There is life out there for me. It tickles the tips of my fingers and whispers my name in the soft autumn breeze. Life longs for me, just as I long for life. It is so close, so accessible. Why do I even hesitate, let alone procrastinate and allow the blooms to fall off the flower of life? Because death comes between me and life on a regular basis. It's like he reads my appointment booth and interrupts every rendezvous with life.

What is life to me? Writing, drawing, quality time with family, singing, reading, one-on-one encounters with friends. Typing this out right now brings me life, yet as I turned the corner on my way to my breakfast appointment with life, Death surprised me at the bend. He didn't stop me in my tracks this time, but as I side-stepped he turned and followed me, whispering in my ear. "Go back to sleep. This is one of the few days you have to sleep in." The pace of my steps quickens. He matches. "Well, if you're going to get up this early you might as well go into work. You have so much to do at the office. This could help you get ahead." I cry, "Get behind me!" And he does. The whispers, though... they continue.

As I approach a small, quieted, charming French bistro in my soul, death steps between me and the door. "You'll wake the kids. You're ignoring your wife. You're ignoring your family. What kind of father are you?" He won't budge. He won't leave his post as I bark out my demands. What I have to do becomes obvious. I tighten my stance, clench my fists, bow up my shoulders and press toward the doorway. Death stands there unwavering. He raises his arms as to take a swipe at me as I approach. My eyes narrow with determination, I brace for impact and as I ram into death... silence. I open my eyes wide to see the white tablecloths and soft lights of the bistro as the sounds of a string quartet surround me. At the far table is Life, waiting for me with a warm smile stretching across his face.

The kingdom of God awaits us daily. It is the life for which we long. Don't get me wrong, there is a life after our physical death through which we enter the Kingdom of God. This, though is the kingdom He has for us here on earth today. Much like His heavenly Kingdom, His earthly kingdom requires a passage through death. Something within us needs to die in order for us to receive life. It could be the death of pride, hunger, laziness, fear, safety, comfort, and the like. These stand before us as a blockade from life, looking much like the bicep-flexing, no-neck bouncer intimidating the crowd from rushing into the nightclub. Sometimes, albeit too few times, life's call is so enticing that we are compelled to press on through this muscle-bound killjoy. The passage through death to life differs each time in length and in levels of pain. Even so, it is my firm belief that the life that waits on the other side always more than compensates the expense we pay to reach it.

So, what is the life that awaits you? Is it a moment of solitude in the deep forest trails of your heart? Maybe a flamboyant party with many guests. Perhaps life awaits you in the form of a gift you haven't discovered yet. Death, in some form, is sifting through your calendar. He will find your appointment with life and invite himself to intercept you. Don't let him deter you, for on the other side of his blockade you will find an old friend whose time with you is a precious, sacred treasure that will fill your innermost desires. He longs for you, just as you long to be with him.

This is an entry of a series of writings from my trip to Guatemala with our church's worship arts teams in March of '03.

Wednesday March 19, 2003
Scripture references: Isaiah 40:29-31; Daniel 7:13-14, 27

Last night was the most amazing worship experience of my life. An experience I may have never had, were it not for an event in my life nearly three years ago. During our choir's mission trip to England, we had a stop in Ely to sing choir and worship songs at Ely Cathedral. The church had an adjoining chapel which we would use for our concert. On this trip we brought a small, portable sound system to use with our dramas and songs. Since I was in charge of the dramas, I was responsible for making sure someone loaded and unloaded the sound system.

We exited our bus that day and entered the cathedral to experience its beauty and hear its rich history. Soon, though it was time for us to sing. As we entered the chapel, John approached me and asked me where the sound system was. I had forgotten it and my stomach knotted up as I came to that realization. I asked John if we had time to retrieve it from the bus. Since the bus had to park far from the cathedral, it was impossible to make the round trip without seriously delaying the concert. John was very gracious and suggested we do everything a cappella.

The acoustics in the chapel were phenomenal! The voices of the choir caromed off the walls and the richness of the choir filled that room to the point that any accompanying music would have contaminated the purity of the songs. Later, I spoke with Tom Jones, who coordinated that mission trip. His eyes shiny with tears, he described how that event was one of the most powerful worship experiences of his life.

You would think those words would be somewhat gratifying to me. But just the opposite. My heart broke to hear Tom's words. My spirit was burdened as I realized what I had missed. Yes, I was there for the concert. I sang every song. I heard every note which Tom heard. But I did not worship. During each moment of that concert, all I could think about was my mistake. I continually dwelled on how I forgot the sound system and kicked myself for it. I felt robbed. Robbed of an opportunity to praise God and experience His worship. Satan had slipped silently into my heart through my pride and self-centeredness. There he committed a larceny of what God made available to me that day. And I let him do it.

