Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Seeking God in the storm of a marital quarrel

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St. John Vianney, the Cure of Ars, saw a French peasant visit his church every day at lunch, and sit motionlessly for an hour.

“What do you do?” he asked curiously.

“I look at him, and he looks at me,” the peasant replied.

                                            * * *

My prayer life moved from lists, intercession and busyness to a more contemplative resting after taking a “Catching the Fire” course with John Arnott (of the Toronto Airport Fellowship and Toronto Blessing) in Oxford, in May 2010. He taught us “soaking prayer” which really, really resonated with me, and felt natural.

And so now, I look at Him, and He looks at me. Ann Voskamp describes in One Thousand Gifts, how she cradled her plump 5 year old sleeping curly-headed daughter, feeling her warm, calm breath, feeling overwhelmed with love. And then the realization falls on her that that’s how God felt about her.

Yes, sometimes, when I am unreasonably delighted by something rather small in the big scale of things, I can almost see Jesus look at me, and laugh in delight, for he’s given it to me. I see him smile at me. I sense his love, affection and attention.

* * *

And sometimes, I sense him look at me with seriousness and
sadness,  and I squirm.

Like today.

Today was not a good day. I was exhausted by 9.30p.m. yesterday, but between excitable teens, emails, tweets, blog comments, social media, bubble baths, arranging tickets to Istanbul in April, reading, hanging out with Roy, it was past 1a.m. by lights out—without anything substantive being done.

Our pet ducks woke us up by quacking at 7 a.m. We were grumpy and friable, so I should have given Roy space and credit.

You know how when you’re tired small arguments can spiral out of control? Ours was about investing. Not the amount, or the instrument, but the frequency.

I handled both the company’s and our family’s accounts until last August, when I decided to focus more on my blog. It was silly me doing accounts, because Roy has a Ph.D and 3 post-doctoral degrees in Mathematics, and I—I dropped Maths at 15 (though I was rather good at it.)

But I doubted Roy would invest with steadiness, consistency and discipline–so I did the books!

I enjoy the things money can buy—travel, plants, being able to entertain friends, books, music, art, experiences—so I am not a natural saver. Knowing that, every week, I put some money into the mortgage, and twice that into savings and retirement, with a huge amount of pride and self-congratulation.

Roy is a naturally prudent spender and saver, and time-obsessed. He saves without thinking about it because he hates waste and unnecessary expenditure. He cannot see the point of this weekly squirreling.

“Let’s just put in a lump sum at the start of the month,” he said.

Me, “Oh, but then we’ll tie it up, and we might want a weekend away, or to catch a ferry to France, or we might have time to finally upgrade the sofa.”

He, “Well, don’t!”

Yeah, simple!!  Whoever said men are from Mars, women are from Venus got it wrong. Yeah, women are indeed from Venus. But men, men are from Pluto, or some perfectly dreadful distant planet.

“Do it my way, Roy,” I say, magisterially. “Slow and steady….”

Well, I don’t get to finish that sentence.

An explosion!

Now I get cross too, but it’s like a summer shower, heavy, and over in minutes.

He is generally quiet and patient, but when he’s had enough, well, it’s thunder, lightning, hail, the deluge all at once. And these atmospheric conditions are rather prolonged (until he gets his way).

Note the snarkiness of the last comment!
                                                             * * *

Ironically, I was working on a poem which flowed beautifully yesterday, which I almost felt Christ speaking to me, until the intensity of writing it exhausted me. I did not want to fight over trivia, and was annoyed by the fight. I wanted to get back into the zone, and overhear Christ dictate the rest of that intense, passionate poem.

So I kept my temper, and said quiet, calm but mildly sarcastic, mildly snarky things, which, of course, heightened Roy’s temper.

Okay, we are now factoring in New Year’s Eve fireworks to the thunder and lightning and hail which prevailed.

And eventually, the fireworks and weather die down. We reach a compromise on some of the thorny issues which have emerged, but not on investing. (“Come on, Roy, do it my way. Weekly,” I urge my blog, but not the Fearsome Man himself).

