Body breakdown.

You are an evil parasite. You think "I really hate this guy, so I want to infect him with my deadly disease (insert disease of choice)" and so you do. You hop on a park bench and wait for that perfect moment.
Today is your lucky day. It's your day for a perfect moment.
He sit down, puts his hand on the back of the bench, then rubs his eye.
*SNAP!* You're in.

Instantly you think small thoughts and are absorbed by the mucous membrane tissue of the eye and soon you find yourself in the nearest open section of tissue getting set to infect it thoroughly and as you begin your devious work--a threat looms.

You have been seen by a macrophage, the Sentinel of the human body tissues. When macrophages don't live in tissues they're called "phagocytes." Your eyes glint in anger as you let out a roar of dismay, infuriated that your plans have been thwarted. Then without warning, the small figure of an antibody attaches itself to you and sounds the alarm.

The immune system of the human host you're invading is immediately activated. All is lost.
In just a matter of moments phagocytes (or macrophages) descend on you and begin their process to entirely eliminate you. The first phagocyte to reach you wastes no time: he attaches you to himself and immediately ingests you into a bubble-like organelle (tiny organism) called a phagosome.

Once you've been entirely soaked up by him, a lysosome joins him and says "here, you need this" then in a move that makes short work of you, shoots you full of enzymes. You are helpless as you are digested by a team of organisms that just joined together to become a phagolysosome in order to destroy you. That lysosome, where did he come from? The endoplasmic reticulum (a part of a cell) created him just for that purpose. To join alongside the phagocyte and help him destroy you, the evil foreign invasion forces of disease that doesn't belong.
Within minutes you are not only destroyed, but you're also no more than an afterthought as your microbial remains are eliminated from the tissue Sentinel in a process called egestion.

Not stopping here, the phagocyte alerts the rest of the body by sending out a warning signal through antigenic determinants, a display that is shown on the phagocyte like a bright flag to alert the entire immune system as if to say "wake up! We're being invaded!"

The next morning the human body has changed from the day before--it feels like he has a cold, his throat is sore, and his right eye burns warmly. That burning sensation in his eye is called inflammation: it activates the immune system, sets the body in motion to repair itself in that area, and encourages any phagocytes in the area to come and destroy any microorganisms present.

Even before that human body goes to the doctor's to find out that he has "pink eye" or conjunctivitis, the body is hard at work destroying any of the bacteria that could left in the area and protecting the eye from any harm.

A macrophage destroying a bacteria.

That, right there.

In a CNN Money news article summarizing her research results on the "World's top business professors under 40" Andrea Carter quotes Justine Lelchuk, a second-year MBA candidate at Harvard business school and co-president of the school's Student Association: 

"A master business school professor," she says, "is someone who is a dynamic facilitator, clear communicator, active listener, passionate expert, provocative motivator, bridge between theory and practice, and just plain human." 

Maybe I never darken the classroom door of another business class, but I want every single one of those personality traits. 

Single-celled Boats

While taking notes studying for my microbiology class, I came across something that struck me as particularly incredible.
Protozoa: belong in a grouping of eukaryotic unicellular heterotrophic protists, such as an amoeba or ciliate. They exist through aqueous environments and soil, occupying various trophic levels.
Huh?


How about this. Protozoa consist of a single cell that spend their lives in a membrane and have no nucleus.
Heterotroph means...well, let's put it this way. 95% of all living organisms are heterotrophic. No more explanation necessary. They love living in watery areas as well as underground...and I am a huge fan of them.


There are four major ways that protozoa get around (called locomotion), and it is one of these that caught my attention and left me in awe of a very, very creative God.

Ciliary locomotion:


Cilia operate with a unilateral beat lying in a single plane.
(They are lying flat and one whole side moves at a time.)


As cilium moves backward it is almost rigid; upon recovery it becomes flexible and the tip appears to be dragged along the body of the organism.
(The little hairs on the sides of the organism row.)


