Devocated.

If you've been to at least one small group at a church or religious facility, you've probably heard of the word "devotional".

The literal definition for the word "devotional" is "Of, relating to, expressive of, or used in devotion, especially of a religious nature."

In these church/small group settings, what they call devotionals is usually what helps people to study the Bible more-- it could even be thought of as a guidline. Worksheets might be handed out with a Bible verse or topic and questions to follow what the verse or topic really means, for example. There are also devotional books to help people understand the Bible (if you have to read a book to understand another book; you KNOW something must be important about BOTH of the books! :).

But never in my life until today have I realized that the word "devotion" is in the word "devotional".

I guess it just slips my mind when I'm in church, or in a small group setting. When I think "devotional", I go back to worksheets and books about THE Book. Never once did it occur to me that devotion is in devotional.

de·vo·tion

[ di vṓsh'n ]

1. committed love: deep love and commitment
2. dedication: great dedication and loyalty
3. enthusiasm: strong enthusiasm and admiration for somebody or something

Synonyms: attachment, love, fondness, affection, commitment, adoration

Reading this definition helps bolden what a devotional really is, or at least the purpose of devotionals. These authors of the thousands of different types of devotionals thrive (if they have the best of intentions) to help the reader become devoted to Christ Jesus.

When I think of devoted, I think of dedicated. But obviously, the word "dedicated" lacks something that "devotion" has. under the synonyms for devotion you will see love, affection, adoration. It is dedication with LOVE in it. Love alone IS devotion, and vice versa. You can be dedicated to finishing a homework assignment, but are you so in love with homework that you are DEVOTED to it?

I try to read my Bible each morning. Emphasis on try. I try to pray to God everyday. I try to be dedicated to these things as a Christ follower. But do I have the DEVOTION in my heart? Does my love for God motivate me to do more than just read and pray because I'm dedicated? You can easily read the Bible and whisper words to God, but I truly believe you will find yourself doing these things more and more repeatedly and enjoying these things in joy more and more repeatedly if you hold on to a devotion to God-- which soon becomes YOUR devotion to God--being dedicated to Him in love rather than just being dedicated to Him the way you cannot turn in a late homework assignment.

This might seem like I am trying to make a problem where there is none-- "devotion? Dedication? There isn't much of a difference..."-- but so much more joy, understanding, and nearness of Christ will be found once we all turn away from being dedicated to SUnday mornings, Wednesday nights, the youth rooms we recognize and feel comfortable in, and the stage we face as we worship and listen to sermons and turn to being devoted to Christ Jesus; and letting THAT be the reason why we are dedicated to the rest of those things. (I totally wasn't saying being dedicated to those things are wrong, but if we get caught up in those things and forget our love for God-- the reason we're dedicated to those things in the first place-- then honestly, what is the point of all of those things?)

And as I type these things, i am honestly not only typing this for whoever in the world reads this blog but hugely for myself as I struggle with this constantly.

May we always understand and remember why we worship, go to church, and use devotionals-- to be devoted in love and worship to our amazing Father.

 And may His perfect love for you and your love for Him be your motivation in your devtion.

"So like I said," said Mr. Linp as he opened his door, "don't let anyone in here. Off limits to everyone, no questions asked."

Sounds easy enough, I thought to myself. "Alright, sounds good. Thanks again for letting me use your classroom computer."

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. Linp trudged as he closed the door behind him.

And now I had the computer all to myself-- I could finally finish publishing the Future Poetics of Tomorrow Magazine. I had to get this thing done, if I wanted the student body to experience the true hope the teenage mind and emotion has after all! These poems were true declerations of students and how they felt, a call to other students that they are not alone in whatever they might be struggling with. And, they were pretty beautiful too.

Not much time left to use the computers, I thought to myself. 10 minutes on the clock.

And so I got to work. Moving, pasting, cropping, cutting. Oh, the life of an editor. It felt as artwork to me though, an art of arrangement on a page. The blank computer screen was a canvas for me to arrange other people's art on-- I was the artist of other people's art.

And the world had to know of the hope these student poets tasted.

And then, POUND, POUND, POUND.

My fingers shuddered as I jolted my typing to a stop.

"MR. LINP? ARE YOU THERE?"

I stood quiet. My mind registered the words as a cry of a helpless student, while my heart registered the words as a chant of a terrorizing burgurlar.

"MR. LINP... I NEED TO GET IN!"

Laughter, whispers. Knocking, more knocking.