And I have quiet time. I look at Him and He looks at me. Sadly.

Oooh, and I repent.

I used to be a fiery girl. When did I become  passive-aggressive–the coward’s behaviour, which, above all others, I have the most contempt for?

So I kept my temper, but was as provocative as I had lost it. Didn’t fool Roy. Didn’t fool Jesus.

“Keep calm,” I tell myself, when Roy loses his temper. But that is not the right word to say to myself.

The right word, sigh, is

LOVE.

And if your blood is boiling, and you want to throw something at this infuriating stranger you loved last night, and this morning, and you now momentarily feel no love for? Well, say LOVE as a mantra, because that is what Christ would say to you, if he were physically present, counselling you.

And if you cannot say it, if you say, “If I have to love him NOW, I’ll burst”—well say other things.  Say, “Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the storm has passed. (Psalm 57:1)

Or  Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
   will sing in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
   my God, in whom I trust.” (Ps 97.1)

Yes, I will hide in Jesus in future, take refuge in Jesus, until the storm has passed. I will love if I can. I will not exacerbate matters with gently spoken snark, but speak the gentle words which turn away wrath.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? And not so easy when one is angry. And so I need to add, “So help me, God.”

* * *

Don’t you love the air after a thunderstorm? So clear, so full of promise. The birds and crickets sing.

So, our marital blowup has cleared the air…. Though this is not the best way. There has be a better one. We will seek it.


And okay, the next time that infuriating, adorable, clever, wrong-headed, exasperating and good husband of mine provokes me, hopefully I will be loving, rather than just controlling my temper; speak words of gentle life, rather than gentle provocation; and hopefully, the next time I look at other Man who loves me, I will look at him, and he will look at me, and there will not be reproach in his eyes. 

God in the cracks: A year in an earthquake zone: Christchurch, New Zealand. (Guest Post by Claudia McFie)

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Beauty among the ruins
Photo by Ross Becker, photographer 


24 February 2011, I was sitting beside a rural road near Christchurch, New Zealand, hugging my knees to my chest and trying to cry.
Two days earlier I had been running for my life as my city came crashing to the ground around me.  For the first two days I’d been concentrating so much on survival – walking 2 hours home, part of the way barefoot, then boiling rainwater we’d collected for using in the garden so we had something to drink, walking 5km to the only supermarket that was open to buy milk and bread.  