Cilia either completely cover or are in bands or clumps, so they must be closely coordinated with the movements of all other cilia.
(The little hairs are so close together that to move at all they must move all together, otherwise no movement is possible.)


Coordination is achieved through metachronal rhythm in which a wave of simultaneously beating clumps of cilia moves from the anterior to the posterior end of the organism.
(Together in waves of movement identical to that of oars on a boat, the organism is propelled forward.)


In addition to avoiding interference between adjacent cilia, the metachronal wave also produces forward locomotion because there are always groups of cilia beating backward. 
(The metachronal wave doesn't just keep everything in timing so that the oars don't hit each other, it also keeps the organism moving forward.)


Because the plane of the ciliary beat is diagonal to the longitudinal axis of the body, ciliate organisms rotate during locomotion.
(The waves of motion travel against the direction of the beat so that during the effective stroke, the cilia are all spread out, making each individual stroke maximally effective.)
The propelling power is produced not by the individual strokes of each cilia, but by the backward migration of the whole wave, acting on the principle of the Archimedean endless screw. International Review of Cytology

Ephesians 2:10 "For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."


Isaiah 40:25 ""To whom will you compare me? Who is my equal?" asks the Holy One."

Growing Need

As I follow what most Americans are calling "the events unfolding in the Middle East" or Egypt, its pretty incredible to try and understand the value and severity of what's going on. 
Most of us here in the United States live camel-free, unless you smoke. We buy our groceries in packages, talk politics every few years then vote or don't vote, but we watch our very fluid world change often. We watch films like "V for Vendetta" and fall in love with the hero/protagonist as he says lines like "a government should be afraid of it's people, not people afraid of their government" and we nod, its a true statement.
Winston Churchill said "Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe.  No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise.  Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except all those others that have been tried from time to time." His point being mankind is not satisfied, not good, and there is no perfect or even close to perfect system. In Tunisia several weeks ago a man set himself on fire and died in protest of having to have a permit to sell his groceries on a cart in the street. He felt that the permit prices and need for one in the first place was oppression, so he killed himself and the world took notice. Several days later the same thing had happened a half-dozen times in Tunisia, Algeria Yemen, and had begun to catch on. Then without much warning at all, Egypt awakened. The people poured onto the streets shouting "ALLAHU ACKBAR" in numbers so great that the local police in Cairo, Alexandria and Suez soon gave up and abandoned their positions and left. 
The people who had been protesting the corruption of their government for the last thirty years, the economic recession that had caused food to become so expensive and the lack of honest law-upholding turned on their purpose viciously in the unavoidable rip-tide current of huge mobs. Mankind cannot escape from themselves, much like the worst thing that can happen to a gambler is that he wins or continues to win until he loses everything, then the same is for humanity and mobbing. 
The worst will always happen in a mob unless it is controlled because the value of human life is lost in the sheer numbers, and man is not naturally good, so when he is allowed to be himself free and unstoppable, he is apart from the law and no longer free in it, ruled by himself. The very things Egypt began protesting became themselves. In acts of aggression and independence from the government they looted police stations and stores. 
They broke curfew by the tens of thousands, stopped all production and demanded change. A week later the country is running out of food, an unavoidable point in the natural cycle of not working. The death toll is around two hundred and many, many people are hurting.
"As curfew kicks in, young men carry sticks, swords, machetes, meat cleavers, axes -- anything they can find to arm themselves."
The world needs Jesus.


Luke 22:44 "And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground" 


1 Timothy 2:1-4 "First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thankgivings be made for all men, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life, godly and respectful in every way. This is good and it is acceptable in the sight of God our Savior who desires all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth."