"MR. LINP, LET ME IN!!!"

What was I supposed to do again? NOT let this loon in?

"I NEED TO DO A PROJECT!!"

Probably a project you should've finished weeks ago, I thought to myself.

"A PROJECT, MR. LINP! I NEED YOUR COMPUTERS!!"

'Off limits to everyone... no questions asked.' But now this kid was just scaring me.

KICK. He was now KICKING the door. And pounding. Pounding my heart, and my eardrums, much too harshly.

It went on for five minutes, and I couldn't concentrate. Why is this happening to me? I thought. I am trying to do good for the world, and this disctracting lunatic barges in. A little quiet would be nice to spread the hope!

I was getting pretty tempted to slip that door open. I tried rereading some of the poetry, but it couldn't defeat the loud echoes of "MR. LINP, COME ON, LET ME IN, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!"
I couldn't tell him to stop, or else he'd know I was in here and he'd use that to his advantage. I couldn't leave, because I obviously had to finish this magazine. My physical words could not make him go away.

But my mental ones could.

Be gone! Resist, resist, don't give in. Go AWAY. Be GONE.

I screamed to him in my mind.

And suddenly, silence. The only yelling going on was my mind yelling at him to go away.

He huffed and puffed, and kicked the door one last time, with only the sound of heavy feet on concrete growing quieter and quieter.

Five minutes later, as I typed the last poetry title on the Table of Contents, Mr. Linp walked in.

"So, were people trying to get in?" he questioned.

"Yep."

"And you didn't give in?"

I was proud to say, "No."

He smiled as he walked over to me. "Good," he commented, "and your magazine is going to do wonders for the student body, by the way."

_______________________________________________________________________

James 4:7 "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."

"Sometimes I just wish we could say all the things that are easy to hear
Ignore the injustice we see and explain every unanswered prayer
But I'd rather speak honestly and wear a tattered heart on my sleeve
'Cause in the middle of my broken dreams, redemption is here

And I'm still a dreamer, a believer
Oh, I've lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You
'Cause You are the answer, the redeemer
Oh, I've given up on too many things, but I'm not giving up on You
'Cause You can make anything new"
~~The Reedeemer by Sanctus Real


Next Door Neighbors by Chrissy Zschomler
Are you a part of my life
to paste smiles on my face,
and I a part of yours
to show you what is true grace?

You've seen my heart on my sleeve,
as I have seen yours.
But will the year end this way,
just chatting in front of these doors?

We talk about what is behind them,
but never dare to see.
You kept behind yours,
and the same went for me.

But I want you to taste
the love that I've found
and I want you to see
and feel and hear the sound

of the only way to hope,
the only way to grace,
oh you of much potential;
resembling the smile of Earth's face.

I creak open the door
and let you see a bit
but that doesn't seem to interest you,
it just doesn't seem to do it.

I ask what is behind yours,
about the place the you live
and it makes me feel more confident
in the door the only God did give.

I want to invite you to this world
of love, hope, and forever
I just can't seem to cross the threshold
of "Do it now or do it never."

As the last days approach us,
and the sun quickly sets
I know if I don't show you
I'll live life full of regrets.

I can't just shove it in your face,
and tell you that you're wrong
for that will keep you away,
that will just make you headstrong.

Oh come and see what love has for you,
the one and only way;
the hope and joy that will last you
for the rest of your life's days.

Lord, if it's my destiny to plant the seed
that inside him should evolve
I pray that You would give me the words
to help him come to resolve

That You are the only way and life
the only truth that ever matters
without You, what is this life
but a trillion sin- drenched shatters?

You know something must hurt alot when you can't push yourself to write about it.

The Fire in His Eyes.

She turned away from the stove for maybe 2 minutes; and in those same 2 minutes oxygen, fuel, and enough energy had eaten her pot alive and escaped to the countertop. She turned 40 seconds after those two minutes; and the fire had trickled to the floor.

 She felt powerless. She felt weak. The fumes from the smoke were starting to get to her head too. She tried grabbing water from the sink, but the fire ran much too close for her to access water without attaining at least a 2nd degree burn.

She pounced back, and in her crazy chaotic train of thoughts speeding at too many miles per minute; one thought stood clear, "If only my tears could take out the fire. But just like the rest of me, they're too weak.."

She surrendered. She was home alone, and could not do it alone.