On this day, the emotions finally started catching up with me.
I sat surrounded by open fields and empty sky, yet every time I closed my eyes all I could see was the wall of a three story building toppling towards me in slow motion.  There is still gritty dust through my hair, ears and fingernails.  There is still no water supply, so no chance to wash, only hand sanitiser. 
Sitting beside that farm gate, my guts ached with grief.  It was a raw, bleeding, empty kind of feeling, like some part of my soul had been ripped out.  I was seeking solitude to cry and pray, but tears wouldn’t come, all I had was an aching pressure behind my eyes and a tightness in my chest.
I tried to pray, but words wouldn’t come, and all I could feel was the pain in my spirit.  All my mind can do is replay again and again my mind replayed the jolty jerky feeling in my stomach as the ground lurched beneath me. 
                                                                 * * *
I remembered a day in my late teens, more than 20 years ago, when I had also sought solitude, this time walking and sitting beside a river.  There I had prayed for the first time, “God, I can’t do this.  I’ve made a mess of my life, so I’m handing my life over to you.”  A promise came into my mind “Don’t be afraid.  I will never leave you or forsake you.  No matter where you go or what happens I will never leave you.
In February 2011 I couldn’t connect to God’s presence, but I held onto the promise that he was still with me, carrying me through this valley of the shadow of death.    Everything else has stripped away, but I cling onto Faith.
Since September 2010, my city has been experiencing an ongoing seismic event.  Some 10,000 aftershocks, 41 of them have been greater than magnitude 5.  The most recent “big” one was a magnitude 6 on 23 December 2011.  Even as I’m writing this I feel a vibration rumble past beneath me.  I inhale and my stomach clenches, then it passes. (That was a magnitude 3.4, at 3km depth about 10km south of my house).  Prior to September 2010, there had not been any significant earthquakes in the region for more than a century.
The past year, I’ve experienced the anxiety of going about life, never sure when the “next one” will come.  I would go into shopping malls, and scan around to work out where the best “safe place” would be.  I avoid brick walled buildings, crossing the street if I need to.
I’ve experieced watching the cranes and diggers and “munchers” demolish my city.  Nearly 1400 commercial buildings either have been or are being deconstructed, many of them heritage buildings.  The Cathedral that was the heart of my City lies in ruins, as the debate continues among both believers and non-believers for its future. 6,500 homes in the suburbs have been abandoned, the land unable to be rebuilt on.  Others still await the assessment of their fate.
As the days and weeks went by.  The tears came in their time, and I learned to grieve and lament.  But prayer remained beyond my reach.  I offered my tears as prayers, but the emptiness within me remained.  “I know there is more than this.  I’ve experienced God’s presence in the past, and I long to find that again.”
And the quakes kept coming.
Winter came, and our house was not weathertight – our chimney had collapsed leaving us without heating, and our roof covered by a tarpaulin.  Rainwater dripped through the ceiling.I was so thankful that our chimney was replaced by a steel flue and our woodburner repaired in time for the “once in 50 years” blizzard that hit mid year.  A month later we lived through a “once in 70 years” snow storm.
I strived to pray.  I tried to find my soul again, but the sense of connecting with God was simply not there.  I still felt hollow, like a part of me was missing.  Then I realised I was trying to find God with my own effort.  It’s like trying to pull myself up with my shoelaces.  “Lord, I can’t do this.  Only you can.  I’m letting go.  I am here, and I trust you.”
I was burnt out and exhausted.  I had run out of “cope”.  I went to work, I looked after my children, then once they were in their beds I would curl up on the sofa or on my bed.  I’d try to lose myself in reading fiction.  Anywhere but the here and now.  I didn’t even want to log onto my computer.  I stopped writing and blogging.  Everyone else I spoke to in Christchurch was experiencing the same kind of fatigue.
Recovery has come slowly.  It has taken over a year since that day beside the rural road.  Counselling has helped, as has asking as many people as I can to please pray for me.  The difference came as I found myself space to be quiet and still.  As I stopped trying to pray, I just sat and waited.  “I am here, Lord.”  In the stillness, I started to feel the smallest flicker, no more than a whisper of life within my spirit again.  I found that I could pray again, and feel the response within my spirit again.
2012 is the year my city will begin its rebuild.  It will never be the same as it was before the earthquakes, and tears come as I write that sentence, but what it will be is stronger, and better.  My life will never be the same again, but God has stayed true to his promise.  He never left me, and I know I will come through this stronger and better.
How you can help Christchurch recover:
1.     Pray.  Pray for those who grieve for the 185 lives lost on 22nd February 2011.  Pray for the injured, who are still recovering.  Pray for those traumatised, the emotional wounds that for many are still raw.  Those burnt out and exhausted. Pray for those struggling with insurance issues, and uncertaintity about their future.
2.     Donations can be made through:
*  The Christchurch Earthquake Mayoral Relief Fund  provides funding toward projects that contribute to the rebuilding of the social and physical infrastructure of Christchurch following the earthquakes.
*  The Red Cross 2011 Christchurch Earthquake Appeal is focused on welfare issues providing emergency & hardship grants as well as bereavement grants.
* The Christchurch Earthquake Appeal (NZ Government) will help rebuild those things that are at the heart of Christchurch communities, the places and services that make a city worth living in; community facilities which took decades of fundraising to put in place, such as sports fields, parks, community buildings and historic buildings, which were ruined within hours.
*******
Claudia McFie
Claudia is a working mother of three children (aged 3, 5 and 8) living in Christchurch New Zealand.  She started blogging in 2010 as Adulcia – Beneath the Surface.  You can see news footage of her experiences in the Christchurch Earthquake of 22nd February 2011 here. 

When your Blog is not on a Blogroll

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The Lamb’s Book of Life (Image credit)

You know that awkward moment, when you check a blogroll, kind of hoping you’ll be on it, and well…you’re not?