Muslim Brotherhood

The Tech Offensive

Lack of Food

Taking Up Household Weapons


---

'Cross Country

2,500 miles in four days. I had four days of driving, just driving. Newly engaged and only having returned from China a week previously, it would be a great chance to have some time with myself and God as I processed the trip and this next step in life. Detouring slightly after I picked up the van in Queens, New York I quickly became distracted by a tall green lady. It was my first time seeing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island both. Humbly I walked through the echoing halls and stared at pictures and monuments of people both lifetimes and worlds away from how I live. With rarely anything to eat they worked for little pay and brought home nothing most days. No stopping by the grocery store; there wasn't much there and if there was something to buy they didn't have enough money. Taken advantage of, lied to and mistreated daily by the citizens and government of this bright new land they struggled.
I left Ellis Island with my heart heavy and marveling at how much progress we've made since then, how far we've really come.

And then I drove. Drove and drove and drove. The miles crawled underneath the 2005 Toyota Sierra and snowy New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Ohio crawled by. Often I breathed in deep the warm air in the enclosed cell of protection the van I was driving provided. I have so much to be thankful for, my life is truly blessed and I am amazed at where God has brought me. The hours crept by as I refilled the tank at $3.11 per gallon, then again at $3.19. Then I began to become distracted.
The boredom set in.
I took up the absent-minded pastime of reading billboards as they passed. I stopped seeing the scenery, stopped thinking about my life and began listening to the radio. The stations began to change every hour or two as I drove out of their range and had to find another one that fit my taste at the moment. NPR talk radio, modern rock and Christian worship music all found their way into my little enclosed space of warm 72 degree temperature that was carrying me across the country. I noticed that I paid attention to what was outside less and more what was being said or sung.
Then when I drove into Wyoming I began to notice that I had no idea what was around me. I was paying attention only to the snow blowing across the road, my GPS and the billboards as they passed.

Granted, it was important that I focus on driving, but I can drive and still think. I had over the past few days slowly pushed things aside, pushed my heart aside, and was no longer thinking deeply. No longer talking with God. No longer listening. I was only driving.
Joel Belz, Editor in Chief of World magazine said in one of his articles (and I quote him loosely as I can no longer find what he wrote) "the tragedy of Darwinism is not what it has meant to the science of Creationism, that is only a distraction, a miniscule part of what has occurred. What is truly tragic is the naturalism that our culture has adopted. We no longer allow for the supernatural and have decided that only the natural can explain life, only the natural can take place. God is not challenged; instead, and I would argue worse, he is pushed aside and forgotten."
With each passing sign I read I thought "what a lame idea for a casino" or "that makes me hungry" or "a waterslide? I remember the waterpark growing up!" and while none of it at any point was offensive or a challenge to God, slowly I stopped paying attention to the beauty that surrounded me. Slowly I stopped conversing with him when I had thought previously "this is going to be an incredible few days to set aside to spend with him" and allowed myself to drift away quietly. The Coca-Cola signs made me thirsty instead of me looking right past them at the beautiful frozen lakes shining in the white snowy light. The hotels offering warm beds and sweet meal deals made me hungry instead of me seeing the jagged cliffs of incredible danger and awe behind the advertisements.

Proverbs 3:19 attests to what he has done: "The Lord by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens; by his knowledge the deeps broke open, and the clouds drop down the dew."
That is what slowly slipped by my window as I drove.

Isaiah 33:5 "The Lord is exalted, for he dwells on high; he will fill Zion with justice and righteousness, and he will be the stability of your times, abundance of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge; the fear of the Lord is Zion's treasure."

Psalms 29:2 "Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name; worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness"

Change, please.

I had the privilege of talking with the author Donald Miller earlier this summer after he spoke at a conference I attended in Atlanta, Georgia.

Author of several books including "Blue Like Jazz" which sold over a million copies in the U.S. and appeared on the NY Times bestseller list over 45 times. This particular event was hosted by a group called "Orange" and was dedicated to youth, their education, and the furthering education of their leaders and organizations.

One of the things Don Miller said in his introduction about his life was that growing up fatherless, often angry and without direction, he was first told he should write "almost in passing, by someone that I had silently truly admired." This seemingly random statement wasn't in fact, random. It was carefully thought-out and intentionally expressed to him as a young man because this older man who would later prove to be very, very influential in his life wanted to call out and encourage a very specific gift in Don's life. God used that comment to awaken in Don a passion he never knew existed, and he began writing, writing, writing.

