The Wonder of Waves

I was struck this week by the reality of a perfect designer.

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I spent the last week at the beach in Kiawah Island, South Carolina. A couple of nights ago, I sat on the beach under a perfectly clear night sky. It is almost impossible to describe the beauty of a clear, starry night. The only way I can express it is to say that I get the feeling that the sky is infinitely far away and yet suffocatingly close all at once; like a big, star covered weight which could come looming down any moment.

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With this picture overhead, and the sound of crashing waves in my ears, I was struck by the thought that God designed this. As I began to think about this, I was amazed at the perfection in God's design. Creation seems to be the perfect blend of stability and change, of precision and unpredictability, both calculated and wild. Look at the waves. The tides come in and go out on the same cycle every month, of every year. Yet, it would be impossible to predict when the next wave will crash into the shore, or where, or how high they will climb. All at once the ocean is so systematic, and yet so wild and unpredictable. I think that is what gives it such beauty. (And the fact that it is really big.) 

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Not to be overly melodramatic, but I do wonder if God might intend our lives to mirror creation in this way. The beauty of our life coming in the mix of stability and change, precision and unpredictability, calculated and wild.  In all of this our role to only marvel in faith as he unfolds his design. 

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I think sometimes I forget my place. Who am I to question such a perfect designer? What knowledge do I have that he may not have discovered? Or what scenario have I thought of that he might have overlooked? So often I make plans, dream dreams, and worry, all the while forgetting my place, and forgetting the power of God. He is good and he is mighty. It is not my place to worry, to complain. Remembering the design of the waves and the grandeur of the ocean makes my thoughts and feelings seem suddenly very insignificant. There is freedom in this kind of smallness, and real joy and adventure in the marvel of God's design. 

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Management Material

I am currently reading Celebration of Discipline by Richard J. Foster. From it comes the following quote, which tore right into the core of me,

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"If we are to progress in the spiritual walk so that the Disciplines are a blessing and not a curse, we must come to the place in our lives where we can lay down the everlasting burden of always needing to manage others."

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Over this holiday season, it has become increasingly apparent to me how often I feel the divine duty of correcting, informing, and educating all of humanity in regard to everything good and proper, whether I know what I am talking about or not. This quote hit the nail on the head when it comes to my heart. So much of the frustration and conflict I deal with is as a result of this mentality, which is completely false, and essentially places myself as God over those around me. This is a burden which can quickly suck freedom and joy out of life.

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Through long thought and contemplation I have come to the following conclusion,

I am not management material.

Cheese Sandwiches and Cherity

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After a very long football game, this evening i found myself craving some late night dinner. I knew of course that being very late , food was probably not a wise decision, but i was hungry.

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There was a homeless man who stood in front of the Steak N Shake on West Paces Ferry. From apperance, he probably was not allowed into the restaurant. He stood on the corner waiting for people to exit or enter, clearly in the hope that one of these patrons might throw a few coins his way. I will say this, he was one of the least intrusive beggars I have ever seen. He said very little, and rarely even made eye contact with those who passed by. He simply rocked back and forth as he listened to the old and worn headphones that were on his head. He was wearing a striped shirt and sweatpants that were worn high with the shirt tucked into them. I initially paid him little attention, but as I waited at the drive-through I began to notice him. I noticed how oddly he rocked back and forth, and occasionally even broke all the way down into his own shuffling dance. As I waited for my food, I soon realized that I was about to have to drive directly past him, and had no cash, and would have to look at him and give him nothing.

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I waved these feelings and went back to my music. As I reached the window, I paid, and then the drive-thru worker asked if i would pull to the corner (mind you the same corner with the forementioned vangrant), and wait there so they could bring my chicken fingers out to me. The man did not approach my car or inconvenience me in any way. In fact, he shrunk back to the recesses of the store wall as I pulled up next to his spot. That was the worst part. My heart was doomed to care.

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All I had was a credit card though, right? What could I do? As I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought I would just have to not worry about it, but then this thought occured to me: I could buy him food. I may not have cash, but I can buy food. Feeling the tug of my conscience, I pulled back in, and walked up to the man.

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When I asked him if I could buy him a burger, he murmured a cheese sandwich. I asked him if he would like french fries, and he told me just a couple cheese sandwiches if I didnt mind. I went in and bought two grilled cheese sandwiches, and brought these out to the man. He barely looked up from the sidewalk, as he thanked me, and I went on my way.

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Why this story? It is not to pat myself on the back or boast of my great generosity. I bought 2 grilled cheese sandwiches. I did not solve world hunger. But my entire evening was changed by this man. I had previously been out of sorts. I had been in a very self-indulging and very unsatisfied mood when I came to Steak N Shake, but when I left that man, I left feeling completely in touch with the Spirit again. My heart broke as I left the parking lot. In my rear view mirror, I saw him open the bag and unwrap his sandwich. He took off the paper as a mother does when she is trying to save the wrapping paper of a gift. He held it in his hands so carefully, like a treasure. So often, I don't even notice, or will not let myself notice the beggars. Across the parking lot, students were laughing while they hung around their cars. They were only 20 feet away at most, and yet it was as if he wasnt there. I am not blaming them. I do understand. My heart just broke for him. Not only because he had so little, but also because he was noticed so little. So often we miss the person. I wonder when was the last time someone shook his hand?

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All this to say. God has so much more for us than our efforts to stay fat and happy and admired. Cherity is such a beautiful thing. We were created to give, because that is our nature. It is the nature of our Father. I just wonder how the world would be different if I gave everyone a cheese sandwich, and I wonder how my life might be different.

I am Ozymandias

For my first post on the new blog: a Poem I was very suprised to hear Dr. Al Mohler who spoke at Church of the Apostles reference this poem on sunday. It is one of my favorites, and I hadnt read it in a while.

Ozymandias

By: P.B. Shelley

December 1817

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I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand

Half=sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wrexk, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

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The poem describes two legs that are left from a statue of a king, who had written on his statue that he is the king of kings. The irony is that this is all that remains. Just ruins from the mighty ruler. The poem was written about the remnants of the statue of Ramses II that are in a museum in England.

Sometimes I feel like I try and work so hard to prove that I am something special, I have worth. Look at me. The irony is that at the end of my labor, all that is left is the sign i made, "I did great things" and it sits among ruin.

There is great freedom in becoming less, and God becoming more.