She knocked the phone off it's hook (it was right next to the sink, which at this rate was seeming as if it circulated fire instead of tap water;) and luckily caught in her hand. She dialed the three numbers and pressed the phose closely to her ear as if it were the one thing she had left. She embraced that phone; her one last shot at hope. The smoke began to choke her lungs harder and harder.

It was if the smoke wrapped around her only chance of life; like a rope wrapped around a person's neck to be hung. She trembled as she choked out to the police, "My house...fire...stove lit up..."

She started feeling a little too woozy, and she sat on the ground. Everything was starting to fade around her-- probably because of the mixture of smoke and panic rising in her system. She had always been sensitive to certain fumes, and now she regretted it more than ever. And she wasn't exactly the best under the pressure of these kinds of situations either.

And that's when her eyes finally blacked out. Her train of chaotic thoughts and panic, were now at peace. But this peace would only cause her to trip into even more danger.

The fire ate away at the tiles, one by one, and slowly began to dance around her feet. she remained blacked out, laying against the cabinets facing the stove, as the fire approached her quickly. Her nerves finally approached her body again, and she woke up. She smelled, felt, and even tasted the fire dashing in her direction.

But she could not get up. It was like a bad dream where you cannot control any part of your body with your mind. It all just kind of...happens. And the heat began to burn her, even though the fire hadn't touched her yet.

And then, if for a split second, the flame had nibbled an inch of her body. She had too much panic to recognize which part.

And suddenly, she was swooped into a ball and lifted off the floor. She felt like she was flying. And off she went, out of the kitchen and out of the door. Her mind began to piece back together as she was layed down on the gurney and pushed into the ambulance truck; with the mysterious force that picked her up following her into the truck. She started to lose all nerves again, but one must of stayed put.

With that nerve, she felt a strong connection to the Force that lifted her. She slowly looked around the truck and found the force. He was covered in yellow, with a red something-or-other on His head (she couldn't tell apart anything at this moment,) to match the red lines spread across the face. The were a much deeper and textured red, and they looked like they were crying as little drops of red trickled down from the lines spread like a torn spider's web across his face. she felt a connection stronger than anything with Him; like He was the only thing she knew was real right now.

she had to say something, anything; to Him. or at motion or show Him some form of connection. she tried to speak, but voice cracked at first; but then she regained confidence in her vocal chords.

"You saved me."

 He looked up from the machine she was plugged into, and smiled. His smile framed the part of her heart she thought had burned away in the fire; a part that she'd never let herself forgive for making that stupid mistake of turning away from the stove. But His smile reminded her, it was still there; this part beating now more than ever.

"Are you okay?" she struggled to ask him. as she started to come back into a somewhat stable sense of mind, she at least could figure out the red lines across his face were not a good sign.

"Yes. and you?" He asked.

"I could be better," she said, and she chuckled. She was surprised she was acting this light-heartedly, especially after realizing she had burned her home down. It must have been the connection with the man again.

"You will be perfectly flawless soon," he nodded at her, checkered face of deep red and all.

 She couldn't understand what He meant by this. All of the sudden; she felt so compelled to talk to this Man; she started blurting out questions that she hadn't even given a second to think about ahead of time.

"Are you really okay? How did you survive the burns?" she asked, recollecting the images. "You rolled into that fire, in my kitchen."

"It was painful, yes," He told her. "But it was worth it."

"Worth it? You have burns and scars, how could that have been worth it?"

He smiled that overwhelming smile again. "I like your questioning. You know, questioning is a sign that deep down underneath, it means you really care."

What does He mean I care? she wondered.

"It is worth it getting any scars saving anyone," He told her. "That's why I was sent here. To save you. It's my joy to do so." She still could not fathom it.

"You find joy, in burning for me; in saving me. In taking my pain away, from the mistake I made from turning away from the stove. I made the mistake, yet; you had to pay the price."

"It's my job," He told her. "I don't always understand why I'm sent where I'm sent, why I must go through the pain I must go through." He started gritting His teeth; she could tell the pain was getting to Him, yet he still keep the sturdy joy and sparkle within His eyes. "I question the chief sometimes, why He sends me to certain places. I don't always know why He forsakes me in this way, by sending me to the most painful fires to fight possible. But, it is my job; and I will do it with everything I can.

"And to see the look on the person's face in the end; that sparkle of relief, surrender, and healing in their eyes--" He looked deep into her eyes.  "--I realize, it is all worth it. To save everyone, to save You."