As I listened to Don speak, my mind whirred, soared through valleys and over mountains of ideas, young men I could encourage, people who had done this for me, and my thoughts were the equivalent of absolute haywire.

However, none of the above is the direction that I'm going in now. As the months passed, so did the vibrant colors and bright hues of the statement Mr. Miller had shared with me--but the statement itself has remained rooted firmly in my heart.

On our way back from spending an afternoon lunch of chili, cornbread and Christmas cookies with my lovely girlfriend's grandparents, she and one of two friends crashed out in the passenger and back seat of the huge, comfortable Oldsmobile during the 45 minute drive back to campus. It was just before finals week, and the effects of day upon day of cramming had taken it's toll, they were out. The second of my beautiful girls' other friends and I quietly talked most of the way home. Both of us quite verbal, it was no problem at all filling the miles and the minutes with topic after topic. God, school, our relationships, the future, where we were from, and cultural differences and other current events in our lives. Lightly we flew over every topic, conversationally sharing but not diving too deep into any one subject. When I asked her about what her fiancé was interested in doing after he graduated from school with his Undergrad degree in Cinematography, she said

"you know what I'd really like? It would be amazing to do documentaries that expose social injustices. I would love to do that for the rest of my life. I would write them, he could film them, and we would make a difference."

Her heart was to serve, love, and make a change. But taking this one part of what ended up to be a much more involved conversation aside, something...falls short.

---

What intrinsic value is there in telling a true story about something horrible happening to evoke a response or reaction if there is no change to come from it?

An injustice being exposed holds no value. "Raising awareness" of something very wrong does nothing--to have knowledge of a subject only brings worth to the person receiving the information. It furthers nothing with the topic or situation.

A hundred thousand people can know about child prostitution and the person who exposed it has still not accomplished anything or done a good of any kind.

---

Hawaii no longer sells bananas agriculturally anywhere in the United States other than in it's own State. The fruit now is imported from "mainly developing countries in Latin America and the Caribbean, as well as in Asia and Africa. (http://www.unctad.org/infocomm/anglais/banana/market.htm)"

Let's project a social injustice on this fact for the sole purpose of giving an example.

You are writing an agricultural column on bananas, and while visiting a plantation in Thailand, you uncover the truth that it is a standard practice in Thailand to hire children to pick the bananas for fourteen hours a day and pay them only seven cents an hour, which is 3% of what could be considered a cultural minimum wage for that country.

To return home and write a story on the child labor that features pictures of their scarred, bloody hands, malnutrition and horrible living conditions would bring to those children no value. It is instead allowing their misfortune and their stories to become an article on a website, a brief insignificant blip in history.

In a few months or a year, maybe even that same reporter who wrote the original piece on them will eat a banana that came from that same plantation.

So what changed?

American companies contract with individual wholesalers overseas to purchase and re-sell their merchandise-- whatever it may be -- here in the States. The purchaser is not forced to buy the bananas picked from the children in Thailand's bloodied hands (which is again, a projected injustice. I have never heard of this happening, and if it does is merely coincidental) we choose to. Our corporations that do the buying and selling of imported goods from places where there are not minimum wage laws, child labor laws, worker safety laws, working condition laws, or places where they exist but are not enforced, can impose them and demand that on the contingency of being purchased, those standards be upheld.

Is it financially wise to make a demand of that severity on the provider of your products? Probably not. Is it ethical? There ARE such things as business ethics, occasionally grey or paradoxical though they may be, they do exist (contrary to popular belief and publication).

What about the consumer, blindly swiping left and right, choosing daily and sometimes hourly between credit and debit, avoiding labels and never glancing twice. With the sheer staggering numbers of imported goods we unknowingly purchase thousands of a year, to research and know the origin of each would be futile.