And your heart sinks.

And you say….

* * *

Well, 30 years ago–forget that, 3 years ago, if I were blogging then–I would have heard the word of torment, the word of the accuser of the brethren, the word of demand: MORE.

Blog more, comment more, network more. Get your name out there more.

Demon whispers.

I hear them, I hear them, and as Odysseus poured wax into the ears of his sailors so they’d be proof against the song of the sirens

I pour honey into my ears,

The honey of truth.

* * *

For this is what the Lover of Anita says.

“Who gave human beings their mouths? Is it not I, the LORD? 12 Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.” Exodus 4:11-12

And I still say More, but it is no longer a fist-clenched anxious more.

It’s a hands-open, humble one.

* * *

Help me to follow you more closely, Lord. May my blog develop in tandem with my spiritual life.

More of your spirit, Lord, more of you. Help me believe more deeply for you said:

Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”(John 7:38).

Ah, give me that, Lord. Streams of living water flowing through my blog, flowing to find readers to bless. And if my blog blesses people, well, I guess I don’t deeply care about blog-rolls.

Ah, let me swim, oh Lord, in the waters from your sanctuary. For it is written of the river which flows from your sanctuary: Fruit trees of all kinds will grow on both banks of the river. Their leaves will not wither, nor will their fruit fail. Every month they will bear fruit, because the water from the sanctuary flows to them. Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing.” (Ezekiel 47: 12).

To grow in the waters of Spirit which flow from your sanctuary, and to bear fruit each month, fruit for food and leaves for healing—fruit from the Spirit!! And when you are swimming in the waters which flow from the sanctuary, when the tree of your life grows in it, and bears fruit every month—well then, blogrolls are secondary.

* * *

And I bring you again the two loaves and five fish of my talent. And I see you bless it. And, ouch, I see you break it.

And it doesn’t resemble the way I hoped to write, the way I planned to write, the way I was taught to write, the way I used to write.

And you—YOU distribute the loaves of words which have come from brokenness and quietness, words you have whispered to me in my distress—and seeing them read, I am satisfied.

I smile if I am on a blogroll,

And am content if I am not,

Because hearing, overhearing and recording your whispers, Lord,

That is the greatest work you have ever given me!!

 

 

 

 

“Laying Out”: A Guest Post by Jennie Bishop

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Jennie Bishop, author of
The Princess and the Kiss

 

