Today’s revelation: had I gone to a regular high school, I’d be attending my 10-year reunion this year.

It’s funny pondering how my life now compares to the expectations I held back then. You know, the elaborate life goals you write about in your college essays with all the wisdom and foresight of a 17-year-old.

The exact details of the fanciful career path I imagined for myself I can’t remember, but back then I figured that in 10 years I’d have settled down — some kind of stable job or a family or whatever else adults have. I didn’t expect that I’d feel more unsettled now than I ever have been — and be ok with that.

On one hand, there’s an inherent unsettledness in my line of work. The freelance career could be called an endless transition. I love what I do, but with independence and variety comes instability. One day you hit the bottomless pocket corporate gig jackpot and start thinking steak for dinner. Then the next day half your students quit . . . ok, so water tastes better from a wineglass.

Lately, though, I’ve been thinking more about another kind of unsettledness — the kind that accompanies spiritual growth.

Last week, I had a brief (non-music-related) conversation with a friend that left me thinking, “Am I willing to give this up?”

“This” being the life I know now — family, church, friends, career, community, dreams.

Which is really asking, “Am I really thankful for God? Or am I just thankful for His gifts? Am I willing to let God unsettle me from all that I know, trusting that He is sufficient?” The implications of these questions make me uncomfortable; because as much as I say God’s driving my life, often I want to hold the map and give directions.

The Christian life is full of paradoxes. One is that the more we become settled in who God is — the more we trust Him with every aspect of ourselves and realize He is who He says He is — the more unsettledness we can handle in life.

Oswald Chambers calls this “gracious uncertainty”:

“Certainty is the mark of the common-sense life: gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, we do not know what a day may bring forth. This is generally said with a sigh of sadness, it should be rather an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God. Immediately we abandon to God, and do the duty that lies nearest, He packs our life with surprises all the time . . .

If we are only certain in our beliefs, we get dignified and severe and have the ban of finality about our views; but when we are rightly related to God, life is full of spontaneous, joyful uncertainty and expectancy.”

Who knows what the next ten years will bring. I’ll keep planning and dreaming and moving along; but I pray that as each year passes I’ll feel more unsettled than ever before.

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This sermon on Mark 10:45 gave me a new, mind-blowing perspective on this verse. An excerpt:

“Every time Jesus commands something for us to do, it is his way of telling us how he wants to serve us. Let me say it another way: The path of obedience is the place where Christ meets us as our servant to carry our burdens and give us his power. When you become a Christian — a disciple of Jesus — you do not become his helper. He becomes your helper. You do not become his benefactor. He becomes your benefactor. You do not become his servant. He becomes your servant. Jesus does not need your help; he commands your obedience and offers his help.

This is why becoming a Christian is a humbling thing. We admit that we need help. And we turn to Christ and say, “I can’t be or do what I know I am supposed to be and do. I am desperate. I need something way beyond what is inside of me or in any other ordinary person. I need you. I turn to you. I have nothing to offer in trade or purchase. I trust you to show me mercy. I trust you to be my servant.”

When we do that, when we submit to him in that way, Christ becomes our servant. And when he does, all of his other radical commands are no longer things we do for him, but things he enables us to do for others. The Christian life is a life of serving others in the strength that he supplies as our servant. It is loving others with the love he gives us as our servant. It is sacrificing and suffering with the hope and joy and patience that he gives us as our servant.

Christian living is walking in the shadow of our servant King. It is making sure that we stay in the path where he loves to serve his people — the path of faith and love.”

- John Piper (source)

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All my life long I had panted for a drink from some cool spring
That I hoped would quench the burning of the thirst I felt within
Hallelujah! He has found me, the One my soul so long has craved!
Jesus satisfies all my longings, through his blood I now am saved

Feeding on the filth around me, ‘till my strength was almost gone
Longed my soul for something better, only still to hunger on
Hallelujah! He has found me, the One my soul so long has craved!
Jesus satisfies all my longings, through his blood I now am saved

Poor I was and sought for riches, something that would satisfy
But the dust I gathered ‘round me only mocked my soul’s sad cry
Hallelujah! He has found me, the One my soul so long has craved!
Jesus satisfies all my longings, through his blood I now am saved

Well of water ever springing, Bread of Life so rich and free
Untold wealth that never faileth, my Redeemer is to me
Hallelujah! He has found me, the One my soul so long has craved!
Jesus satisfies all my longings, through his blood I now am saved

- Clara T. Williams

This past weekend I saw a girl take a tumble at the top of Rattlesnake Ridge. She was trying to hop from one rock slab to another, but hit her foot and fell backwards through the crack — straight down 10-15 feet.

