The power of speech is a tool to those who understand that the mind’s resistance to repetition is a weakness to man’s sanity. The first lie is evident and the second, a repeated call to ignorance but the next refrain, an interjection of power to the forces of adaptation. Speaking doubt into certainties; blurring lines like cataract-shielded eyes translating distorted visions; manipulating affirmations into maybes and nevers into why-nots. Eyes filled with truth, guilty of fraudulent interpretation; offering liberal variances of what they saw in an effort to negotiate acceptance in a compromise of truth. Suggesting skepticism behind a barrier of intellect they wield a repetitious cycle of re-engineered myths; weakening the confidence of known facts and heightening suspicion against the foundation of human existence. But we should speak life!

A tedious game of liar’s Jenga; the maintenance required to support the credibility of a mythological storyboard teeters on the edge of a single truth. The recording played over time, in repetition and denial can deceive anyone except God and those who diligently seek Him. Truth vs lies; the battle for truth is won in the trenches with soldiers whose eyes remain focused and whose ears resist the caress of personal pleasures for the joy of fulfillment. What if we spoke life?

The power of speech would reverse the curse of listless coexistence that masks the seething indignation of our culture. The first truth is obviously love and the second, a repeated call to share but the next refrain, a multiplication of its power interjected into the pains of disillusionment. Speaking certainty into doubt; illuminating paths with the clarity-laced forces of discipline; turning passive religious ritual into heartwarming revival; accepting the unacceptable under the conditions of unconditional acceptance. Eyes filled with tears; declared innocent over sacrificial sharing of the only real truth; the purpose of life; the life we can speak, if we choose to.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue, And those who love it will eat its fruit.” Proverbs 18:21 (NKJV)

The story of the underdog excites the mind and garners support from those who scream the name of low-probability trophy seekers. Longing for that heroic worst-to-first, rags to riches, hardly likely, regular guy to boost the hopes and dreams of average people. Hail to the underdog, they cry; never wishing to be in the path of similar scrutiny or thinner ice. Pledging support but more easily identifying with Alpha dog they’d prefer to be on top, in charge, numero uno, rather than David staring at Goliath. Effortless victory is the preferred path with wavering tolerance for a quick dust-up but never a protracted battle, where relief from uppercuts to the chin comes in the form of a punch in the gut. Where getting up means a continuance of the bloody incoming battle and no word from the cavalry. Where perseverance takes the long road through paths of discouragement and hope abandons strategy at the point where failure merges with likelihood. Standing at the brink of hopelessness magnifies the reward of winning but winning is a must in order to claim redemption. Win, or change the title of the story. From underdog to beaten dog; From underdog to sad dog that tried really hard dog. The underdog must eventually win or the story is no longer the come-from-behind underdog story.

“But Jesus looked at them and said to them, “ With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26 (NKJV)

Unfolding His mantle of impossibility God turns winning upside-down and separates from it, the glorious benevolence of victory. He reverses the significance of reward, divides the good into heavenly portions and scatters it liberally to those who love Him. He has crossed-out the loneliness of winning and He carries winners into victory through surrender. He takes the struggling underdog through the beating and even defeat but somehow still emerges victorious.
Winning is a perpetual battle that feeds on itself. Victory is the perpetual overflow of contentment from battles won. Winning from the sheer will of man’s struggle has desire at its core. A need to win, to boast, to absorb the pride of human acceptance. When winning’s song is over, loss and disappointment rings out in deafening residual.

Victory’s song is audible at the battle’s onset and gradually reaches its crescendo without the conditions of winning.

Tread carefully outside the Amen door where Jesus’ name has sealed the fellowship of daily grace and Satan’s grasp awaits a more attractive prize. Where the concierge of wandering minds offers the personalized services of deep-seated imaginings, and the burdens of life transition the sanctuary into a temple of forgetfulness. Where the cares of the moment redirect the softened spirit to the hardness of the outside buzz. Freshly bended knees, crackling with arthritic friction, call for an immediate sympathetic reflection and steal the moment of grace where knees and pain were simply nonexistent. Where imperfection seizes the shallow roots of commitment and swiftly moves our thoughts from blessed to barely grateful. Where unselfish plans took “you-turns” and colorful prayers faded into doubt. Severed; kinship lost in grievance, widens the chasm and strands our souls across the waters from His Presence. In a moment, in an instant of indulgence the promise of the day drifts until we call out for rescue.
Knowing that a roaring lion prowls the outer edges of our deepest fellowship evokes a fervent prayer for safe refuge on the other side of Amen.

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” 1 Peter 5:8 (NKJV)

Get yourself out of that place where you’re on the inside looking out at the life you were meant to live. The place where you peer outside the broken window, where shattered dreams and mangled hearts breathe fresh air, in relief; wiping shards of jagged glass through tears across the tender wounds of entrapment. Where decision launches a confrontation between freedom and the labor pains of escape. Gasping deeply from the shock of the sudden fall to freedom in an open struggle not to linger in celebration; you’ll push your staggering feet through injury, seeking acclimation to the discomfort in an effort to run freely. Get yourself out of that place where brief stops become stop-gaps and relapses, and hypothetical consequences betray the concentration of fulfillment. Where vivid dreams fade to bland assumptions and ambitions drown in a sea of loud and overbearing personalities. Push yourself through the minefields of doubt, toward the momentum of your forward testimony, and run. Stride toward the flickering bands of light until the warmth of the sun bursts into its fullness and swallows up the memories of the frigid effects of closed minds. Run until the sounds of singular footsteps becomes the echo of a thundering herd and a heavenly force of rescue gathers you into itself.

