.
-isaac
When I met Sarah, we could hardly have had less in common. I was a boy with strong convictions and a heavy attachment to propriety and politeness. She was a self-described "woman of doubt" who smoked and cursed. We met at a Starbucks with our mutual friend, Danny; and she quickly became one of my favourite people.
There are some people who are so ridiculously intelligent that you cannot prove them wrong even if they are. You could be standing under a sky as blue as any sky has ever been, and that person could prove to you definitively that the sky was actually chartreuse. There are some people who are so deeply poetic that their nonsense comments feel like a spiritual truth wrapped in a heartbreaking love story. You could be discussing the unrealistic explosions in an action film, and that person could utter an onomatopoeia that would stop your heart in its tracks. There are some people who are so practical and wise that their very presence lends your mind clarity. You could be in the throes of an existential crisis, and that person could provide for you the whole answer simply by the manner in which she sipped her tea. There are some people who cook for the heart and the tongue at the same time. There are some people who hug with their very souls. There are some people who see the very best in a person and call that very best out into the world. There are some people who are capable of healing wounds by the medicine of their very company.
And then there's Sarah, who puts those people to shame.
Sarah lived in a small apartment in the older part of town when we first started hanging out. It had shaggy carpet and a tiny kitchen that was always immaculate. When Danny and I stopped by, we'd usually slum on her couch while she gave us tea and shared her thoughts with us on whatever topic came up. Eventually, I started visiting her on my own when the occasion arose. We debated about a lot of things; she was always better at it, but never unkind or unfair. We also encouraged each other in a lot of things. She called me a unicorn once; and that was one of the nicest things anyone's said to me. No matter what we talked about, whether we were exchanging good news or stories of heartbreak, there was always a cup of tea in my hands. There was always a warm welcome when I arrived and a gentle nudge toward the door when she was ready to be an introvert again.
When she moved into a larger apartment, the ambiance of warmth and the scent of boiling water followed her. When I ran off to Uganda for a bit, the kind words and sympathetic ear chased me around on the internet. When I visited her at her home last October, I left with a long hug and a bag of pumpkin cookies.
So, why am I gushing on like this about my friend?
I can take a lesson from Sarah's ministry to me - because, really, that's what is has been. I can take a lesson in being a host. I can take a lesson from how safe I feel, and how blessed her friends are, when Sarah opens the door to her home. No matter where she's lived, the girl has made her abode into a home for whoever's in the room at the moment. I want that.
I want people who visit me to feel safe and cared for. I want my home to be refuge from the nonsense and heartache outside. What's more, I want it to be where people come for healing. I want to be an apothecary to the heart and soul. I want to bring peace, warmth, and a breath of fresh air to people who traverse a frantic, harsh, and toxic world. I want folks to come visit me and run smack into Jesus when they cross the threshold.
I've been working on it. I have a basket of teas, a knack for making some of the world's best hot cocoa, and progress on finding people to invite over.
But affection is hard for me to express aside from my words. I can say and write some lovely things; but only a few people can prompt me to offer a hug, never mind that I LOVE hugs. I'm also bad at initiating friendships. I usually let people who enjoy my presence come find me. Unfortunately, that means that some people I should be blessing aren't getting the things God means for me to give them.
And then there's that fact that I'm usually pretty terrible at baking.
In my heart, there's an image of two people at a table, steaming cups and heartfelt dialogue filling the space between them. That is my friendship with Sarah; it's been a large part of my friendship with Aaroneous (The best man I know, you may recall); and I want it to be a platform from which I show Jesus to people. In my heart, there's an image of a scared and lonely person sitting on a couch, wrapped in a blanket and clutching a steaming cup. That is how my closest friends have been to my heart; and it is what I want to provide for other lonely hearts. In my heart, there's an image of a sick man sitting at a table with a steaming cup while the owner of the house rummages through cupboards, concocting a home remedy. This is what I want to do with my life - heal and comfort and engage people who need a friend.
So, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by my place. Let's have a cup of tea.
-isaac
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