So what then? What is a realistic solution to an epidemic of blindness that affects nearly every person with an income and purchasing power of any kind, personal or business-related.

There, lying static, inert and lifeless beside the problem, is the solution.

Business ethics.

Creating a documentary to show an injustice does nothing for the now publicized but still just as wrong, wrong. The wrong is no less wrong now that more people are "aware" of it.

In fact, juxtaposing that truth, the wrong if anything else just becomes MORE wrong as the public realizes the origin of their product but does nothing and continues to purchase it which in turn, supports and enables that same injustice. Ethics.

A grey, subjective term, it's application to business is lost in the exchange of dollars and cents, stock options, quotas and somewhere in there the separation of church and state plays a big role: faith is left waiting at home while you go to work.

The ethics of making a decision to enable a wrong to continue are never removed when ignored. Companies have the option to illuminate and bring to the table non-business-related issues and make them a part of their business. Suddenly importing shoes from a manufacturer that uses child labor overseas becomes an issue. The pay scale of workers starts to matter. Change can happen.

Jesus never left the workplace, he hasn't abandoned business ethics, and is still holds the only true defining, deciding truth behind what a "moral" is.

We are not called to bring to light every international evil carried out, but if we do feel led to serve someone by telling their story, highlighting a social injustice, or hold someone/something accountable for a wrong being committed, ask yourself this: what change will come of my sharing of this?

What am I willing to do differently because of this? Is Jesus asking me to become involved and a part of making a difference for these people that I see being hurt or taken advantage of? If none of the above apply, then ask yourself...why tell the story?

How is it different from entertainment?

The heart.

This doesn't mean taking it to the extreme "don't tell any stories unless you can or are willing to do something about it." It does mean to evaluate what you say and why you say it. Too often we lose the value in a story because it becomes the ambient filler of space and time, and our senses of wrong are dulled as we are barraged with emotions and no home for them.

Donald Miller's life was changed because someone followed the lead of the Holy Spirit and became involved in his life.

Don's life was changed.

Changed.

Change did not happen to Don when someone told their family at home about a kid at school with no Dad who wrote so well but didn't know it, or when they blogged about how they admired Don's writing even though he had a rough family life.

Tell stories, tell stories, tell stories. But don't cry wolf and allow them to cushion your conscience as "I can't do anything about that" becomes a standard lifestyle response.

What CAN you do something about?

What has God called you to become a part of changing?

Unconsciously Filing Away

On a campus of about twelve-hundred undergrad students, he was very likely one of the most aggressive personalities to attend classes. He was just under six feet tall, weighed easily two hundred and sixty pounds, and constantly flipped his hair sideways across his head while he talked--which was often. "Hi there! I don't think I know you. Are you Ricky's brother?"
I smiled. Yes, this time I was. It's nice being recognized that way.
"I could definitely tell. First time I saw you I was like 'ooh' because there was no way you WEREN'T his brother. You two look so very much alike, you could be twins." The words were a highway of speeding tickets and twelve-car pile-ups. Speaking as rapidly as he could, often his words stuttered, bumped into each other, and swelled, tossed by the furious tempest and whirlwind of a mind that tossed his sentences too and fro. Ryan often made eye contact while he spoke, eager, earnest and sincerely seeking affirmation.

"Yep! We've been brothers for twenty years now, it's time we finally got along I think."

"Oh yes, yes, yes. I'm not surprised, you see, Ricky is one of my very good friends here on campus. 'Ryan' he says, 'you are a very easy person to get along with'. And he means it. He definitely means it. I love Ricky. How is that guy? I haven't seen him in so long, we're both so busy...you know. I have two majors and a minor. I used to have three then I dropped one because of health reasons. How is he? How's Ricky?"

Standing there listening to Ryan, I amusedly noticed that he was as close to a grown-up, real-life Piglet as I've ever seen. Belly all tucked in a too-small shirt, words tumbling every which way, and just as sweet as can be, Ryan reminded me so much of the Pooh cartoon character.