This is a memory that still pains my heart today. I swore I would not let that happen again. Yesterday, though, was difficult. A dozen or so of us left the hotel to go to the jade factory. Since we were two hours late in arriving in Antigua, we didn't have much time. Each of us found something to purchase then headed to the bus, realizing we were fifteen minutes late. Upon arriving at the plaza, though, the bus was nowhere to be found. Time passed and so did my patience. I'm still not clear what happened, but eventually the bus driver's assistant led us to where the bus was parked. We left for the hotel, but it was already 5:00 PM. I was supposed to be dressed and meeting with the rest of the choir at this point. The drive should be short, though. Unfortunately, i soon realized the bus was driving in circles. Our driver was lost. A five to six minute drive turned into a tortuous thirty minutes.

We eventually arrived back at the hotel. My jaw clenched and my heart hardened, I quickly paced to my room. Fifteen minutes before our time to start, I arrived at the Volcanes conference room to find the stage had been flipped. The drama and orchestra were in opposite locations compared to the previous performances. My mind was reeling trying to assess how this would affect the drama. Compounding the issue, there was no back stage, so the actors' entrances and exits would be distracting and anticipated by the audience. I gave a few necessary directions to the actors, but knew there would be issues I hadn't anticipated because of time constraints.

It was at this point that I remembered England. I remembered my commitment to not be robbed of an opportunity to worship God. I determined in my heart that no matter my predisposition, tonight I would overcome the obstacles set before me and praise God for He deserved this. I would worship Him for He desired such for me. This transformation was not instantaneous though. My nerves were still rattled, my patience worn thin, and my voice worn out. As determined as I was, I literally went through the motions of Total Praise without any passion for the words of the song. I couldn't keep up with the sign language and made many mistakes I hoped went unnoticed. We continued the program.

The drama I was so concerned about earlier was strong and apparently resonated with the missionaries. As we sang Amazing Grace over the Chandler family (missionary family portrayed in the drama), I noticed faces streaked with tears. My heart broke and I could barely maintain my composure. The rest of the evening I cannot give justice through my words. My voice was still raspy and similar to the voice of an adolescent as it changes. I bounced from tenor to melody to bass as needed, but it did not matter. All that mattered were the faces. Something sacred was at risk in that moment. I felt it, I knew it. As John told us, "There are a lot of hurting people out there." I knew he was right and it was confirmed later.

The most amazing thing occurred, though, as we sang Midnight Cry and I Bowed on My Knees. I don't know exactly when, but during those songs I realized we were singing before royalty of God's kingdom. These people, these servants of God and servants of man had invested their lives into the kingdom, storing up treasures in Heaven. Their faces seemed glorified and I saw them as never before. Previously, I was hesitant, almost uncomfortable with speaking to the missionaries. They were strangers to me. But I feel as if God gave me a glimpse of Heaven. These were no longer strangers, but my brothers and sisters.

The time of fellowship afterwards felt like a family reunion. I felt like I was catching up with family instead of meeting people for the first time. That evening was the most amazing worship experience of my life and is only equaled by the day I married Tammy, the moments my children were born, and the day I accepted the Lord 17 years ago. To think I almost let an errant shopping trip bind my heart and prevent me from experiencing such a transformational moment. How petty would that have been? How tragic to lose something so sacred. Praise God for His mercy and faithfulness.

While out to dinner with my wife and family, something struck me. I'm not sure what triggered the idea, but it was so compelling to me that I had to ask Tammy a question.

"How would you define Christian?"
"What?" She responded (which was very appropriate since I had once again sprung into the middle of a conversation I was having in my mind).
"We label things Christian and secular. Art, music, books, TV, movies, etc." I explained. "So how would you define Christian?"
After a moment she aptly replied, "Something that points to God, I guess."

That was exactly what I was hoping she would say. I had the exact same definition up to that point. I started to explain to her my thought that under that definition, everything would be Christian. Even things that seem vulgar and/or immoral point to man's depravity and need for God... ultimately leading us back to Him.

It was at this moment that our two year-old decided to change the subject of our conversation to something of more immediate importance... the front end of a car that hung on the restaurant wall. So, we abandoned philosophy, theology, and sociology to tackle the phonetics of "car."

My thoughts on this did not end there. Over the last several weeks God has been challenging the neat little way that I have compartmentalized my world. This initial thought about Christian and secular has been at the forefront. As a culture, why do contemporary Christians seem to hover around what has been deemed accepted? And accepted by whom? Is there some authoritative counsel who rubber stamps all media and merchandise as Christian or secular? Can God only be found in books from Christian publishers? In songs by Christian artists? In a Thomas Kinkade, but not a Van Gogh or Andy Warhol? Not in the music of The Beatles or R. Kelly? Not in a Dean Koontz or Saul Bellow book?

