An Allergy Worth Having July 17, 2008

How many times have you sat watching TV and suddenly, the characters are all spouting off expletives? How many times have you let loose a “tiny white lie,” justifying that it’s technically true, true in a sense, partly true, or you’re going to make it true, or truer soon? How many times have you been watching a movie and the characters are implying, engaging in, or alluding to past or present affairs, sexual relations, or similar activities? How many times have you let a cross attitude spoil your day – and the days of others around you – by being ungrateful or prideful or or self-pitying or simply annoyed? How many times have you not immediately changed the channel, apologized and told the truth, stopped the movie, repented and become cheerful?

Truthfully, as a Christian, how many times do you let sin from outside influences and from your own self, taint your everyday life? How many times have we, as Christians, not repetitively, constantly, carefully, banished sin from our lives? Why don’t we?

God gave me an analogy to share with you, to parallel to these questions:

My friend, Josh, has extreme peanut allergies. Even being in the vicinity of peanuts, to breath them, could trigger an attack. He has to keep a careful distance from the offending food, and alert others around him to his allergy if need be.

Do you see the parallel here? God says we must avoid sin when we’ve become born again.

“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” –2 Corinthians 5:17

“Abstain from all appearance of evil.” –1 Thessalonians 5:22

“Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” –2 Timothy 2:22

“Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.” –Colossians 2:8

“Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry:
“For which things’ sake the wrath of God cometh on the children of disobedience:
“In the which ye also walked some time, when ye lived in them.
“But now ye also put off all these; anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy communication out of your mouth.
“Lie not one to another, seeing that ye have put off the old man with his deeds;
“And have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that created him:” –Colossians 3:5-11

“Because it is written, Be ye holy; for I am holy.” –1 Peter 1:13-16

We need to make ourselves allergic to sin – deathly allergic. We need to deny it any and all permission to stake even the smallest claim on our lives. As C.J. Mahaney said in his book Humility: True Greatness, we must be on the offensive from the start of our day.

“Sin – including especially the sin of pride – is active, not passive. Sin doesn’t wake up tired, because it hasn’t been sleeping. When you wake up in the morning, sin is right there, fully awake, ready to attack.”

So get on the offensive! Attack back! God has given each of us “the spirit…of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” –2 Timothy 1:7

Use that power! Fight with all you have in Christ.

There will be mistakes and failures and stumbling and falling, but “[God's] grace is sufficient for thee.” –1 Corinthians 12:9

Give him your life, and He will help you build up a lifelong “allergy” to sin.

Unfamiliar Dance Part II July 10, 2008

All night I whirled in dances with many partners. Some were gentle, then sped up to a beat I was surprised I could follow, but did, very well in fact. Others were quick and purposeful. I knew what was coming every step of the way. Yet still others bewildered me at every turn, but I found myself gracefully matching my partners’ footwork without hesitance or mistake. I didn’t know how I did it, but didn’t question the ease or from where this knowledge of these foreign dances had come.

After a dozen or so of these dances, I looked over my shoulder to see that the man sitting in the chair was even farther away. My sense of safety began to wane. I tried inconspicuously to move closer to the table where he sat, lonely, but with every spin nearer the site, it always seemed that he was always just as far away, if not further. Panic welled in my chest. What was happening? I tried to pull away from the man I now danced with, but he held me firmly. He seemed ignorant of my wish to leave, simply continuing to lead me around the floor, smiling the entire time. The harder I tried to get away, the more tightly I was grasped. I tried planting my feet firmly on the floor, refusing to move, but my partner danced on, oblivious, dragging me along.

I cast a desperate glance over my shoulder, but the man was so far away now that I could hardly make out his figure in the distance. I began to frantically fight against the steely grasp of my dance partner. Nothing availed.

In a few more steps, the song ended and I thought it was my chance to get away. But as the last fluting note sang through the air, a second man, one I’d danced with earlier, cut in. His face was handsome, split into a brilliant, empty smile. I tried to push him away as my former partner finally loosed me, but he merely took my hands in his, and as the next song began, pulled me into a fast-stepping number.

Frantic tears spilled out of my eyes. My partner was smiling and dancing the entire time. I wanted out! Why couldn’t I get out? Why wouldn’t they just let me go? Oh, how I wished to go back.

The dance went faster and faster. This time, instead of being able to move with grace and swiftness, I stumbled once. The tempo increased significantly. I stumbled again, this time nearly falling. The man I danced with didn’t so much as bat an eye.

I began to sob in earnest, begging him to let me go. It was as if he were stone, no other expression but that same stale grin ever crossing his face. My hands were held by iron fingers, like shackles. Whether I wanted to or not, I was forced to keep dancing, over and over again.