 
My husband and I are worship leaders—him by position and career, me by example—and thus have come to know the human ego intimately. The best musicians are always those who know how and when to “lay out.” They can step back and let someone else take the solo, or recognize that their particular instrument’s voicing isn’t adding to the song during certain measures.
It’s not always easy to take your hands off a guitar when you’re itching to play a screaming solo, but the results are more satisfying to the audience. All it takes is the willingness to recognize that serving on the worship team is a privilege, not a right. We are instruments of service, and not stars in the making.
I know that I struggle similarly with writing. There have been many times when I haven’t been willing to “lay out.” My identity has been too fiercely tangled with my story making. I published my first compilation on the school ditto machine in sixth grade. I wrote my first (bad) novel in high school. I signed my friends’ yearbooks “Great Author of the Future.”
When I’m not working on a new project, I tend to be anxious. My discipline is worry, and I have a General Anxiety Disorder and medication to prove it. A few years ago, God mercifully exposed my anxiety issues by allowing me into a chaotic, unpredictable life in Orlando. This year He has turned the tables to the extreme by gifting my husband with a wonderful position and our family with a small condo on the beach in Daytona.
You would think life here is idyllic. My writing desk looks right out the window onto the Atlantic. I can count the dolphins or pelicans as they make their way up and down the shoreline. The waves provide a constant, mesmerizing background of music, even worship.
But since October, I’ve barely sat at that desk.
God, in His desire to stretch and form me in yet another direction, made it clear upon my husband’s acceptance of this new position that I was to separate myself from writing for a time to simply be a mother and wife. My tenth grader was making a hard school transition, and my graduate moved home to work and prepare for college. My husband needed my support at home and in his position.
I am aware of the daily need to be willing to scrub floors or sing a solo at a moment’s notice. I concur with Brother Lawrence in the necessity of  practicing the presence of God, in prayer, dish-doing and laundry-folding. But the long season of non-writing became difficult, especially with a finished manuscript on my desk, awaiting a home. I began to ask what all that work had been for. I wondered if I was simply being lazy or my rest was actually a gift of God. I slipped intermittently back into worry, even depression.
One day I discovered a blog from Anita when I was searching for information unpacking the “weaned child” passage in Psalm 131. How I longed to rest this way, satisfied in my Father’s lap, without the anxiety of analyzing every moment of my existence.
Anita’s “Working Restfully” blog spoke deeply to my heart as God assured me, again, that my writing Sabbath was good, that I did not need to push and shove my way into a publishing situation.
* * *
About the same time, Randy asked me to lead a song, one of my favorites, in a coming worship service. I had agreed—until practice, when I tried out the key. I wanted to sing with passion, but instead was distracted by uncomfortable notes in my lower range. I waved the instrumentalists down.
“Um, I think Tiffany should sing these verses,” I suggested. I knew Tiffany had sung the song beautifully at another service when I had been absent.
“But this is your favorite song,” my husband reminded me.
“It is,” I agreed. “But just because it’s my favorite doesn’t mean I’m the best one to sing it. I’m going to lay out.”
Tiffany was delighted, and so was I—the results were so much better. I’ve removed a distraction that would have affected not only me, but possibly our whole congregation. Now the way is open for us all to freely worship.
Godliness with contentment is great gain. This is my quest: not to long for “star quality,” in singing, in writing, in speaking or in homemaking (is that possible?) … but to be fully content to “lay out,” to wait, to relax like a weaned child in my Father’s arms. There is the only place where any lasting satisfaction can really be found. There is the place of constant rest, as I find my identity fully safe and complete in Christ.
                                                                                      ***
Jennie Bishop is the author of the best-selling children’s book, The Princess and the Kiss. She is also the founder of PurityWorks, a not-for-profit that provides resources for the development of good hearts in small children as preparation for them to embrace sexual purity as they grow.

 

First Things First

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 C.S. Lewis  in his essay First and Second Things says, “When first things are put first, second things don’t diminish, they increase.” You can’t get second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first. 

In other words, it’s the counter-intuitive paradox at the heart of the Christianity.
Want success as a blogger or writer? Put God and your duties as wife and mum first; run an orderly home; contribute to the happiness of your husband and children; take responsibility for your physical health, and you are more likely to be able to write and blog at full steam with God’s blessing.
Want friends. Again, put God, and your family first. A sense of peace, order and happiness will pervade your life, and friendships will be easier to form.
It’s the same with money or a career. Put them first, ahead of your spiritual life, health, family and friendships, and you will quite likely jeopardise all of these. But if the foundations are firm, you are free to set about making money with all your imagination and strength—and there are times in life when extra money has to be made!!
“Seek first the kingdom of god, and all these things will be added unto you.”
In other words, First Things First.

Putting second things first is a recipe for disorder in one’s finances, housekeeping, or personal and life organization.
Even in the micro-level of a day by doing our most important tasks first, relative peace and order pervades our life, and we have more mental peace for second things. It is the foundation of successful time-management.
(And as somebody, who is not naturally highly organized and disciplined, I can testify from the experience of failure that this is trueJ)

Forgiveness and Forgetfulness, a guest post by Tanya Marlow

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Forget-me-not
by bill_canada
Last night I told my husband (slightly sheepishly) that I had bought some MORE children’s books.  
I like to buy children’s books and my boy likes to read them. It is not just a purchase, it is an Investment. So I am reasonably sure that although we didn’t discuss this purchase together beforehand (as we are accustomed to doing) that Jon won’t mind. 
“Do you mind?” I asked.
“Well, no – except that – do you remember the discussion we had where I asked you to stop buying books and you agreed?”
My face fell. I had forgotten that conversation.