There is an illusion that grips a troubled heart; imaginary yet very real; strong but very vulnerable, and amazingly powerless at the mention of one name: Jesus!

“For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.” Romans 8:20 (NKJV)

You know me! I’m the guy that was the guy that did that thing that everybody loved me for. That thing that got so good I held on to being the guy to enjoy being loved for doing that thing. Remember when you wanted to be that guy but I was the guy, and you couldn’t be the guy because there was already a guy being that guy? Well, the problem I have now is that I’m still the guy I was back when I was that guy and the life that was all about that guy and that thing is now about some other thing I can’t do. Besides, that thing that I enjoyed so much is not so enjoyable anymore and I don’t know how to stop being the guy that enjoyed that thing. Although I’m still pretty good at that thing, people don’t seem to love me so much for doing that thing nowadays. Being the guy was who I was but now I’m more like “some guy” and now I’ve been that guy for so long I don’t know how to be “this” guy. I have so enjoyed the memory of that guy doing that thing, I may have passed up the opportunity to become this guy I was supposed to be. Instead I’m some guy who used to be the guy; trying to be the guy everybody still loves.

“The past is never where you think you left it.”
― Katherine Anne Porter

Even the concept of little things is large enough to encompass all things. When someone says, “it’s the little things”, we have no idea what little things they are talking about until they further explain. With God, there are no little things. There are only things that work together to them that love Him. To them who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28). This means, to my understanding, that everything else is about that.
When I was a kid the first little thing I remember that I attribute to God’s calling was an absolute push to get baptized. It came from within and seemed like a drumbeat every Sunday until I gained the courage to do it. Every sermon called me out, every Sunday school lesson hinted and, during that time even the muffled gibberish of Charlie Brown’s teacher would have seemed to be highlighting my need to make a spiritual commitment. This all simultaneously coincided with the accidental death of a childhood friend and my startling realization that death was not just for old people but children also could die.
The fact that this was not the “ah ha” moment of my life further supports that all things work together in a purposeful manner at the hands of the Almighty. It was a piece to a puzzle that would take many years, and many hard lessons, to put together. Pieces are still missing but enough of the puzzle is in place to solidify a foundation.
Since then, I have personally derailed that process many times and, fortunately (gracefully), God would throw me a puzzle piece or two before I fell off the edge; before the sand in my hourglass ran out. Many times my hardened circumstances prevented me from recognizing the pieces of my purpose He was revealing but as the little things came together I could sense the urgency and I’d step back in line. The “ah ha” moment that unfolded when the little things worked together to make bigger things is that, although this is a very personal experience, it is not about me; it includes me. I find myself to be one of the small things (very small) God uses for the purpose of them that love Him. To me, that’s amazing!
There is a sensible scheme to everyone’s life that defies logic. The sensibility is that God is in control and there is no logic to explain how that will manifest itself. If God has ever whispered to you, it is no small thing and it is probably not the end of the conversation. It was a piece of a puzzle, uniquely designed to make you whole.

“But, beloved, do not forget this one thing, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some count slackness, but is longsuffering toward us, not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:8-9 (NKJV)

The obvious plays out in cinematic explosiveness across technically inexplicable channels through networks of unbridled wizardry; bypassing closed minds. Hardened hearts never yielding to the awe of the pace, they move from this, to the next things with hardly an acknowledgement. Craving increase creates a craving for increase of knowledge we store for conversation; the merits of which we dare not judge, for the sake of offense; seeking only the credit for knowing. Shallow-rooted philosophers of nothingness trumpet a tune of disjointed notation; an aberration of song we’ve disciplined ourselves to play repeatedly. Gratuitously acclaiming intellect, as if to make it so. Robotically agreeing, in mindlessness, to replace reality with the calm we take for peace, we sign irrevocable future contracts behind a shield of intellect we believe to be unprecedented. We sacrifice tomorrow at the altar of immediacy and suffer from the perplexity of amnesia in the aftermath.
Stepping out from behind the shield of intellect where wisdom thrives in simple minds through reverent conversation, the Lord of bended knees simplifies the secret codes of understanding. Where intelligence flows from the heart and wins the daily battle to control the guttural impulses of nature. It’s the antonym to comparison; the place where genius is measured in units of love; quantified by depth; rewarded by inexplicable patience and contentment. The place where truth is not situational; not a version nor a tactic for a winning argument: it’s a fact to permanently attach a life to.
Coming from behind the barrier that bars us from true intellect, we recognize the shield as the ego that chokes the oxygen from wisdom and dilutes the flow of discernment with self-nurturing aggrandizement; the fuel that fires up the desire for endless want. Living behind the shield of intellect may be the way we nurture the diet of our egos but it may not be the smartest place to be.

