Setting the Stage (Part V - conclusion)

(If you are reading this for the first time, make sure to scroll down and start with Part I of "Setting the Stage" to get the full story. Thanks!)


The impact of my father’s death distorted the lens through which I perceived God. If this was my concept concerning fathers, and if God is the Chief Father, then according to my heart, He could not be trusted either. Deep down I believed that God, being the Father, was going to reject and abandon me too; that He, like my earthly father, was incapable of truly loving me.

The love of God is not an entity that can merely be intellectualized; rather, it is one that must be experienced and beheld in your heart. But for too long, my intellectual responses overshadowed my heart’s authentic reply. Although my mind and mouth had been saying ‘yes’ to the aforementioned questions regarding God’s character, my heart was in disbelief. My eyes were too weak to perceive such Majesty and my heart too wounded to encounter such Love. The truth is, I had no idea how to love God. More than that, I had no idea how to be loved by Him.

Woundedness spawned within me a fear that silently seeped into my soul.

So, as is my tendency when fearful, I created methods to push God away - often utilizing sin to keep Him at a distance. I figured if I was sinning, He could only have so much of my heart. Then if - or when - He let me down, He could only break that which I allowed Him to have.

The most devious component of my story is that I was largely ignorant of these invading issues. For the most part, I did not realize - or at least acknowledge - that these wounds created such misconceptions. I knew the battle was ragging inside of me, but I knew not who my opponents were. I was so busy running, I never turned around to catch sight of their faces. Though I tried to retreat time and time again, the battle advanced more swiftly than my heart could hasten.

In order to fight, I had to halt and turn to stand and face my adversaries with the full knowledge that war is never absent of blood and tears. And this one would not be either.

I remember lying in bed one night after finally realizing all of this, worn from fighting and bleeding out to God, “You know I’m afraid to let you in. You know I’m afraid to trust You. But I want to trust You. I want to love You. So, as hesitant, as scared, as fearful as I may be, this is what I will do.”

At that moment, I began to feel the Spirit flanking my foes. Where I lay in defeat, He started to claim victory. Where I retreated in fear, He proved to be bold. Where I was weak, He was, and is, mighty.

My friend, let me give you permission to drop all pretenses. I dare you to be vulnerable - to be humble. Do not permit yourself to give any pre-rehearsed, trite, pulpit-fed responses. You know, the ones that you feel you have to give in order to be a ‘good’ Christian? Be honest with yourself. Even more so, be honest with God. The question is not if you have enemies, but rather what enemies do you face? What misconceptions do you believe about God and about yourself that are the result of well-placed wounds? Stand and face your foes. Brothers and sisters, be strong and courageous, for the Lord our God is with you. Allow Him to be mighty in your weakness - to be triumphant through your meekness.

Allow not your head, but rather your heart to reply to the following:

Do you believe that God loves you? I mean, really loves you? Do you love Him? Do you know how to be loved by Him? Do you experience His love regularly, or is it merely an intellectual concept?

Do you believe that He is more trustworthy than you could ever hope? Do you trust Him? Do you know that by faith in Christ, He will never leave you nor forsake you?

Think of the person, people, or situation that has maimed you deepest. Does God resemble them to you? Do you know and believe that He is nothing like the opprobrious subjects who have wounded, lied to, or discarded you? Are your beliefs founded upon God’s unchanging Truth, or are they founded in your woundedness?

Do you believe that in even the most grim situation, He is good and desires good for you?

Is your intellect standing on the knowledge of God’s character, but your heart retreating from His presence?

(Hint: These questions cannot be answered by just reading through them. Take them with you and consider in depth your heart’s answer. Most likely, your heart’s response is buried beneath layers of intellect, insecurities, fears, and debris. It’s going to take some excavating, and, if you’re honest, it will be probably be painful. Treasures such as these are never procured without a war, and a war is never absent of… yeah, you get it.)

Now, to aid you in unearthing your answers, let me give you a little test.

How do you know what you believe? How do you know that your answers are truly a response of your heart? You compare the content of your answers to the content of your life. Is what you said congruent with what you do? Is there evidence of a trust in and love for God in your life? Is there evidence that you regularly experience the love of God and know it in your heart?

Do you treat God like you treat those who afflicted you? Do you find ways - whether they be methods, sins, habits, attitudes, perspectives, doctrines, theologies, etc - to keep God in your personalized box? Do you find ways to keep Him at a reasonable distance?

