Synchronization

Photography by Madison McQuary

Lesson I am learning:

Love and pain are synchronized in their infinite duty to offer the human race something more than human, something more than earthly, more than the dust beneath your feet and the nuclei in your cells, something that only could have been fabricated by the tactful fingers of God Himself. They feed off of one another, they fuel one another. Love without pain is futile, while pain without love is only suffering.

This means going against our natural instincts. Love means putting yourself on the altar and watching as the flames of sacrifice lick your skin. The pain is great. The love is greater.

With love, we are aware of all the hazards and risks, but we continue.

Those who say it is likely to love without at least the possibility of hurting, have not really loved.

They speak of a safe kind of "love" which is actually an illusion we have created to satisfy our mortal cautions. It is barren of any true merit or strength. Every day it robs people of the actual gift that authentic love is destined to be. Many people feel a few tingles in their stomach and a faster heartbeat, and then translate those fleeting sensations as love. But they are terribly wrong.

They are infatuated, yes. Not in love. I am not saying what they feel is incorrect, or morally inappropriate, I am only pointing out the fact that it is an entirely separate concept than that of love. This attraction that one might feel for another, however enjoyable and wonderful it might be, is in no way love.

This idea of love does not exist. There is only one true form. It was conceived by one incident only. The rending of one heart. The ripping and piercing of one flesh. The breaking of one bread. A single death and resurrection where the veil of the temple was torn in two pieces and the lives of many were liberated from the furnace of hell and the bondage of sin.

This love, characterized by pain, is a powerful, burning, earth shattering matrix of tenderness and care. This love is liberation. It is a privilege, an immunity, a promise.

This love is the gospel.

Photography by Madison McQuary

"People don't like love, they like that flittery flirty feeling. They don't love love - love is sacrificial, love is ferocious, it's not emotive." -Matt Chandler

Animate

Photography by Madison McQuary

The thought of death is intimidating. Not only that. It's revealing. It is spiritual exposure.

With its glassy eyes and oily smile staring into our faces we disintegrate into our kosher selves. Its teeth polished and ivory. Lips pallid and brittle. Our garments of cotton cloth, our blankets of security, our lipstick and the powder dappled on our noses from the impulses of vanity or pride - they are all stripped away. One glance. One smirk. A single stroke against our trembling limbs and Death leaves us bare.

Threatening to caress our hearts and our bones. Daring to introduce us to Eternity. You stretch forth your arm, stomach whirling, head spinning, and you prepare to shake hands. Words melt in your mouth, but you have to say your name. You must ask, "How do you do?" and be polite. Death and Eternity exchange their cheerful hello's.

When these two linger on our doormats, every inhibition, every crush, all the tea cakes, and all the bills sitting on the coffee table are nothing. They're pebbles in our shoes.

Here, you can sense every bit of alveoli popping open in your lungs, each artery pumping blood, the billions of neurons transmitting signals, every drop of life in your body sizzling and crackling like bacon tossed in a pan.

It brushes up against us every morning, every evening. It's constantly breathing down our necks, always tickling our toes. Usually labeled "dark" and "morbid", we like to flick the channel to Sunday football and pour sugar in our tea. Don't talk about it. Whatever it is.

That's the practice. To live like there's nothing. Plenty of people probably ask themselves about death, but their minds don't walk past the shore. You pick up the remote, you turn on your phone, the music blares in your ears, and the oven beeps while the smell of casserole drifts into the room. Dinner is ready. Oprah is on.

Minds turn off. World turns on. Forget death. Whatever eternity. 70 heart beats per minute. 60 heart beats. 30 beats. None.

Savor the pulses. Live the life. Do the things. Worship God while your here, praise Him with your open lungs and your blinking eyes and your mobile tongue. He gives you the pulse, the life, the things.

We should think about death with healthy thoughts. Life comes with a refund. So live like it. Breath like it. Eat like it. Say your sorry's and your I love you's. Kiss your mom on the cheek. Toss the football with your dad. Welcome visitors when they come. Braid your sister's hair. Climb the water tower with your best friend. Sing loud during worship.

We came from dust and one day we'll return to dust.

I've wasted so much oxygen caring about what the neighbor thinks of my flower bed, or worrying about what I said to my aunt yesterday, or wearing a solid colored shirt instead of one with stripes because stripes aren't fashionable. Let's stash away our insecurities. Burn apprehensions. Crucify dysphoria. Christ died for us so that we can live.

Live well.

"I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn't forget, I'm alive, I know I'm alive, I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that." - Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

Instrument of Care

South Padre Island, 2016. Photography by the wonderful Madison Musser.

 How can you tell if you truly care about someone? When all the pleasantries and niceties pass, how can you tell that someone has crept into your heart?

 One word. Pain.

 Pain is the perfect thermometer for measuring the temperature of your passion for another human being. The hermetically sealed glass tube filled with mercury either expands when heat is applied, or contracts during the effect of cooling. Pain is an instrument that never fails to sensor the levels of care. When applied, it will cause expansion between the molecules of your soul.

 Yesterday I sat on a guest bed in a house off the coast of Port Isabel. My heart was slowly ripped to a thousand minuscule pieces as I watched one of my closest friends cry. I wrapped my arms around her tightly and prayed for her until my lips were dry. Our tears were hot and heavy as they ran down our red cheeks and wetted the clean covers.

 The thermometer of pain was being used. It felt like I had a boulder for a heart as I held my dear friend and wished for her to feel better. Her terrible experience was far greater than anything I had ever imagined. The molecules moved faster. In that hour of silence and tears, all I wanted was to participate. The thermometer expanded. I wanted to experience the same level of pain and truly be parallel with her hurt. The measurement was made.

 You can tell when you truly care about someone when you hurt for them. When you see them puffy-eyed and crestfallen, and all you want is to understand what they're going through. After you've prayed over and over until your mouth goes dry and you run out of words.

  Caring for someone is a purely out-of-body experience. You step outside yourself and your wishes, and you choose to wear their skin. You put on their clothes, their shoes, their hats and scarves. You do what you can, when you can, and how you can no matter what, no matter when, no matter how. 

That's where the mercury in the thermometer comes from. That is where the heat is applied.