“For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, “He catches the wise in their own craftiness”; and again, “The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.” Therefore let no one boast in men. For all things are yours:” 1 Corinthians 3:19 (NKJV)

Even a strong swimmer can be briefly overcome when the sudden drop-off in the depth of water snatches the comfort of weight-bearing sand from beneath their feet. The shock of a sudden loss of support leaves the body dangling momentarily until a full-body effort to remain afloat shifts into a battle between composure, body composition and natural buoyancy. Reaction time is critical as the need for air dictates the level of urgency needed to bridge the gap between panic and relaxation. Doing nothing equates to suicide and useless, uncoordinated flailing will only take a squirming soul into further despair; into deeper waters where time is the critical enemy of a safe turnaround.
The metaphorical relationship between stepping off the edge of shallow water and stepping into sin is fairly obvious. Stepping off the edge, falling and drowning are all terms we use to describe the condition of a backslider. The parallels of sinking into one’s own self-inflicted peril are palpable; almost visible, but deep waters exist on either side of sin.
On the God side of sin, shallow thinking deepens consequences and allows the deception of comfort; the illusion of safety while wading into spiritual naiveté. Visions of ourselves in the full armor of God, fending off sins with the sword of the Spirit and changing people’s lives with our knowledge of the Word, offering the assurance of a straight path from day-of-confession to the judgment, Summa Cum Laude. Heaven rejoices for us and we stroll down streets of gold with the Apostle Paul, taking selfies and putting them on Instagram.
Conversely, the shock of imperfection brings a sobering reality akin to dangling in the cold deep waters and reaction time becomes the critical factor between swimming and fighting water. Realizing that God’s will is in direct opposition to yours can be the jolt that generates resistance, like fighting against sudden bottomlessness to regain your footing after the initial drop-off. Momentary relapses into old temptations and habits can rain showers of condemnation on top of wavering confidence, like looking up from the deep and not being able to see the sunlight. Personal challenges and attacks from the inner circle of our intimate relationships can be the rip current, that causes an overwhelming tidal surge and sweeps a lifeless mannequin back into the world.
Jesus is our personal lifeguard and the key to keeping our spiritual footing. The strength of our relationship with Him will determine how prepared and well trained we are to swim in the deep water. At the first sign of trouble He is waiting for our help call. If we decide to wade a little further or find our own way, we will likely find the cold depth of our helplessness without Him and end up dangling for a time. When we hear His whistle, we should take the quickest route to get out of the water.

“No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it” 1 Corinthians 10:13 (NKJV)

The characteristic of inborn fickleness we share, as a species, tends to dictate our low-confidence philosophies, which develop into life systems wrought with predetermined escape routes and guilt-exonerating exit plans. Concentrating on loophole formulas and low-temp caution gauges, we are set to run at the first sign of heat; long before the smoke or the fire. The urge to disengage prioritized in the pole position of our race to safe and predictable decision-making, allowing us to repeatedly get the very least of the best we are offered. “Trust but verify” branded in our brains because we learned that trust was good, but stupid when fully exercised. Betrayal nakedly visible in our nerve-racked memoirs, we’ve shaped our defenses around a commitment to our assurances, exclusively: verifying the unverifiable and assuring principles of uncertainty. We have suffered the disappointment of miscalculation. Is it any wonder we battle against hope when we stand in the shadow of liberation? Holding on to what we think we know; the failing strategy that keeps us ignorant, we stand at the open door looking back and lying about our forward progress. We find it terrifying to trust because we are not trust “worthy”. Trust but don’t, trust but never, trust but…is our motto, but it is trust “and” that a trustworthy God honors.

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
And whose hope is the Lord.
For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit” Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NKJV).

Perched on the edge of frigid waters; operating on the principles of trust and sonship, I’m nearly persuaded to walk atop these depths, in faith, toward the dimmed horizon. Fixing my eyes on Son light and closing my ears to outside rumblings of scorn, ridicule and the duality of the noise and the silence of disapproval. I’m locked-in to the knowledge that belief fills my sails with winds that foster floating and fear adds unnecessary weight that guarantees defeat to be delivered in a ceremony at the bottom of lost fulfillment. I marvel at my ability to glide across glassy waters in whimsical unearthliness but holding on to the mistrust of the remarkable; my faith dwarfed by the shadows of mustard seeds, I waver as waves begin to swell around my reappearing apprehensions. Bound to a fractured and deteriorating boat-like mirage, I cling to mediocrity, mistaking it for adventure. Recorded flashes of boastful comparisons to biblical royalty chasten my humility as I scurry toward the shore unmistakably sure that I didn’t because I wouldn’t, but, that I can if I only would. My faith reinforced by the faith I rescued in the near-success of my failure; knowing that I will be ready to walk on water when the depth of my faith reaches the maturity of full surrender.

“So He said, “ Come.” And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!”
And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, “ O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” Matthew 14:29-31 (NKJV)