Now, I would be misleading if I produced within you the idea that I am completely healed of all internal anguish or that I have vanquished my adversaries. Truthfully, it is a daily battle for me. Some battles I know I will fight my whole life through. But this is where I must learn to trust God all the more. I am no match for my enemies. My strength is feeble and my wits are dull. Believe me, I have tried to win this war, but inevitably I am left time and time again in a pool of my own depravity.

And you will be too, unless you find your solace, strength, and serenity in God Himself. We are guaranteed, as a result of living in a fallen world, that we will have tribulation. However, it does not end there! We are encouraged to take heart in this promise, that our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, the risen Savior, has overcome this world. That by His wounds we are healed. That by the power of His Spirit and the perfection of His love  our combatants are slain and our battles won!

“For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.” - Ephesians 3:14-21

Thank you for reading. I love you all and am honored to call you brothers and sisters:)

Stay Rooted!!!

Setting the Stage (Part IV)

On the 4th of July weekend - only a couple days after my girlfriend broke up with me - my friend Jim and I took a trip down to sweet home Alabama where we met his family and I learned that the myths are all too true. What? No. Not about inbreeding and illiteracy. I’m talking about food and hospitality. Come on! We ate well. The mosquitos did too. The only one complaining was my waist line. Best of all, we got to spend a day out on the bayou. Ok, we were on a lake. I just feel more authentic using terms unknown around these parts.

Upon our arrival, the scent of banana puddin’ and comfort welcomed us. Jim’s mom is a delightful lady. She is a retired missionary nurse who, for decades, has healed the people of the world, principally in Africa. As a token of her adventures her house was cleverly decorated; each room had its own theme based on the seven continents. Of course, I was housed in the Africa room. Pictures of her working in clinics and curing African cultures lined the walls. Oh, by the way, did I mention that my girlfriend wanted to be a missionary nurse in Africa? Yeah. Go figure.

As I was lying in bed thinking about where I went wrong in my relationship and how I managed to destroy the best thing in my life, as well as why my father would make the choice to abandon my family and I, a voice - one that I attribute to the enemy, in whatever form it took - spoke to me. In the most malevolent temper, it said, “Of course your girlfriend left you! Even your own father didn’t love you enough to stay. What makes you think anyone else in this world would?”

......................

Even with my extensive background in pubescent warfare, I had never been hit that hard. It was a sudden strike that pierced into the very depths of my heart. In this somber solitude, I realized that my authentic awareness of rejection and abandonment had taken root long before she did it. To the enemy’s dismay, however, the wound pierced so deep that it actually revealed what was buried within. It penetrated to that place unseen; to a place I did not even know existed. God used for good what was intended for evil.

I had been rooted in rejection and abandonment for years. The fruit that I bore gave witness to it. Just ask any of my old girlfriends. Actually don’t. It will make me look bad. The roots ran deep. Too deep for me to realize. It took being rejected again by someone who I loved dearly to drive a shovel deep enough to unroot these issues.

Until this point in my life, if you were to ask me, “Nathan, do you fully believe that God loves you? Do you fully believe that He is trustworthy? Do you fully believe that He will never leave you nor forsake you?” I would have answered you, “Absolutely!” with a smile on my face and a heart that was running for the exit.

Most Christians that I know of who have a similar story as I do say that when they heard of how God is a Father to the fatherless and that He wanted to be theirs, it drew them to His embrace; they yearned to acquire the relationship of which their lives were lacking. This was not so with me. Every time I heard that God wanted to be my Father, my heart would retreat faster than France in...well, just about any war. It located the nearest escape and took it. Why? I don’t know, ask France. Oh, wait, you mean me?

When my father died, the impact warped my concept of who fathers are. Until this time, in the depths of my heart, I believed that fathers, by nature, abandon their families, are the most untrustworthy beings on this earth, are intolerably selfish, and are not truly loving; therefore, trusting them with your heart and life is suicide. Of course I would never admit it, but mainly because I did not realize I held these beliefs.

Do you see the predicament? 


(...Almost there. Just one more blog entry to go to complete the 'stage!'...)

Setting the Stage (Part III)

...my girlfriend broke up with me while I was in Nashville.

Now, I know you’re thinking, “Seriously? You left me hanging only to end with a sappy love story? If that’s what I wanted, I’d just go listen to Taylor Swift and get wasted on ice cream. See if I ever read this blog again.” But its point is relevant. I promise!