It is true that it is easier to "find God" in the peripherals of today's Christian culture than in homosexual activism or punk culture. If that is the only place in which you seek God, then how do you view Him? Do you have some sort of sterilized, safe, bubble-gum image of God? The bigger question may be, do you think God neglects to speak to those particular sects of people? Is the contemporary Christian culture the only one that truly hears and sees God? Are you comfortable with accepting a spoon-feeding of God's image?

A few years ago, our church embarked on a mission to devote one of our worship services to reaching non-believers. Through that process, I began to realize how immersed I was in the Christian culture. I was at a loss to relate with non-Christians. After growing up in church most of my life, consuming Christian music, books, videos, study guides, devotionals, etc.; I could not talk to someone about God without using churchy words which would have no meaning to someone who was unchurched. God has started to open my eyes to how he reveals Himself to people outside the walls of the church. Through this, I feel like I see more of how He is working within those walls as well.

A friend shared a wonderful line of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning with me.

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries,

I had heard it before, but now... now it had meaning to me. I am starting to see the bushes from which I picked many blackberries ignite into a reference to our almighty God. And it amazes me how much holy ground I mindlessly trampled over with disregard to the inherent glory surrounding me. I'm not falling into a mindset that the totality of God is found in the things of this world, but I am starting to recognize how He can speak to me even through those who oppose Him, or ignore Him, or just don't know where to find Him.

The term secular is defined as temporal, dealing with the here-and-now instead of the eternal perspective. I have observed many non-Christians who seem to have a better eternal perspective than some Christians. They seem to understand Jesus' call for us to love our enemies, to care for the needy, to lay down our life for our brother. Conversely, I have also noticed many Christians who seem to be caught up in here-and-now. They are consumed by their own issues and give little thought to those around them or what God may be doing/saying through their circumstances. You might say, "But isn't attaining salvation the ultimate test of eternal perspective?" Though it may not profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul, I pray that my soul is not the only item of eternal value that I preserve. I hope my life is about so much more than Dustin Staiger and making sure he gets to heaven.

The only definition Webster gave me for Christian (as an adjective) that wasn't tied back into the noun form of Christian was "commendably decent or generous." Whether by that definition or by Tammy's definition of "something that points to God." I hope that we can begin to recognize more of what is Christian in our world, to see what is commendably decent or generous in people, or see how they point us back to God directly or indirectly.

So, for now I find that I am hesitant to look at anything as secular, hesitating to extract God from anywhere. Instead, I desire to see the world as a reference to God and our need for Him.

I went to lunch with a good friend of mine a while back. We greeted one another, sifted through the buffet, and found a table where we could sit. As we shared with each other what God was doing in our lives, I unloaded the many issues facing people I loved dearly. I listed them one after another. In a strained voice I questioned, "You have a great heart for people. Do you ever feel overwhelmed by the hurting and suffering around you?" I voiced how my life seemed very good and full, but I ached for my friends and family in difficult situations.

My friend confirmed he too has been heavily burdened by the suffering around him. "What do you do?" I asked. He replied, "Whatever God asks of me. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I write a note of encouragement to them or give them a call. It is different each time, but usually I am impressed to do something."

His advice has helped me, but honestly I still feel like I'm less of a Christian during those times. Aren't Christians supposed to be "happy all the day?" Aren't we supposed to have joy, joy, joy, joy down in our hearts? There's some unwritten rule that, in order to be a Christian, sorrow must be surgically removed. We undergo a partial lobotomy, becoming a Stepford bride of Christ.

Where do we get this notion? Not from the Bible's depiction of Christ.

Isaiah 53:3
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

The hands of God. They are so many different things to me. Protection, guidance, comfort, correction, support. In my mind I have this picture of a large, strong, rough yet gentle hand wrapped around my own. It is much like the way I hold my daughter's hand as we cross the street. Without paying attention, this is only an act of protection. "Hold my hand so I can keep you from danger." It is much more than that though. From Abbie's eyes, it is a connection... a comfort.

What security is found in knowing Daddy cares enough to hold her hand and gently guide her to safety?

What peace is there to know, I'll just hold his hand and he will lead me where I should go?

Even if we make a rash decision to dart out into the busy streets of life, God holds our hand and draws us back to his protection. Oh, if we pull long enough and hard enough, he may choose to let go rather than bruise our hands. That is the gentle balance of our choice and His love. His love. That is the message we find in His hands. No matter how we see His hands working in our lives, they are ultimately tools He uses to express His love for us.

Lord, whether my life is a busy street or a peaceful park, may it be one spent hand-in-hand with you.