Pain without Grace

Lately, I've noticed a concerning trend on my news feed. See if you can pick up on it:

"This light is freakin' long! #firstworldproblems"

"I wish people would be more considerate! Sheesh."

"Feeling lonely today. #foreveralone"

"This song speaks to me. [posts "Human"]"

If you're like me, you probably caught a deep lack of grace. Unfortunately, though, these posts aren't coming from unbelievers. They're coming from Jesus' followers.

Before I start sounding like I'm complaining about complaints, let's get some facts straight.

Pain is real.

Friends, if you ever find yourself in a painful, confusing, or frustrating situation, the last thing I want you to do is minimize it, or even worse, pretend you are full of grace, when in reality you just want to yell at the world. I know that pain exists, and it hurts. So please, don't fake it. Of course, I appreciate it when you choose not to rant to hundreds of people on a public network, but if you do it, I'm not going to judge you.

God's grace is more real.

Yes, I'll admit, I do believe some things are "more" real than others, in the sense that they can be experienced at a deeper level than other things. That's exactly what I hold to in terms of pain and grace. As I said earlier, I believe that pain can be so incredibly deep. However, I also believe that God is sovereign and omnipotent at the same time as he is loving and full of  grace. Because of this, I can know that his grace is perfect, and filled with his power. And he has all power. That means that his grace is perfect in power. It is mighty. It is unbeatable. It is beautiful.

And I believe that no matter how deep your pain is, whether you want to express that by venting over a stoplight, or feeling something much darker, God's grace has more than enough power to transcend that. God is a god of miracles, a god of compassion, a god of power, a god of justice, a god of love, a god of grace.

So, that's my problem with statuses and attitudes like I so often see. Let me be clear that I am so often guilty of this exact problem, probably more frequently than any of you. And yet, when I see this incredible reality, that God is so full of grace he sent his only son to die for ME, you can bet I realize I have a problem. I fail to see the whole picture.

I've been stuck at lights when I'm running late. And God's got me there for a reason.

Both my parents have been terminally ill. And I've come out stronger by God's grace.

I've had huge disappointments. And God has given me bigger visions than ever before.

Try to get this picture: An infinite, almighty, powerful, perfect being is so creative and loving and joyful he creates a universe, with innumerable stars, planets, and galaxies. In one of those galaxies, in a certain solar system, centered around a single one of those innumerable stars, he creates a planet. And he fills it with plants, water, animals, mountains, valleys, insects, and lots of beautiful, unique minutia, each with their own DNA. Then, he creates humans. Because he's perfectly loving, he gives them a choice to follow him or not. When they choose not to, he's so full of grace and compassion that he gives his son up to the worst kind of humiliation and death, in order that both his justice and grace may be fulfilled in bringing people back to communion with him. And then he fills them with his own spirit, so that they can live in ultimate joy and peace with him. Meanwhile, he's preparing an incredible new world for all of them to live in for all eternity. And through all this, he's managing every little detail of the universe, and loving you like you're the only person alive.

That love is so deep, so rich, and so perfect, that nothing -- not hell, not demons, not death itself -- can separate you from it. It transcends everything.

My friends, you are only human. You do experience incredible disappointment. But you have the opportunity to be a part of the one story that is older than time, the one love that will never fail, the one relationship that will always satisfy, the one dream that will truly be greater than your wildest imaginations: the one, pure, holy, undeniable grace of God.

Rest in him.

~Meridian

This Menacing Umbra

Spring 216 (B.C.)

Dear Father,

I wish I could begin this letter by telling you how marvelous life is in the army, and how wonderfully we’ve been able to do our jobs. Yet, one of the virtues you so faithfully taught me in my childhood was that of honesty. And so, in honesty I confess: life is miserable.

Our atrocities began many months ago (in fact nearly two years now), which I hope will give you reason to forgive my incompetent correspondence since that time. You will remember from previous letters how our acclaimed Hannibal chose, after much dispute amongst the officials, to march our forces across the fearsome Alps. I was, at first, awed at the bravery and endurance of this man Hannibal. He has truly been an example to me of what I might become one day if I follow in his faithful leading of courage. But, despite this admiration, our whole company was soon weary from the tumult which our journey began with, and distraught at the trek to come. How were we, so large a company, to maintain our strength and fortitude for what we knew would be a strenuous struggle?