“Oh dear God, she’s dead,” was the first thought that flashed through my mind. But a few seconds later her desperate scream for help rang through the air; and in that moment I was reminded that one can feel relieved and terrified at the same time.

One of my friends, along with a few other guys from other hiking groups, climbed down to help. Another friend, who had just been wondering why he’d bothered to bring his phone along, called the accident in and kept in contact with emergency services throughout the rescue. Many of the witnesses, including myself, were in constant prayer (the girl was with a group from a local Christian college). Within the hour, she was hoisted to safety — bruised and shaken up, but no visible major physical injuries.

I know God is merciful all the time . . . but there are days when you get to see it in high definition, you know?

Reflecting on the incident, I was reminded of a Psalm in which David compares his own trials to being “in the pit” and recounts God’s mercy in rescuing him from destruction:

I waited patiently for the LORD;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear
And will trust in the LORD.

Psalm 40:1-3 (ESV)

Since the beginning of the year I’ve attempted to be more vocal about praising God for His everyday mercies. I know that as a Christian, my heart should constantly be filled with gratitude. And making a habit of verbally recognizing God’s hand at work goes a long way towards cultivating this attitude.

But this Psalm reminded me that what I also need is more desperation in my life. No, I’m not planning an extreme-sports binge or general reckless living. But I do need to spend more time reflecting on how much I deeply and desperately need a Savior.

The amount of gratitude we feel is directly proportional to how much we think we need grace. If someone does something for me but in my mind I think, “I really didn’t need their help,” I can smile and say “thanks” without feeling an ounce of gratitude.

But if I recognize that I’m that girl in the pit, helpless and completely terrified, and that someone has come to pull me out — not only will I feel immensely grateful, but I will not be able to keep from singing the praises of my rescuer.

And isn’t it interesting how God uses our desperation to ultimately draw others to Himself? Honesty to ourselves and others about both the depth of our needs failings and the ongoing faithfulness of our Savior works as a powerful means of personal evangelism.

The songs of the redeemed are indeed beautiful.

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“Should we not remind ourselves that worship is a TRANSITIVE verb? We do not meet to worship (i.e. to experience worship): we aim to worship GOD. “Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only”: there is the heart of the matter. In this area, one must not confuse what is central with byproducts. If you seek peace, you will not find it; if you seek Christ, you will find peace. If you seek joy, you will not find it; if you seek Christ, you will find joy. If you seek holiness, you will not find it; if you seek Christ, you will find holiness. If you seek experiences of worship, you will not find them; if you worship the living God, you will experience something of what is reflected in the Psalms. Worship is a transitive verb, and the most important thing about it is the direct object.”

- D.A. Carson, Worship: Adoration and Action

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The other day a friend asked me what I look for when listening to new music. I guess I am first affected by a song’s overall atmosphere, not the words. I appreciate a well-written lyric, but generally don’t listen to them too closely unless I like the sound of a song. However, if I do decide I like the flavor of an artist, I’m motivated to dig into the words — which, with the best musicians, enhances the enjoyment.

Doug Burr is an example of an artist whose compelling sound demanded that I pay lyrical attention. This Denton singer-songwriter has several full-length albums to his credit, though I just recently discovered him via his newest offering Trembling Lips and Pale Fingertips. The tracks on this release are “stripped down” remixes from his 2010 album O Ye Devastator (currently on repeat via Spotify). Here’s A Black Wave is Comin’:

A black wave is comin’
A black wave will fall
Touch your tremblin’ lips to your pale fingertips
A black wave doth call

So what do you see my lover
And what do you see my friend
I don’t know, I don’t know at Midnight comes a snow
I can’t see, but I hear a little hymn
I can’t see, but I hear a little hymn

Though I’m still a newcomer to Burr’s music, so far I’ve been impressed with his ability to immediately create this sense of yearning — a dark beauty, if you will. I guess I’ve always been particularly drawn to that flavor of music — the kind that makes you more aware of the beauty around you, but also hints that the best to come is not yet here.