"Ricky's good, he's been really busy getting ready for finals."

"Oh, that's good. That's real real good. You know, I am too. My parents sat me down when I graduated high school and said 'Ryan, we want you to get the very best education possible, so we're sending you to JBU. You know, I never would have thought I'd get to come here, but look at me. Here I am, studying for finals. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. My Mom works in a factory down South of here two, almost three hours, my Dad worked at the same place and that's where they met, of course now that he's retired on disability he's been at home ever since, and here I am about to get my degree in May. It's good James, isn't it? It's real, real good.

Ryan was hungry. From the moment we first met until now, I hadn't realized it but he was hungry--hungry for the same exact things I was, the same thing everyone was, but he was actively, honestly and blatantly looking for it.
Humanity is hungry.
We are hungry for affection, hungry for others to know our stories, hungry to share ourselves, be approved, liked, and loved. Ryan simply asked me for it. I'm sure he could be categorized under a psychological evaluation as having Asperger's, or an autism spectrum disorder of some kind, and it would probably be true. But while we were talking I realized that many, many of the things that Ryan said to me or asked of me in that interaction were things I ask silently of my friends, my family, and most people. Ryan and I were in so many ways identical, and yet because he didn't hide it or even seemingly try to hide many of his needs in his social life, it was astonishing how quickly I attempted to put him in box.

1 Timothy 4:16 "Keep a close watch on how you le and your teaching. Stay true to what is right for your own salvation and the salvation of those who hear you."

In a moment of admonishment and startling realization, when I thought I was "reaching out to" Ryan by spending time with him I was in fact making myself into someone I wasn't. His awkward, fast way of talking was who God had made him to be, but it wasn't so different when he asked for my approval. It was a verbalization of what I have done so. many. times.
I look forward to the next time we get to hang out, and maybe I'll get to learn some more from him.

"Did you know that most police officers who have had to deal with a crisis of some kind with there job have experienced varying levels of PTSD? The a-type personalities that are recruited often to fill the roles of those positions tend to stuff their feelings down inside and just try to 'tough it out' when in fact it's been shown that even just three one-hour counseling sessions would dynamically reduce the divorce and domestic violence rate in the country's police force by over thirty percent in the first year?"
Didn't know that.

An Early Start

I walked by the family at the front of the store and subconsciously slowed my step, curious to see what would happen.
Three young children, all varying ages under seven were vying for the attention of their parents and getting nowhere fast. As I got closer it was apparent they'd been ignored for some time, and were getting desperate. Finally the oldest, a boy about five or six, ran up to the cart, jumped up on the side, and straining over the edge of the basket, grabbed a gallon of apple juice and threw it onto the ground.
The DVD kiosk was close by, so I stopped in front of it entirely unwilling to miss out on the events that were unfolding before me. What happened next was astonishing. The boy quickly followed the gallon of juice to the floor and laid down on the big square tiling, his head right next to the purchase. When his Dad leaned over to pick up the juice his son sat up, wrapped his arms around his father's neck and said in his little southern accent "Dad, I need to tell you something. Dana needs a diaper change." The Dad stood up and peeled his son's arms from around him and said "don't you throw anything on the ground or you'll get smacked. Mom'll change her in the car" and he put the juice back in the cart.
Over and over the kids had tried to get their parents' attention. Something was wrong. In their little minds, there were really important matters at hand, an emergency even. But who they were, their size, the usual noise volume they kept at had drowned out the importance of their problems, and completely understandably so. Then, in a moment of brilliance the oldest child did something extreme that he knew would first, get his father's attention, and second, bring his Dad down literally to his level forcing him to have to interact with his son and hear what he had to say, important to him or not.
The son set aside the risk of punishment for what he did because he was looking for the results of his actions, not the cost. He put his toddler sister's needs before himself, laid on the floor, and did what was necessary to make sure she would be taken care of, because in his young mind, he couldn't be certain.
Standing there at the 99 cents a night film rental kiosk, I watched one of the most vivid, astonishing and aggressive displays of leadership I've seen in a long time come from someone four times younger than I am.

