To cleanse corruption
Is a science—soft
For the wise and noble.
To corrupt the clean
Is a game—hard
For the ignorant and ignoble.
Does ultimate truth exist?
Who would be qualified to determine its existence?
If it does exist, how do we know?
If it does not exist, how do we know?
If we do not know, why would we claim one view over another?
If we don’t claim a view, are we really exempt from decision?
If ultimate truth—or any truth—exists, would it not necessitate a response?
If you were convinced that ultimate truth exists, would you be willing to respond to it as supreme?
What of its author?
There is a direct
your heart and mind.
What we allow
into our minds
is what we desire.
Do you desire
what you know
is wrong and unholy?
There is a reason
for this dilemma
of conflicting priorities.
If we want
our hearts’ output,
We must first
to the input.
by Christ’s salvation
Will be a mind
to beautiful holiness.
Shuffling sideways, you slip silently between the wall and the refrigerator into a small room you never guessed was there. Reaching out by memory, you find a naked light hanging down, down from the twelve foot ceiling. Beside the socket—-where many a bulb has hung before—-there dangles a small pull switch.
Dirtied with grime by literal hands of time, this small switch holds a story all its own. How many fingers have reached up and blindly pulled it? How many eyes have been illuminated by the sudden light? How many stories could each hand tell, if hands could speak rather than touch?
Even here, the truths of history are whispered. Life is so much more than just right now. How we came to where we are speaks of where we are going. What we do with our lives will be remembered into the future. Not even the pull of a small bell-shaped light switch can escape the consequences of time.
I allowed myself, over many years and through many self-serving practices, to create a dreamworld in which I thought I could escape from what I considered undesirable. This was a world where nothing existed except for what I desired. If I chose to remove God from it–which I usually, if not always, did because I envisioned myself as the god–I simply chose to ignore what I knew to be right.
This was my world, and it was my law which was given the illusion of power. I even allowed my world the luxury of believing there to be no consequence for sin. The only sin I declared to exist was that which I did not want, and its consequence was simply to not exist.
In my world, God was the transgressor, because He was the One telling me that what happened in my world–the very existence of my dreamworld even–was wrong. He insisted that I would suffer consequences in the real world–His world–for my rebellion. In stubborn, idiotic incredulity, I simply created counter laws in my world which dismissed his laws. I was a rebel.
As a jealous and selfish little god, I was quite territorial of my imaginative haven of rest. The more God impressed Himself on me–infiltrating every bulwark I raised to protect my little world from His assaulting love–the more desperate I became to protect myself–and my little world–from being removed from my imagined control. The deeper I went into my dreamworld, the longer I could stay and avoid the undesirable truths of God’s holy reality.
Many years later, and only slightly wiser, I began the strenuous and lengthy process of deconstructing my safe haven of denial. I quickly learned that this is very difficult work–nearly impossible. The first step I had to take was to admit, even to myself, that I am a completely lousy imitation of a god. The real God is no longer wrong. I am the one who was wrong all along, and I am needing to readmit that every day.
The things I allowed myself to do with such illusions of freedom in that world are being forced to cease. They do not want to be abandoned…at all! The little god in me–what the real God calls my flesh–still lives under the illusion that he deserves a place of royalty in my heart. He alone believes I owe him some twisted form of loyalty, but what he doesn’t realize is that, compared to the real God, he doesn’t have even half a leg on which to stand.
Even yet, he was the god of my secret world for so long that I sometimes get lost in the real world, and find myself wandering shamefully into my not-so-secret, less-than-private world of secrecy and escape. When this happens, I often find myself bewildered and sickened by my own foolish ignorance. How could I go back to a place that leaves me feeling so miserable? Worse yet, how could I let my flesh be a god to me, when the real God literally gave His life to free me time and time again from all the misery I suffered so long when I would try to hide from the truth?
God’s truth is so beautiful, that it invigorates every inch of me with awe, love, and hope. Even still, that measly old god, called flesh, seeks to preserve every possible claim he can over my old world–my old self. Between his stubbornness and the steady encouragement of his accomplice, the devil–who is at the same time his worst enemy–my little world of selfish pleasures has managed to remain year after year, day after day, haunting me.
It needs to be ended. I am ready. I am desperate for the real world, the one in which the real God is always God, and His goodness and truth are allowed to be alive in the real me at all times.
I am ready for complete sanctification. I am ready to be holy. Dear God, please make the real me emulate the real You. Help me to forever abandon my futile attempts to control. This is my most beautiful dream. This is what You desire. Give me the desires of Your heart.