In a 2010 interview with Paste Magazine, Burr — the son of a Southern Baptist preacher — commented, “I do kind of struggle with having a dark outlook. I’m a believer in Christ, but, y’know, there’s a lot of darkness out there. There’s a lot of darkness to come. I say that knowing that one day I get to live in paradise, so there’s a lot of reason for hope and redemption through Christ, so in one sense it’s a very joyful existence, and there are my circumstances.”

You can hear another track from the new release, Chief of Police in Chicago, here. Also worth checking out: The Shawl (all original musical settings of Psalms), and The Sickle and the Sheaves (a gospel album).

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Seth Godin hits the nail on the head again:

When I played clarinet in high school, I never practiced. I blamed it on my dog, who howled, but basically I was a lousy music student.

At my weekly lesson, though, the teacher would scold me, guessing that I’d only practiced three or four hours the week before. I was so good at sight reading that while I was truly mediocre at the clarinet, I was way better than anyone who had never practiced had any right to be.

We often test sight reading skills, particularly in job interviews. In that highly-charged encounter, we test the applicant’s ability to think on her feet. That’s a great idea if the job involves a lot of feet thinking, but otherwise, you’re inspecting for the wrong thing, aren’t you? Same with a first date. Marketing yourself to a new person often involves being charismatic, clever and quick–but most jobs and most relationships are about being consistent, persistent and brave, no?

Neither sight-reading nor thinking on my feet comes very naturally to me, but I would add one thing. Both are important skills and can be improved by practice — which goes back to being consistent, persistent, and brave.

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“Worship is not only expressive, it is also formative. It is not only how we express our devotion to God, it is also how the Spirit shapes and forms us to bear God’s image to the world. This is why the form of worship needs to be intentional: worship isn’t just something that we do; it does something to us. And this is why worship in a congregational setting is a communal practice of a congregation by which the Spirit grabs hold of us. How we worship shapes us, and how we worship collectively is an important way of learning to be the body of Christ.”

- James K.A. Smith (source)

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“The aim of Ash Wednesday worship is threefold: to meditate on our mortality, sinfulness, and need of a savior; to renew our commitment to daily repentance in the Lenten season and in all of life; and to remember with confidence and gratitude that Christ has conquered death and sin. Ash Wednesday worship, then, is filled with gospel truth. It is a witness to the power and beauty of our union with Christ and to the daily dying and rising with Christ that this entails.”

- The Worship Sourcebook

For some excellent meditative music for this season, I recommend the beautiful album Fragments of Grace by City Hymns (also available via Spotify).

Today I am especially appreciating the lyrics for How Long, O Lord (Track 8):

How long, O Lord, shall I complain like one that seeks his God in vain?
Canst thou thy face forever hide, and I still pray and be denied?

But I have trusted in thy grace, and shall again behold thy face

Shall I forever be forgot, as one whom thou regardest not?
Still shall my soul thy absence mourn, and still despair of thy return?

How long shall my poor troubled breast Be with these anxious thoughts oppressed? And Satan, my malicious foe,Rejoice to see me sunk so low?

Whate’er my fears or foes suggest, thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
My heart shall feel thy love, and raise my cheerful voice to songs of praise.

But I have trusted in thy grace, and shall again behold thy face.

For more on Ash Wednesday, see last year’s post.

“The knowledge of Christ is profound and large; all other sciences are but shadows; this is a boundless, bottomless ocean. Though something of Christ be unfolded in one age, and something in another, yet eternity itself cannot fully unfold him. There be many excellent things in Christ, that the most eagle-eyed believer has not yet seen . . .

Take heed that you rest not satisfied with that knowledge of Christ you have attained, but grow on towards perfection. It is the sin, even of the best of saints, when they see how deep the knowledge of Christ lies, and what pains they must take to dig for it, to throw aside the shovel of duty, and cry, ‘Dig, we cannot.’

To your work, Christians, to your work; let not your candle go out: devote yourselves to this study, count all but dross in comparison of that excellency which is in the knowledge of Jesus Christ.”

- John Flavel, The Fountain of Life

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