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becoming accustomed

I fell asleep the other night only to awake a few hours later--something was crawling on my shoulder. I sat up a little and a spider dashed frantically from my right shoulder, across my bare chest, and off into the heapy pile of sheets I generally sleep next to. Needless to say, I was quite awake. I turned on the lights, stepped on several legos (yes I have legos) and tossed the sheets around a little. If the tiny demon had a heart it was racing as he fled across the bed and leapt...right into my trash can. Triumphant I immediately then and there, took out the trash. 

Having moved rather quickly with barely any notice (just about a month) from Denver to Arkanasas, I find myself approaching old nemeses.
Hello, bad attitude and poor outlook on life. Haven't seen you two in such a blatant, bright light in quite a while.
Who is that at my door but the old feelings of depression and occasional loneliness? I've kept you from visiting me just by sheer busyness these last few years. I thought we'd ended things more permanent than this...
Self-doubt and insecurity? Why are you here?
And the list goes on.
Yeah, why ARE you here?

Arkansas has more spiders than Colorado. While this is an unscientifically founded statement, it sure as heck is true for me. At home in Denver, I'd seen only maybe a dozen spiders over the past few years concluding with the one that ran across me in the middle of the night. Here in Arkansas...nightly I see them every time I set foot outside. There are loads of them during the day scurrying around underfoot and along walls or curb sides, and even more at night. I guess they love to bask in both sunlight and moon glow. It's a little disturbing I guess. But now I'm more used to them. Last night I was talking to my sweet Jessa on the phone and I found myself absentmindedly watching four of them tackle each other, long writhing, spindly legs poking every which way jerkily.
In Denver, a spider was something that caught my attention. I woke up during the night knowing something wasn't right, and it wasn't. There was an intruder, an eight-legged problem that needed to be solved.
Here in Arkansas, I live with them. Maybe it's the lower altitude, the warmer weather, or more friendly humid climate. But they're here, they're everywhere, and it's normal.
What bothered me last night was that many times more of a bigger, uglier, grosser breed of spider was playing in front of me and I was alright with it. The one in Denver was smaller but still pretty big, and it scared the righteous daylight out of me.
I have become okay with living around so many spiders.
And I don't like that.

J.I. Packer wrote "Sin invades the switched-off mind. Jesus said in John 8:12, 'I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'" As I address these things invading the privacy of my world and my mind, I do not ever want to be okay with them. The creeping feeling of eight-legged depression, selfishness, pessimism, self-doubt and so on...I want to never just watch them play on the wall beside me. It isn't about where I live, that's secondary. The world is full of places that have tons of spiders and also have none. I will travel and live where there are plenty or few, and I will live in plenty or few myself. It's about the struggle, and about my decisions.



The average age of a full-term newborn is approximately 7.5 lbs. I've had the opportunity to work with babies  that have only reached 30-31 weeks in the womb. The tiny ones that weigh almost nothing, cannot breathe or eat on their own, and have the tiniest little tubes coming out from their bodies. They simply do not have the bodily coordination to breathe or swallow yet. Heart wrenching, breath-taking, and amazing, it is a physical manifestation in the most literal sense of the "miracle of life." It was over a year ago that I got to work with them and their anxious, hoping, and more than dedicated parents, but something that has stuck with me since then is that those children were fighting. Every day, moment-by-moment, the tiniest human beings on earth fought for the chance to live. We are built with that sense in us from conception, the drive to live and survive.
It makes what I go through each day pale in comparison. It is that encouragement that I found recently.
I was not created a "defeated" person with problems so inset in me that I can be considered just a series of failures. No, I was created with a purpose, created lost so I could be found, and with failures that bring me back to my knees and back to who Jesus is.
Psalms 36: 1-2 warns of what I could be "an oracle is within my heart concerning the sinfulness of the wicked: there is no fear of God before his eyes. For in his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin."
God, please help me to always hate the things in my life that directly go against what you want for me. To never get used to them in my life and make it a normal thing that they bring me down, like I deserve it. Help me be like the neonatal infant baby who doesn't ever stop fighting and doesn't know otherwise. I don't want to eat or breathe on my own.