Finally, I cried out, “Please! Help me, my Lord! I want to dance with you! I will learn your dance! Please, rescue me from this place!”

At once, the other dancers’ smiling faces disappeared. They were replaced by the faces of dark angels, bent on keeping what they had claimed – me. They drew swords, their postures defensive and stalwart. My heart sank and I dropped to my knees, having been let go, weeping bitterly. I was a captive forever in this house of demons.

The sudden sound of a trumpet, ringing clear and strong, pierced my ears. I looked up in disbelief. The shadows shrieked in fury and fright, but remained, swords upraised. My eyes opened to see the man clothed in the purest white, a cloak dyed bloodred falling to his feet, his face hard and angry, surrounded by an army of his angels. His voice rose and called up his angels to destroy my captors. I watched as the man drew his sword and walked towards me. I was more terrified now than I had been moments earlier before I’d called out, but I couldn’t move or speak.

He advanced steadily, the sword glinting like his eyes, trained only on me.

Then from behind me, I heard a step in my direction. The sounds of battle filled my ears from all directions, but yet I heard this footfall behind me. I slowly turned my head to see the musician – no, wait…a different musician. When had they been changed? I had a feeling it was when I had joined the other dancers. But now, I just watched wordlessly as they both strode in my direction. They both reached me at the same time. The dark one grabbed my arm, his touch searing my arm like acid. I screamed, trying to pull away from him, but it was no use.

“My Lord, save me!” I cried. “Forgive me!”

Then he finally spoke, his eyes glittering dangerously, quietly taking my free hand. It comforted me, even as the touch of the black warrior at my other side blazed. “You heard her, demon.”

The dark angel hissed, his grip tightening. “She turned from you. She refused you. She is ours now.”

“Not so, demon. You lie. You know the law. You know what is written. She has repented. Let her go.” The man’s low voice caused me to tremble, such was the force power and wrath in his tone.

The demon snarled again, and I heard hesitance in his voice when he replied. “She’s ours.” He repeated, even though I felt his hand give slightly. He made as if to pull me away with him to join his dark forces.

The man let go of my hand, raised his sword, and with a thundering battle cry, he plunged it deep into the demon’s belly. A scream as I’d never heard before penetrated the clamor of swords clashing, and the black leader flew into the air and disappeared. I covered my head in horror, trying to block out the terrible sound. It was over in a matter of seconds, and I timidly lifted my head to see if it was safe. My gaze found that of the man towering over me, sword still in hand. I flinched and bowed my head, waiting for my own punishment to come. I felt a breath of warm air breeze past me, that scent I knew so well to be his. A gentle finger slipped under my chin and tipped my head up, making my eyes meet his again. He was kneeling on the ground before me, his eyes now soft and kind.

“It is finished.” He murmured. The sounds around us had ceased. It was quiet. I hesitated, wondering if I was to be accepted back. As if reading my mind, he stood, pulling me up with him. His warm hands held my face between them.

“I heard you call.” His thumbs wiped the traces of my hysterical tears away. “Do you want to learn the dance I have written for you?” He asked, his voice quiet.

I nodded silently, gazing up at him. I wasn’t sure what to do.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. He repeated his question. “Do you want me to teach you the dance?”

It confused me that he asked again, but I managed to say in a small voice, “Yes.” I took a step towards him.

A smile broke out on his lips. He removed his hands from my cheeks and held them out to me, once more asking me, “May I have this dance?”

A returning smile lit up my face, and I took the final step to him. I slipped my hand into his, but paused when I reached for his other hand. I dropped my gaze to the ground. “I’m so sorry.” I whispered, the words barely audible. His hand tightened around mine, but he waited. “I was foolish and prideful. I’m…sorry.” It didn’t seem like enough. Slowly, I looked up into his face again. “My Lord,” my voice caught as I fought against the tears and the lump in my throat. “My Lord…please, will you forgive me?” My voice broke at the last word.

His smile broadened and he reached for my other hand, gently tugging me to the dance floor. The light notes of his song began to play, clear, sweet, and perfectly in tune. When we were in the middle, of the floor, he bent down closer to me and murmured tenderly, “Yes, I do forgive you…but,” he paused, making sure he had my full attention. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “But I can do you one better.”

My heart quickened, waiting; afraid, but hopeful, anxious, but eager.

He pulled me into position, then whispered in my ear. “I will teach you the dance.”

Tears threatened to spill over again, but this time in rapturous joy. I looked up at him, beaming so widely my cheeks began to hurt. “Yes…teach me the dance.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a pure, wonderful sound, ringing around the room.