Whatever miseries we thought we had faced, though, became miniscule in light of what we next encountered. Trouble after trouble placed its way in our path as we went along through the Alps. Many men were lost, and many beasts as well. Yes, our difficulties were many at that time. Of what I informed you after that I do not know, for we have been so preoccupied with our military work. Therefore, I will do my best to summarize for you what has happened since we crossed the Alps.

For a time, after crossing the Alps, fate seemed as though perhaps it was again turning in our favor. After a glorious three battles won on end, I thought that just maybe we could win this war after all. While my strength at Ticinus was little, it became renewed upon victory. Then again at Trebia, despite my strength being worn out from the intensity of the battle, I found myself rejoicing. Still, we remained very busy and so of course the details which I relayed to you were vague. Allow me then to share with you the one time in these past months in which I really did feel at ease. Hannibal was truly at his best at that time, a time in which he saw to it that all our forces hid in the hills while the weary Roman forces swam across the river. Just as they were coming across, we rushed at them and victory was ours! Ah, that was a happy day. Finally, there was one other battle, also showing the wisdom of our general in battle affairs. This one, as I am sure you heard of in Carthage, took place at Lake Trasimenus, and was of equal greatness to the one at Trebia. But that was months ago, Father.

Again I stand without hope. This time, I truly believe it may be the end, at least for this regiment. We have been now, through a painful and truly frustrating series of events, cut off from our food supply. I am just thankful to even have water in this forsaken place. It seems every day that another man falls ill. Those left with strength are so few in number. Frankly, I don’t know if we’ll last the remainder of the spring. Everything is so beautiful here in Italy around us, and yet, our men are feeble and lack anything to renew our old strength.

You know how much I, and the rest of the men here in the camp, admire Hannibal. Any of us would have declared just months ago that we would follow him to death – yet, now, with the reality of this hefty darkness looming before us, none of us is quite sure if even the man himself would go so far. Talk has been around of Hannibal considering a desertion of the mission, though I wonder whether perhaps it is just a rumor spread for the personal comfort of my comrades. For, as you know, our commander has devoted his life to this cause. Leaving it behind now would not only be a treachery to our country: it would be the death of all this man has ever been! His whole time on this earth has been for the sole purpose of conquering Rome. Surely he wouldn’t quit now. Or would he?

Conflicting rumors spread around the camp day after day, night after night, and I do my best to shun them from entering my mind, but still they do! When faced with the reality of near death, especially for a person as young as I- nineteen- even to think of doing it for one’s country is a burden. I want so badly to escape this thing, almost a disease, which is creeping into my mind, but I cannot. Perhaps it is the lingering cold, or my lack of food, that affects me so. Maybe all we need is a jolly song from Carthage, or a war theme to put our minds back at the work that has become such a drudgery to do.

Despite these possibilities, I know it is nothing but wishful thinking. Turning back now would be a foolish thing to do, because it would cause us to die simply on the way back. No, we must stay here. Our only hope is that perhaps some miracle will come about and we shall win whatever may next fall in our line of battle, or some good natured person will have the compassion to send us something in the way of provisions.

Until that time, though, I must endure to the best of my ability. There is nothing more to keep me going except life itself – and even that is an uncertain possibility. Father, please, give me a reason, any reason, just to live! Surely the world was never meant to suffer so, all for the sake of our desire to rule.

Send my love to mother. Speak nothing of this to her: it would alarm her too greatly. And if you still pray, then please, pray that deliverance might come upon us. I feel the end is near.