She was not just my girlfriend, she was my best friend. She was the love of my life. I had been strung on this girl for over five years. Five years, people! She understood me better than anyone ever has. Which, if you have ever been around me, is quite the feat. You would understand that even, or especially, my humor isn’t the easiest to grasp. I think it’s what most people classify as ‘dorky.’ But it was ok, because she was, or is, too. I was convinced that we were going to spend our lives together. Then it all fell apart and I could do nothing to repair it. Trust me, I wanted to jump on the first plane available, buy a white horse, knight’s armor, and a lance and go rescue her from the evil clutches of confusion, but I could not. I had to respect her choice and love her enough to let her go.

She broke up with me and it broke my heart. But out of this broken heart would flow insight and understanding.

 As a word of advice, if you ever get your heart broken - which I hope you don’t, but if you do - make sure you stay clear of country music and the South. Why? Because it’s musically catastrophic. I started writing songs about her. Cheesy ones too. With such titles as “Nashville Stole My Heart” - as a play on words - and “Lying to Me.” The lyrics of the latter had a line that said “I’ll be ok without you. But when will I see, that I can’t keep lying to me?” Oh heartbreak. It’s quite the inspiration, is it not? At least now I have trudged through the muddy soil in which the roots of country music are planted.

Fortunately, I had made some wonderful friends in “the ‘Ville.” Evan, one of my guy friends, was going through a similar situation; so, naturally, we talked about how women, at least our women, are ruthlessly irrational and have no true understanding of logic or their emotional processes (unlike any of you tremendous and beautiful women currently reading this blog, of course). It was quite therapeutic. Nevertheless, the feelings of abandonment and rejection lingered.

These very feelings from our breakup, however, would unearth deeper fears and misconceptions that had been buried for over a decade. This was not the first time I had been rejected. And though it felt like it at times, this was not the worst form of rejection I had endured either.

In my dejection, I also shared my story with my friend Jenn who had experienced her share of family struggles too. She thought it would help if she gave me a questionnaire she received from her counselor that focused on helping me understand my family dynamic and what role it had in shaping the person I had become. And help it did, but not nearly how I anticipated. More than anything, the questions got me thinking about my father, and I realized that much of my family’s dynamic was set on a new course the day he died. It impacted all of us. And as I hopped in the Delorian and explored the past, I saw just how vast the crater actually was and how far off course we had been cast.


At this point, I have yet to reveal how my father actually died. Well, shortly after receiving a letter from him that ended with, “I’ll see you soon, buddy boy,” I walked into that room to see the disclosure written on my mother’s face. Though he battled physical and emotional anguish for years, eventually he lost the war to drugs. 


So where is this all going? What does my girlfriend breaking up with me and my father dying from a drug overdose have to do with each other? I am glad you asked.


(...I was really trying to pack this all into three posts, but let's face it, the richness of life is more complex than a measly three entries. I hope you will join me next Monday for Part IV. Thank you very much for reading! I hope reading these stories bless you as much as you reading them blesses me!...)

Setting the Stage (Part II)

Anguish threw my sister on the couch and swept my brother into the refuge of my mother's arms. I remember my grandmother opened her arm to console me, and as she wrapped it around my waist, my heart sternly protested, “What are you doing? Don’t touch me. I don’t need you.” Anguish compelled me to promptly construct a stronghold inside of which I would imprison my heart for years to come.

Within this bastion, my heart grew cold and isolated. More than anyone, including my dad, I was angry at God. As I said, I knew facets about God, but true understanding was blinded by circumstance. I began to ask, “He is the one who claims to be all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful, right? Then why me? Why anyone?”  My anger towards God was frequently displayed in colorless language, hole-filled walls, contemplations of suicide, and broken relationships.


Remember how I said I knew about God’s attributes? Well, to my conscience’s dismay, I also knew about Christ and His death on the cross. The interesting thing about it was that no matter how angry with God the Father I was, I could never be mad at Christ Himself. This image of Him on the cross, giving His own perfect life for the sin of the world, laid stake in my mind. A residency that He would not relinquish. And my conscience suffered for it because looking back now, every instance in which I tried to cast Him out has been followed with, “Why are you doing this? I desire so much more for you. I died for you to truly love and be loved.”