So he taught me the dance as the musician played. I stumbled, I tripped, and I fell many times. But patiently, he taught me, and slowly I learned, until I was able to follow his lead completely, in that unfamiliar, beautiful, dance.

Unfamiliar Dance Part I July 10, 2008

“May I have this dance?” A large, tanned, calloused hand protruded on my view. I followed the hand upward with my eyes along the man’s chiseled forearm, not missing the upraised white pucker of a scar on his wrist. Finally, my eyes reached his face. Handsome, beautiful, fearsome, commanding, gentle, laughing, loving, all these things and more. I didn’t know what to say. He stood patiently waiting for my answer. I squared my shoulders, at once proud to show off my skill in the art of dance. I demurely laid my soft palm on his rough, but gentle one, standing in a fluid motion. His eyes crinkled as if amused, sparkling with jollity

We took our positions on the floor. I couldn’t tell whether or not there were other dancers, but it didn’t matter. The music began. He stepped off in a strong lead. I followed smoothly, letting my talent in the steady waltz shine through. I was proud of myself, to be sure, but didn’t think it was unwarranted. I worked hard to become proficient. My thoughts were so full of myself that I didn’t notice him change the steps or hear the music increase in tempo ever so slightly. In the midst of my self-admiration I suddenly, unexpectedly stumbled.

The music sounded all wrong, like the strings were out of tune, just barely flat, or the musician’s fingers had shifted unnoticeably on his instrument, causing a shift in the sound, but only the tiniest bit.

He looked at me questioningly, pausing in the dance to let me get my bearings. I refused to meet his gaze, arranging myself into position, and beginning the waltz again – or so I thought. I moved forward into the lead, but he just stood in place. I finally looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” I snapped. I regretted it almost instantly, but shoved the guilt aside in my irritation.

His eyes flashed with pain. “Dancing with you.” He replied simply, in the most tender voice I’d ever heard. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness right then, but my pride gripped at me tenaciously and I shoved down the apology.

“Why didn’t you start waltzing then?” I demanded hotly, even more annoyed, but more at myself for not being able to let go of my arrogance than at him for confusing me.

His eyes darkened with an emotion I didn’t understand. “The waltz is over. Didn’t you hear the song end?” There was no condescension in his tone when he asked me, yet I bristled and yanked my hands from his.

“Of course I did!” I lied, furious. “But you weren’t doing it right! You made me mess up!” I nearly shouted. Now I was angry at being found out. I didn’t know the dance he had lapsed into. It was strange, but smooth and sweet, and easy medium tempo. I’d never seen or danced it before.

His eyes laughed for a second, then turned sober. “I’m sorry, would you like me to teach it to you?” His hand opened, upraised for mine, and his face brightened, a warm smile on his lips.

I stubbornly crossed my arms. The music was still off-key in the background. “I want to waltz. I don’t like that dance.” I ground my teeth angrily, waiting for him to assent.

But he just shook his head slowly and took a step forward, hand still pleading for my company. “The waltz is over, my love. We have to dance the next song. We can’t go back.” He reached his upturned hand to me, almost touching me now. “Let me teach you this one, please? I promise you’ll love it. It’s beautiful. My father and I and the musician wrote it together, just for you.”

But I was still haughtily sure of my talent, unneeding to be taught any longer. I stepped back once, putting space in between us and shook my head vehemently. “My favorite is the waltz. I want to dance the waltz.” My mouth set in a stubborn line, not to be moved.

His hand dropped, the sorrow returning to his beautiful features. His eyes caught mine tentatively. “Please? Just try it?” His voice pleaded softly, though his demeanor was still kingly and authoritative. I narrowed my eyes, scowling at the floor. He took in a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly. “All right.” My pride jumped victoriously. I had won! A smug grin lit up my face as I stepped forward to him, ready to waltz again.

But he didn’t offer his hand to me. He didn’t look up. He slowly stepped back, pain contorting his face. “But we cannot dance again.”

I gaped in surprise and confusion.

“We cannot waltz. We cannot go back.” He repeated. “We can only move forward to the next dance. If you don’t wish to, I won’t force you. But then I cannot dance with you further.” His eyes begged me to understand, to accept his former offer, to let him teach me the unfamiliar dance.

I couldn’t say anything at first, just watched him back away to a table and sit in the lone chair that had been set there. He watched me from this distance, still silently asking of me his question. The anger returned. Fine. If he was going to be stubborn, then so was I. I could hold out. I’ll show him.