He grabbed her hand with His scarred hands. She thought for a second she even felt a bare bone in His finger; and couldn't help but shed a few tears. Tears of relief, surrender... and healing.

He had taken the mistake she made, paid the price for her mistake, and asked for nothing in return.

She did not know what else she would do with the rest of her life except to live like this Man.

I wonder why they make rearview mirrors so small; but the windshield so big?

The cliff over the sand that touched the water was high. One slip and you could fall to your doom in the rocks supporting the cliff, or if you prefer; the sand could swallow your comfort and throw bruises and broken bones your way as well.

She kept her focus on the rocks underneath her ungripping sandles. John had asked her if she had good shoes to move around in, and she replied she did everything in her sandles anyway so it didn't really matter; it was Southern California, after all.

But as they climbed over the fence to get on the cliff, the cliff that actually was cautioned with a sign to "not enter or be elligible for fines up to $3,000 or be put under house arrest", she decided it was worth the risk of shoes and jailtime because gosh the view was beautiful.

But she noticed something strange as she climbed onto the cliff.

After throwing a couple rocks into the sand, she jokingly proclaimed to her friends, "I am throwing my worries off the cliff!!" and she'd toss a rock into the abyss of sand. She was half-kidding.

The other half of her, though; really was trying to toss her worries to get lost and forgotten in either the sand abyss or the eternal ocean.

But as she threw these rocks, her eyes would follow them; and even as they landed in the abyss she could still see the exact rock she threw. She might've let go of the rock with her hand; but she did not let go with her eyes.

She started to walk away from her friends to a more spacious part of the cliff. She looked down, only to find more stones and pebbles surrounding her feet. She kicked some off, but only found that so many rocks were still there.

Even at this height, you only look at the ground to focus on the rocks surrounding you.

She continued to stare at the rocks.

You can see the beauty of the ocean so clearly and so beautifully from here-- yet, you still look down and at the rocks that trail your feet?

She began to peer her head up to the ocean, how it glimmered and sparkled under the afternoon sun. It was pretty beautiful....breathtaking would be more appropriate.

You look at the rocks and the ground not just because you naturally desire to focus on your worries; but you are afraid you will fall off the cliff. You're afraid you will lose balance.

She kept studying the greenish blue sparkling sea.

Don't you know that if you keep your mind on righteous things of above; and if you trust in Me, you will never have anything to worry about? Look up, to My righteousness; to my beautiful sea that greets the sky--and that greets you with love and hope-- rather than down at the ground, that only show you the sin you've trailed in for so long and the worries you kick around but never seem to leave your sight.

The sky was a particular beautiful crisp blue today, as well.

The rocks and ground do not show the potential you have. They don't show you where you are. You can only see what wonderful things I have planned for you if you keep your mind on what's ahead and what's above.

She nodded her head toward the direction of the sea, and the sky; and walked back to her friends on the bordering cliffs.

We are all...Stale Bread.

I write with a small musing in mind today:

Grab a piece of a week old loaf of bread. Now try to tear it in half. It's hard to just rip off a small piece, right? It seems very
strong,

But sadly; it is only that way because it has become stale over time. It's become rotten and has lost it's freshness you smelt and tasted on Your tongue when you took your first bite.

And boy can we relate to that bread. We're so fresh and innocent, but then after we let these poisonous things from the surrounding aiir and bacteria come in and harden; our freshness of our innocent states of mind burn over and harden into a painful shell of bitter
beginnings (quite distateful, just like the stale bread, if I do say so myself.)

And eveyday it shows in your peers, and even yourself; the older and older you get. No, not everyone becomes "stale bread"; some people gain intelligence and experience without also gaining a corrupt mind (this post is dedicated to those of you who are this way; we applaud you.) but in about 20 seconds of watching any tv show for ages 6 and older or exchanging a Few conversations
at a public school (you could even try elementary) and you will see a consistency of stale bread characteristics.

Stale breads are the people who seem so high and mighty and strong; but are actually corrupt and broken and again "distasteful" on the inside. And I honestly thing everyone becomes a stale bread in their life-- becausewhat makes us stale bread is sin; which everyone has.

Which i guess is why Jesus came to die for us-- so we could be eternally fresh within His freshness of love and innocence. He is the bread of life; afterall.

I am a stale peice of bread; but I am made fresh and new by Jesus' love and innocence He gives to me again. And to you as well.

Happy Easter weekend; and next time Your eating bread.. Say a little prayer :)