Ceasing Of Thievery

I don't know when this habit developed, but I've begun to notice that I think too much about the possibilities of my choices, both big and small, to the point where I paralyze myself from acting on anything because as I live out each option in my hyperactive imagination they somehow substitute themselves for the real experiences. It has seemed harmless until recently, where finally it hit me that my present realities are getting usurped by reveries, and that my life is wasting away because I am ignoring my ability to exercise will.

In light of those thoughts, I took a quick break from my work earlier today and rode to the beach to have my quiet time with God. Lots of thoughts pinged through my spirit en route, and soon as I arrived I gladly jotted them down so that I will remember to renew my mind in this manner:

"Sam, just choose. Choose life, optimism, adventure, identity, risk, love. Choose encouragement, hope, good, freedom, discipline, and the art of receiving. Choose to accept. Choose love. Choose forgiveness. Choose joy. Choose healing. Choose the present."

Immediately I was reminded of an old journal entry I wrote some time ago, and I made a note to dig it up because I just knew it was what I needed to simmer on. It was written in February of 2008, right after I had done a bunch of designs under the theme "The Journey Home", an exploration of our identities as the sons and the daughters of The Most High, so you may or may not recognize the scripture mash-up from some older designs:

"Thievery is a horrible crime... it's mind-numbing how much is stolen from us on a daily basis: the spoils of victory, the comforts of joy, the grandness of redemption- all of it seemingly so accessible to the thieves that stalk us from their dark alleyways and cowardly hiding places.

I think what's more heartbreaking is that we unwittingly surrender our sovereignty over these things...

... so in the end it's not thievery at all, it's more like a case of us delegating undue authority unto demons who have no right nor position over us until that moment when we actually open the door and lay out our welcome mats to them.

This unseen war between the dying flesh and the newborn spirit is an all-too-real one, with casualties far beyond our capacity to understand. Far too often it is our joy and our dreams that lay battered by the wayside, victims of unholy cunning and wit.

I say, enough.

I will delight over you with joy, calm you with my love, and rejoice over you with singing... for you are my beloved who has stolen my heart, my sons and daughters who have captivated my thoughts...

Thievery ceases in the presence of awakened identity."

I wasn't sure how to depict this thought of coming alive, until I saw in my notes that I had reminded myself a week ago to NOT FORGET and simmer on an excerpt from Henri Nouwen's book "The Return Of The Prodigal Son":

"...it is amazing to experience daily the radical difference between cynicism and joy. Cynics seek darkness wherever they go, pointing to approaching dangers, impure motives, and hidden schemes. They call trust naive, care romantic, and forgiveness sentimental. They sneer at enthusiasm, ridicule spiritual fervor, and despise charismatic behavior... in belittling God's joy, their darkness only calls forth more darkness. [But] people who have come to know the joy of God do not deny the darkness, but they choose NOT to live in it (emphasis added). They claim that the light that shines in the darkness can be trusted more than the darkness itself and that a little bit of light can dispel a lot of darkness. They point each other to flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the hidden but real presence of God. They discover that there are people who heal each other's wounds, forgive each other's offenses, share their possessions, foster the spirit of community, celebrate the gifts they have received, and live in constant anticipation of the full manifestation of God's glory."

-Sam