I lived my junior high and high school years in trenches of anger and depression, plowed by genuine despair. Sure, I was the guy who wore a smile, and wore it well, but I was dying inside. I was caught in a desolate search for true love, intimacy, hope, joy, and all other aspects of life that make it worth living. With each new pursuit, however, I continued only to find myself more and more void of all these things.

I grew immensely hungry and increasingly thirsty for Life. And not the ‘life’ that is portrayed by our second-rate media either - money, popularity, glamour, sex; I tried those - I’m talking about True Life. But the food I ate and the water I drank left me hopeless and empty. I ate bread that could never fulfill and drank water that could never satisfy. You see, my longings went far beyond what can be touched with our hands and seen with our eyes. They reached to the very depths of what can only be held in our hearts and cherished in our souls.

For years, I wasn't ready to give in. I wasn't ready to trust. My feet were swift to run into arms that betrayed me time and time again. Part of me somewhat expected these arms to lose their grip, because I knew they could never hold me securely. But what if I trusted in the everlasting Arms and they let me down? To whom was I to run then?

So my feet continued on, searching for water in a barren land. My strength to persevere was diminishing and my hope was fading with the sun into an even more cold and lonely night.

Then, the summer before my junior year of high school, my friend Matt asked me to go with him on a men’s retreat to the Sierra Mountains with his dad’s church. “Fishing, food, and flatulence. Why not?” I thought. “Time with the guys would be nice.”

We hiked. We fished. We ate fish... lots of fish. Then we sat around the fire to share our stories. Tom shared first. He was a tall man who could flawlessly destroy any of us if he dared. Lucky for us, he had not a violent bone in him. Not that I ever saw anyway. Plus, I slept well, confident that he frightened even the bears away. In the midst of his story, Tom spoke of how Jesus is the Bread of Life and Living Water. I thought not much of it, until I began to share myself.

Somehow in the midst of my story, unexpectedly, and so graciously, spoken by Tom and ushered by the Holy Spirit, I heard these words on that mountain, "I am The Bread of Life and the Living Water. Whoever eats of Me will never hunger again. Whoever drinks of Me will never thirst again."

This was the Truth I longed to hear. This was the reality I longed to behold. This was the Love worth living for. So, in my brokenness, as the glow of the campfire illuminated my tears, all I could say was, "I'm so hungry. I'm just so hungry." I realized that my anger towards God was unfounded, for He and Christ are One. The very One I could never be mad at - the One who gave His life for us - was the very God I resented all those years. And if He would reach as far as to take the form of a man and die on a cross for all who would come to have true, repentance-proven faith in Him, is not His reach long enough to save me too? Is not His desire for me evidently good? And if it is good, then both my dad’s death and my fruitless efforts were not His desired will.

You may think this is were I give witness to the transforming power of the Holy Spirit and how He miraculously turned my life around that day to live a life free from fear, free from sin, and free from self; where I raise my hands and shout ‘Hallelujah!’ while dancing naked and handling snakes. This, however, would be untrue. Actually, the last part will always be untrue, at least as it pertains to this blog and the public eye.

My journey with God has been, well, just that, a journey. One where I run and retreat, stand firm and stumble, conquer and am conquered. There are mountains God helps me overcome, and ones I ascend only to plummet back down again. But this endeavor takes perseverance, and loads of it.

There is much I have learned, much I am learning, and even more I have yet to learn. I am an unfinished work. If I were not, I would be a shoddy final product. Nevertheless, I am “confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in [us] will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6).

In fact, I think some of the most significant realizations in my life took place just last summer in 2009 when...

(...join me next Monday for another chapter...)

Setting the Stage (Part I)

Hi friends! Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. It is my hope that you will not relinquish your time in vain, as the pages that consume this blog will be filled with the depths of my heart in its truest forms. This life is short. Let us hold nothing back.

I thought it fitting to start this blog by giving you a little background about myself. Hopefully, setting for you the stage of my life will more clearly reveal how my plot unfolds upon it.

As a child, I had a decent knowledge of God. I knew that He is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-sovereign - you know, that He has ‘everything under control.’ But herein lied the problem, I knew just enough to be dangerous to myself and to anyone caught in the aftermath of my childhood. I knew only enough to see as if in a mirror dimly with wounded eyes nearly closed.