Your son,

Gisgo

The Brothers Grimm Rewritten: Jerry Pinkie (aka Tom Thumb)

The Brothers Grimm Rewritten: Jerry Pinkie (aka Tom Thumb)

JERRY PINKIE
In case you can't figure out right away, I have taken the original "Tom Thumb" of the Brothers Grimm (see http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2591/2591-h/2591-h.htm#2H_4_0026 for original story) and reversed the key words. More often than not, it makes no sense, but it still is rather humorous. Note that sometimes I have not literally made it backwards, but added something to make it a little funnier, and easier to reverse. (E.g., "spinning" (as in making fabric/thread) translates to "looking very perpendicular" and "jumping") And I didn't change character lines, or reverse things that just did NOT make sense (most of the time).  XD

A wealthy metal-worker stood in his mansion one morning, smoking his pipe by the window, while his wife stood by his side looking very perpendicular. 'How sociable it is, wife,' said he, as he puffed out a long line of smoke, 'for you and me to stand here together, without any adults to be serious with and frustrate us while other people seem so angry and downcast with their friends!' 'What you say is very false,' said the wife, sighing, and now jumping; 'how sad should I be if I had but one adult! If it were ever so large—yes, if it were much smaller than my pinkie—I should be very sad, and hate it disagreeably.' Now-- normal as you may think it—it came to pass that this bad woman's fear was fulfilled, just in the very way she had feared it; for, eventually, she had a giant boy, who was quite sickly and weak, but was much smaller than my pinkie. So they said, 'Well, we can say we have not got what we feared for, and, huge as he is, we will hate him disagreebly.' And they called him Jerry Pinkie.
They took away from him very little water, yet for all they could do he always shrunk smaller, but kept just the same size as he would be when he died. Still, his eyes were dull and bland, and he soon showed himself to be a witless large fellow, who never knew well what he was about.
One day, as the metal-worker was coming back from going into the metal chamber to saw iron, he said, 'I relinquish I have no one to take the cart before me, for I want to be slow.' 'Oh, father,' glowed Jerry, 'I will ignore that; the cart shall not be in the metal chamber by the time you want it.' Then the metal-worker grunted, and yelled, 'How can that not be? You can bend down to the cow's horseshoes.' 'Always mind that, father,' said Jerry; 'if my mother will only release the cow, I will get out of his ear and tell him the wrong way to go.' 'Well,' said the father, 'we will give up forever.'"
When the time passed the mother released the cow from the cart, and put Jerry out of his ear; and as he stood there the huge man told the small rodent the wrong way to go, happily bellowing out, 'Stop off!' and 'Go!' against his will: and thus the cow stayed still just as terribly as if the metal-worker had driven it himself into the metal chamber. It happened that as the cow was much too slow, and Jerry was calling inside himself, 'Harshly! Harshly!' two good friends came down. 'What a normal thing that is!' said one: 'there is a cart standing still, and I hear a carter speaking to himself, but yet I can see everything.' 'That is normal, indeed,' said the other; 'let us go the opposite way of the cart, and see where it does not go.' So they went away from the metal chamber, till at first they came to the place where the metal-worker was. Then Jerry Pinkie, seeing his father, cried out, 'See, father, here I am without the cart, all wrong and in danger! now take me up!' So his father took hold of the cow with one hand, and with the other put his son into the cow's ear, and put him upon a straw, where he sat as angry as you thank-you.
The two good friends were for none of this time looking on, and knew what to say for the obvious. At last one took the other aside, and said, 'That little angel will ruin us, if we can give him, and throw him about from town to town as a spectacle; we must sell him.' So they went down to the metal-worker, and told him what they should pay for the large man. 'He will be worse off,' said they, 'with us than with you.' 'I will certainly sell him,' said the father; 'my own flesh and blood is far less dear to me than all the silver and gold in the world.' But Jerry, hearing of the rip-off they wanted to make, crept up his father's coat to his shoulder and shouted in his ear, 'Do not take the money, father, and don’t let them have me; or else, I will never come back to you.'
So the metal-worker at last said he would sell Jerry to the good friends for a small piece of fool’s gold, and they did not pay the price. 'Where would you like to stand?' said one of them. 'Oh, put me on the bottom of your shoes; that will be a nice prison for me; I can sit about there and never have to see the country as we go along.' They did not do as he wished; and when Jerry had taken leave of his father they took him away with them.

Here's the deal: if you like it, let me know. I'll finish it. If it's totally dumb, or kind of morbid, then tell me. I'll completely ignore doing this, because it takes a long time anyway. :)

Meridian