He was right. We had agreed not to buy any more books just at the moment. After the last belletristic bundle (Dr Seuss! How can you say no to Dr Seuss?) I had promised to restrain my trigger-happy internet-purchasing finger. I had promised – and then I had forgotten. 

He smiled. (I think, deep down, he agrees that they are an Investment).

We are a forgetful people.

*********


The Israelites hated their slavery in Egypt, but they had forgotten that by the time they reached the desert. “At least in Egypt we had meat!” they complained.  Already they had devalued their freedom.

Peter denied Jesus three times, and then wept when the cockerel crowed. He had forgotten the loyalty he had sworn just hours before.

In the time of the Judges they forgot about the Lord, and served other Gods.  God executed judgement; they remembered. Then they forgot that they had forgotten, and did it all again.

We are a forgetful people. 


******** 

Every time I write in my spiritual journal I find I am writing the same things again and again. Why have I not learnt this lesson?  Why do I always fall into the same sin, the same patterns? 
I wonder if I am the only one who always seems to return to the same place with God, repenting of  those same sins I was battling a year before.

We are a forgetful people.

 ******** 
I watch my boy playing in the kitchen.  He opens the cupboard, and I am poised, rebuke at the ready.  He looks at the cupboard, looks at me; his eyes glinting with defiance and hope.  I return his gaze with steadfastness and warning. Then he reaches a hand in –
“No, darling. You’re not allowed to touch.”

He closes the door and plays elsewhere.  Two minutes later he returns; opens the cupboard, reaches inside.
“No darling – what did Mummy say?”

I don’t get too cross. We are a forgetful people.  

******** 
So much of my sin is tied up in forgetting; forgetting who God is, what He has done for me, who I am before Him. I forget His nature, His goodness, His commands. I forget my vows, my resolutions, my debt of gratitude.  I forget the break-through revelation I had last month, the one that would make all the difference to my spiritual discipline and restore my enthusiasm and fervour. I forget the sermon that I heard this morning. 
I am grateful for the repetition of the Bible.  I need to hear the consistent cadence of fall, grace, atonement, redemption that recurs throughout the symphony of His revelation, reiterating time and again the promises of a generous God.   
I am glad that I have a God who remembers.  I am glad that I have a God who reminds me. 
But I am also glad, that for some things, I have a God who forgets:

“For I will forgive their wickedness
and will remember their sins no more” (Jer 31:34)

For those days when I am more aware than usual of my wickedness, my fallenness, my foolishness, it is a relief to know that God is not sitting keeping score of my failures.  He has promised to forgive them and wipe them out.  He has forgotten them.

We are a forgetful people. We need a forgetful God. 

Over to you: 
 – What are the ways that you see sin and forgetfulness intertwined in your life? 
 – What things help you to remember God’s character?
*******


Tanya Marlow

Tanya Marlow is passionate about teaching the Bible, answering tricky questions of faith and training others to do this.  In the past she has done this in student and church ministry and as Associate Director of the Peninsula Gospel Partnership (PGP) Bible training course. Right now she does it by reading Bible stories to her toddler, as she learns what it means to be a stay-at-home mum who is also housebound with severe M.E. Her blog is called Thorns and Gold: on the Bible, illness, emotions, life. 

From Fatness to Fitness: Doug Black shares his inspiring story (Guest Post)

