The Cactus

Mother is a cactus, that strangest of plants,
She prickles and bristles when crossed by her brood
But when life is not hectic,
She comes out in the open,
Revealing her soft, warm heart

She cares not for herself, except when in danger
She soothes, and strokes, and wipes away tears
She walks with grace, and speaks with care

In short:
The perfect wife
The perfect hostess
The perfect teacher
The perfect mother

On Werewolves

I stand outside, looking up at the night sky. The moon shines down, not quite full, still waxing to its greatest girth. Appearing to be only a few inches from the great silver orb is a small light, valiantly bright yet apparently not big enough to truly compete with the earth's only natural satellite. But this tiny light, seemingly insignificant, is the greatest of the planets in our solar system: Jupiter, the King of the Planets, dwarfed by the distance between it and our own home. Around the pair is a great circle in the sky--an area of darker night carved out of the lighter sky. A long stratus cloud slowly slides across the moon and the planet, and I can't help but marvel at the beauty of this cold, silent, sphere that is too small to truly escape the gravitational field of the earth. How can it be that the great light of the evening sky illuminates us with nothing but borrowed light, stored up from the sun? How can it be that an object one fourth the size of the planet we live on has captured the imagination of generations of humans on the earth? Perhaps it is that the moon reigns over the night, as documented in Genesis 1:16. Certainly, it isn't as great as the sun, but perhaps its lack of "pretentiousness," if one can use the term in this instance, makes it all the more attractive to mankind, for it can neither burn nor blind us, as the sun does. The lesser light, the sharing of responsibility between the moon and the countless stars, the greater darkness, all these make the night a time of great beauty and quiet, a time when much of life goes to sleep, and the rest of the world comes awake. The night has always been mysterious in this respect, and perhaps this mystery has translated to the moon in the same way a habit can rub off on a family member or a close friend. But this mystery should add to the moon's beauty, not detract from it, and so the fact that this mystery is so often translated into fear is a terrible misfortune.

And so I feel that one of the greatest crimes of classic folklore is the creation of the werewolf. The idea that, on the night that the moon attains its full beauty, an otherwise normal human is transformed into a great evil, is hideous. That terror should be associated with the waxing of the moon is sorrowful to me in a very intrinsic way, because it speaks to the story of mankind. The story of the common werewolf is as follows: a kind, peaceable man is in the midst of doing great deeds when a terror strikes his community, typically wreaking property damage and near-death experiences throughout the town. Eventually the man comes to realize that he is a werewolf, the creature doing this terrible thing. He tries many methods of repression, but when the full moon rises, he transforms into the beast again and again, inflicting greater and greater destruction on his fellow man. The story ends in one of three ways; two tragic and one happy. In the first ending, the town eventually bands together and kills the werewolf, only afterward recognizing him as their friend. In the second ending, the werewolf manages to find a cure for his disease and can live in internal and external peace once more. In the final ending, the werewolf realizes that the only way for him to save his town is for him to flee, and so he retreats into exile in the wilderness, sacrificing himself for the good of his friends.

In this tale I see the story of the Christian. For who am I but the chief of sinners? I live in a constant struggle between the sinful nature passed down to me from my father Adam and the righteous self given to me through the sacrifice of God the Son. Outwardly good, I struggle to keep contained the vengeful thoughts, spiteful words, and wicked actions that spring from my sinful flesh. And all too often such filth breaks loose and I become someone I fear and despise. But there is a cure to this disease, a way to slowly tame the werewolf. It's called sanctification and is a critical component of our faith as believers. Through trials brought about by our own foolishness or the stress of our daily lives, God is slowly crafting us into His Image, purifying us and cleansing us from unrighteousness. Through prayer and daily immersion in the Word of God, we can arm ourselves to better contain the sinful nature that, sorrowfully, we must all live with.

This work of sanctification will never be finished until we die, and so we must bear the dual nature of the werewolf all the days of our lives. But God is faithful, and we no longer have to fear the world, the flesh, and the Devil, all of whom seek to destroy us. Through God's grace, there will come nights where we can gaze upon the moon without terror, knowing that, in the arms of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, we have the strength to resist the nature that comes from within, not from without.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:1-3)

So Ready...

A light powder falls from the sky
A white blanket conceals the grass
A light wind blows in my face
My cheeks sting
Tears start in my watery eyes
The strains of a song play in the back of my head

I stand on a cliff
The day slips into evening
The sky fades from blue to purple, back to blue
Darkness falls
Civilization spreads out before me
Tiny lights flicker as they hold back the night

How is it that the same thing can make me feel so insignificant and yet so important?
How is it that the God Who made the mountains finds me lovely?
How is it that the God Who made the stars cares about the number of hairs on my head?
How is it that the God Who made the world let it nail Him to a cross?

Oh that I could understand!

So small, so weak
And yet in Him so strong...

In Him so secure
Yet before Him so frightened

One day I will give a reckoning for all my deeds
One day He will list all my faults
Am I ready to face His gaze?

The Lamb has made me spotless
I'm so ready

The Devil's Rules

Ever heard of the Game? You haven't? That's funny, because we all play it. We don't have a choice: if you live life, you play the Game. The opponent is always the same: the Devil. So you sit down at the table and the Devil says, "You pick the rules." There are two books on the table. One says, "God's Rules." The other says, "The Devil's Rules." And you think to yourself: "Well, God's not even playing the game... He's gotta be more of an impartial rule-maker than my opponent!"

So you pick up 'God's Rules' and start to flip through it...
"The Devil always loses.
Anyone on the Devil's team loses, too.
If you sin, you're on the Devil's team.
Anything wrong is sin, down to the smallest mean thought you have."

There are more, but you think to yourself, "That doesn't sound too good," and you put down "God's Rules."

Next you pick up "The Devil's Rules" and start to flip through it...
"You must obey all of the rules.
Anything wrong you do gives you points.
The more points you have, the more likely it is you'll win."
There are more, but you think to yourself, "I think I've got more of a chance to win by 'The Devil's Rules' than by 'God's Rules.'"

You look at your opponent and say, "We'll play by your rules."
And you start to play the Game. It's pretty easy... You just make all possible bad choices, which is kind of fun... You blow through, and soon the Game is finished.

You've got countless points, and you're feeling pretty smug about it. You've beaten the Devil! But the Devil seems unperturbed. He sits there for awhile, letting you gloat inside. Then he starts laughing. And that kind of freaks you out... I mean, shouldn't he be mad that he lost?
And he leans across the table and says, "I win."
"What? But I followed the rules! I made all the wrong choices and got all possible points! I win!"
"Read them again," he offers, and so you pick up the book and flip to the end, where you read the last rule.

And, just to rub it in, the Devil hands you "God's Rules." You flip to the end, where you read: "If you've sinned, turn to God. God will always accept a penitent sinner. God will erase your sin and make it like none of it ever happened. Turn to God, and you'll be on God's team. God's team always wins."

And your heart sinks as he leads you away... You call out, "I'm sorry, God! Help me!"
But the Devil laughs and says, "You chose my rules. God's nowhere in my rules."

The Devil's a liar. He is the father of lies. You can't beat him on your own: you need God. You see, the problem is, if you play by the Devil's rules, you have to play by ALL of the Devil's rules... And the last rule is: "The Devil always wins."