I spun on my heel and noticed that indeed there were other dancers on the floor. The music was more bearable now, but less gentle and appealing. I didn’t care. The song permeated my brain, striking new chords in me I didn’t know existed. I became excited, feeling free…and something else. Something was missing. I turned around and saw him still sitting in the same chair, the same expression of unhappiness on his face. But it…had he been that far away? I shrugged it off as a new song began. This beat was rhythmic and throbbing. I grabbed the nearest man and smiled at him. He grinned back without question, pulling me into the dance, swaying and spinning. I laughed, pushing all thoughts of the man in the chair out of my mind.

Beautiful Meeting July 10, 2008

I turned to see the man standing behind me. My mouth fell open in awe. He was infinitely more beautiful than any man I’d ever seen on earth.

His face – strong, utterly handsome, perfectly symmetrical, shining with absolute love and adoration, a ruddy tan. His dark hair framed his face, matching his neat beard and raised eyebrows which rested above laughing, joyful brown eyes. His mouth turned upwards into a warm, gentle, but contagious smile, revealing white teeth. His shoulders were broad and sure, his arms held out for me, waiting hopefully. One foot had stepped forward, encouraging and hesitant. He wanted me to come to him. He loved me. He wanted me.

In that instant, the crowds thronging us disappeared as my heart swelled painfully, ear exploding in pure, unrefined, holy love, yet only a fraction of a measure of his love. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I catapulted myself to him, flinging my arms around his neck with such ardor it caused him to stumble back a couple steps. But his fervent embrace cleared all from my mind but him and me.

I could feel the muscles in his arms pressing into my waist, so tightly was he holding me. His left hand stroked up my back between my shoulder blades, his work-worn fingers slipping easily through my hair, cupping the back of my head. I felt a wetness on my neck, and my sobs came again, now knowing how much he had missed me, that he wept as I did, finally being united.

I buried my face in his neck as he did himself, and between waterfalls of tears, I could smell his heady scent, incapacitatingly intoxicating. His soft hair brushed my forehead as I grasped him more tightly. I felt myself swaying back and forth, his deep voice murmuring in my ear words of comfort and love and tenderness as such I’d never before heard in my life. I felt so complete, so content.

Before, I’d thought I was happy, needing nothing on that green earth, but it was molecular, microscopic in comparison to the feeling permeating my body now. I was completely complete. He was the one I had waited for my entire life, oh so achingly long, and now, at last I was here in his arms. There were – and are yet – no words to express that everlastingly long, beautiful moment.

He moved his arms from around me to let his hands rest on my waist, pulling back to look into my eyes. He reached up, framing the sides of my face with his large, calloused hands. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and placed a loving, lingering kiss on the center of my forehead. When he stood back, my eyes went up to his. My hands clung to his wrists. It was then I felt a strange upraised bump on the back and front of each wrist.

My curious gaze shifted to examine the spots, and then widened as I remembered. I touched the scars with my thumbs and middle fingers, looking back up into his soft eyes. I caught sight of a mark on his forehead, just barely concealed by his hair. Trembling, I loosed one wrist and reached up to tentatively push the dark locks aside. I gasped softly as realization dawned. My fingertips lightly traced the barely-raised jagged scars as a fresh onset of tears welled in my eyes and poured out.

His eyes became sorrowful and pleading. “Don’t cry…” He whispered, moving his thumbs over my cheeks to catch the tears. “Please don’t cry.

My hands dropped to my sides and then consecutively came back up to cover my face. I was consumed by such a burning shame that all the joy I had felt minutes earlier was gone. Almost desperately he pried my fingers from my face, holding them with one hand while the other tipped my head up to look in his eyes. I could see the old tearstains lining his cheeks – tears of joy. What would he do when he heard all I’d done? His questioning gaze fell upon me. I felt as if he already knew why I acted like I did, knew how ashamed I felt.

“What is it?” His voice was so soft, so kind that I broke down in tears again, hardly able to stand.

“How can I…” I choked on the words and my sobs. “How can you…” I couldn’t say it. The question stuck in my throat.

He waited, still holding my hands and chin, searching my eyes.

Finally, I looked up, met his eyes deliberately, and got it out. “After this–” I gestured with my eyes to his scars, “–how, why do you love me?”

There was utter silence. It seemed like forever. A shadow darkened his eyes, the memory of the pain and abandonment coming back in the pause. Then they shone again with an untold secret. He leaned in to kiss one tear-stained cheek. “My love,” he kissed the other, “if you were the last person on earth, the sole survivor of the human race, I would go back and do it all over again.” He lightly kissed my lips. “Just for you.”