Hebrews 3: 13 says "Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness and become accustomed to the spiders."

Psalms 32:8 "I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you."

2.Oct.2010

The Captain leaned back against the door frame and he began to explain."I had to leave my job as a Nurse for the prison. I couldn't do it anymore."
My mind leaped ahead as I thought "sure. The prisoners were cold, violent and lied all the time. I can understand that." That wasn't it. What he said would haunt me for a long, long time.

"One day I had a patient kill another patient." The room grew absolutely silent--the Captain was being sincere and vulnerable with us.

"One of my patients told the other one that he was going to kill him. The patient begged and begged the guards to keep him away saying "please, please don't let him in the medical ward. He's going to kill me. He said he's going to kill me." The man came in anyway through the hall that leads to the medical ward which comes right from out there in the yard. You have to be searched to get in, but somehow the man was able to bring in a ten-pound weight and homemade knife. "

The Captain then proceeded to quietly describe the relentlessly cruel, cold, and indisputably most brutally violent murder I'd ever heard of in my life.

"The only way he could have brought that weight in was if one of the guards had let him. That's when I realized that in the future I might one day make someone mad by not giving them a med they ask for and they could just come in and kill me. So I quit my job. But that wasn't what I couldn't reconcile.
The man who killed my patient had consecutive life sentences--he wasn't set to be released until the year three thousand thirty-five. My patient, the one he killed, was an outspoken child molester who was in prison for the fifth time and set to be released in a week. He had told the man "when I get out I'm going to find the first seven year old boy I can and--." That man killed him because he didn't want my patient to ever be released from prison.  "

I sat in silence. This story the Captain told, it had no conclusion. It was...a behemoth that devoured soullessly. Where was the redemption in what happened? Was that justice was served to the man who deserved it? That both men were in the prison system? Did the guards pay the man to carry out the unspeakably horrific act?
I couldn't--I couldn't understand this.

Here was a problem so huge it cannot be fixed. The justice system, Federal employees, murder, evil...it all was too much.
Saturday night I drove. I drove and drove and drove. My mind dogged the subject, at once both exhausted tirelessly. What was the answer? Was there one?
And slowly, slowly the shattered glass began to reflect light.

Everyone on earth knows of The Problem. The problem of humanity, the problem of pain, the problems of evil and sin. Whether or not they choose to believe in how and why these things are or take place, is up to them. Wealthy and starving, Christian or atheist, the world knows it's not perfect.
What was it that Jesus did in a world with so much hurt?
He reached out to individual people. The forgotten, the well-off, the prostitutes, those ready to believe and those who were about to stone in righteous anger. Jesus began his work at a very young age by teaching in the Synagogue, by doing the miracles of the water into wine and by healing the sick or the blind. Jesus healed not by abolishing blindness, but by spitting in the mud and wiping it on a man's eyes.
Jesus, the Holy Spirit, God the Father, they changed humanity by changing hearts.
On an individual basis.

This problem of a man who brutally murders another man, the guard who allowed it to happen, the victim who lived a sick, twisted life and desired to do unspeakable evils, this problem is not unsolvable. There is a fix. And it begins by hearts that are changed. The prisons, the judicial system and every other area of the world that is so apparently fallen can be changed by individuals who reach out and change hearts. By following the guidance of the Holy Spirit and sharing Jesus with them. The guard, the prisoner, the murderer and the evil man...each one of them needed the same thing.
And it's the same thing I need.
It's by grace alone I wasn't the guard, killer, or child molester. That is what each one of those men and the whole system needs. The grace of Jesus. I have been given a gift that every person on earth needs.
My purpose in life is about sharing that gift and serving the One who gave it to me.