For the majority of people, the most significant life changes occur in high school or college, when hormones rage like atom bombs and hunting... I mean, dating season is utterly in session. For most, it’s a era of discovering new truths about the world and how we fit into it. For me, however, the most drastic amendment in my life was written on May 6th, in the fourth grade, on a day I will never forget.

The phone called out to my teacher with a low, sinister quality; taunting her with each ring. She answered and, after agonizingly hanging up, slowly approached me. After reaching my desk, she held a heavy pause. Then apprehensively said, “You’ve been summoned to the principle's office.”


“The principle’s office?” I thought. “Could I have done something so improper as to demand principle punishment? Don’t they know little boys show interest in little girls by way of juvenile buffoonery and ridicule?"

"Maybe it's not bad at all. Maybe he wants to celebrate my nine and 1/8 birthday with me! Maybe he finally realizes what a substantial student I am and wants to present me with a handsome reward for my scholastic contributions.” I was hoping for the latter, but my teacher’s expression led me to believe otherwise.

It was a warm San Diego day without a cloud in the sky. But the rain was about to come. As we marched to the office, the breeze felt oddly frigid - as if the sun’s heart had stopped beating altogether, leaving only a lifeless shell. Each step was frozen. Reluctant to advance. But there was no escaping it. The pages had already been written. The story began to unfold.

Upon entering the principle’s quarters, there stood my grandmother with heavy eyes and a heavier heart. “Why is she here? Did they call in reinforcements?” I considered. But her countenance carried not a hint of vehemence, only a burden. One that relentlessly weighed on her. The principle, hesitantly but firmly - as if he was forcing himself to give a command he never wished to relay - relieved me from my scholarly duties immediately.

Discharged. And before lunch? Any fourth grader would be ecstatic! I, however, felt no sense of such jubilee; for this freedom would enslave me to an imprisonment far worse than school.

My siblings soon marched in after me. “Why are they here? We aren’t that unruly of a crew so as to all be in trouble at the same time... Are we?”

The ride home was strangely silent. The air had become stiff with sorrow. The conventionally brief journey seemed to take hours. It was as if the road itself was extending its reach, desperate to hold us back and safeguard us from our sentence. But its grasp was too weak. It could not contend with fate.

We entered my grandmother’s driveway, and as I opened my door, there stood the tall pecan tree out front that, for years, had served as our own youthful fortress. But this time, she cried out to us with the whimpering breeze, pleading for us to find refuge in her branches. The sea of ivy that surrounded her reached out to us, attempting to pull us into its tide, desperately trying to drown us in safety. They too knew our days of innocence were over. They knew we would never again play as we once did. They knew that our childish ignorance had been stolen.

As we walked around the side of the house, my mother’s grief swiftly drown out all other sounds of sorrow. Her lament was such that I had never seen nor heard before, and have not since. Agony consumed her voice. She could scarcely fight it back as she spoke to us saying, “Kids... I have something to tell you...”

And yet she need not say another word.

It was written in her eyes and on her cheeks. Her tears spelled it plainly. I knew before she said another word that my father had died.

(...Thank you for reading. To be continued next Monday... Until then, may the LORD bless and keep you. The LORD make His face to shine upon you and be gracious to you. The LORD turn His face toward you and give you peace. For the glory of His name. - Numbers 6:24-26)

Welcome!

Hi friends! Welcome to my blog.

This is my first blog ever…well, kinda. I had a blog once, but in the 4+ years I’ve had it, the incoherent ramblings have yet to find their escape from the fortress that is my cerebrum. Until now, that is.

I’m a Christian songwriter/artist/worship leader based out of sunny San Diego – and yes, it is my favorite place in the world! The songs I write come directly from my life experiences. Each one has a story behind it, and I hope each one relates to and impacts your story somehow.

God has brought me through a lot in my life – the deaths of family, deaths of friends, heartbreak, insecurities, struggles… Even still, I haven’t quite figured out how trust and love Him fully. We’re working on that though:) Feel free to ask about my story. I’d love to share what God has done in my life, and I'd love to hear what God has doing and is doing in yours as well.

Oh, and even though I’m an 'artist' (whatever that means), I don’t believe in having ‘fans.’ I believe in having friends. As someone who means very much to me once said, “Nathan, people aren’t strangers to you. They’re just friends you haven’t met.” So, hopefully you’ll get to know me well enough that if someone were to ask you, “Do you know him?”, you can say with a smile, “Yeah. He’s a friend of mine.”