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It finally hit me one night after the youth ministry we were in charge of. I was about to put my fist through the wall.
You see, we were having a couple major changes in our lives. My beautiful wife and I were expecting our first child. The company we worked at was about to be sold to the biggest hospital in the area, bringing us from a small company of 100 to 7000. We were struggling with figuring out if we could go to one income and make life work. The church we were leading at was struggling, and I had just heard about a student who was leaving home to move in with her boyfriend who she was newly impregnated by.
It was either me or the wall. Gladly, I decided on me.
You see, I have been avoiding getting fit for a long time. I had tried running in college a little bit, but was bored to death. Rather than work out when I got married, I decided to eat emotionally. It was my one of my only outlets in full-time ministry, as well as when I went bivocational (working full-time and doing ministry “part-time”). I have given up exercise in favor of video games and work.
In fact, I had never been health conscious. My family never worked out, or pushed me toward sports. I did ten push-ups as a punishment in 5th grade, but couldn’t do one today. I became a “Fast Food-ie”, and could tell anyone the location of the nearest fast food chain of their choice (on multiple occasions, we drove 2 hours to a White Castle).
But it was time for me to die. At least, a big, tubby part of me.
I had to change. For my own mental health. For my family. For my soon-to-be-born baby. For my ministry. To glorify God with my body. And this Wednesday night was the straw that broke the camels back.
I got up the next morning, weighed in at 255 lbs, and ran two miles. Did I say ran? What I meant was crawled, huffing and puffing, and dying.
Then, my affluent landlord put out two weight benches for the trash. I said, “Thanks for the heads-up God”. I quickly snatched them off the street, and guessed at how to rebuild them from scratch. I then researched like crazy on every muscle group and lifting exercise to work them.
Slowly but surely, the muscle started showing, the fat started going. Three years down. 75 pounds gone. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m honoring God with my body. I decided to eat more vegetables, yogurt, healthy food options.Rather than taking anger out on others, I take it out on my heavy bag. I could do a push-up, and even more than one! I started pull-ups, and sit-ups, and strange combinations of them all. I can enjoy running with my daughter (though, for a 3 year old, she’s surprisingly faster than me).
I feel like I took my life back.
So, there have been some crazy lessons I had to learn on the way:
1) Exercise Is Terrible (At First): The first couple weeks of exercise was awful. My running was belabored at best. My push-ups were on my knees. My weightlifting was light. BUT, it gets better…if you keep going. You may even *gasp* enjoy it someday.
2) Find Something You Like To Do: Part of the reason I never wanted to exercise was that I hated everything I did. I have a pretty bad case of ADD on top of it, so I get bored very easily. So, whenever I get bored, I change up the routine. I learned quick that the more fun you are having, the further you go. So find a partner. Take up a sport. Do Zumba. MMA.
3) Set Fun Goals: Do an adventure race. Set a rep-number goal. Win a championship. Aim for the most fun thing imaginable, and enjoy as many steps as you can along the way. My current goal is to enter the 2013 Crossfit games; let the training begin!

 Doug Black is a Christ follower, family man, simple church planter, mental health case management supervisor, and CrossFit enthusiast. Follow him on Twitter @dougblackjr

Turning a grey plot into wild spirals of colour

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When the stream of our lives
Seems to vanish into desert sands,
and we wonder if we’ve lost our way,

When between our talent and output,
Between our aspiration and achievement.
Falls the shadow

When we have planted much and finished little
And we wonder if we’ve bequeathed our children
A durable compass for this whirling world.

There is still hope. A lever
Which can reverse things
And revise the plot:

Prayer which can take the story of a life
Which seems hopelessly entangled, contorted
Unpromising and bleak

Oh, and just reverse the whole thing!!
Making it burst into colour,
Twists and turns, whirls and spirals

When we call out to the Lord in our despair
He comes,
Helping us see ourselves

Scouring our spirits with repentance
Filling them with his Spirit
And newness.

New ideas, new vision, new courage,
New hope. Fresh grace, fresh strength,
Fresh fire.
* * *

And again and again, when my life
Seemed stymied, and my dreams
Had crashed, and sadness surrounded me,

When I seemed unable to do the simplest things,
Run an orderly house,
Balance my budget

Or—as now–figure out how to shed weight
And be fitter and stronger
And I cried out to you in my despair,

You came, you came,
Rocking me with tenderness
Bestowing new ideas, new grace!
                          * * *

Oh Lord, we see so little of reality:
We see the caterpillar,
Not the dazzling peacock butterfly,

The acorn, not the oak.
But the puny, drab apple seed
Is never the end of the story.

Help me remember, Lord,
That you take seeds, or 5 loaves and 2 fish
And transform, multiply.

So I give you my puzzlement,
My lack of discipline,
My sadness and frustration with it

Take it, Lord, breathe on it,
Transform it, bring fruitfulness
And beauty from this little seed!!