ronnie martin

Awards show season is peculiar. Every weekend leading up to the Oscars there seems to be some kind of second-tier-red-carpet-self-congratulatory-love-fest for the Hollywood elite. And they kind of rope me in every time. I’m mildly fascinated by the idea of people getting together to tell one another how brilliant they are, and then televise it for the less fortunate to see. It’s really the opposite of church, isn’t it? We gather together on Sundays to give praise, honor and glory to someone OTHER than ourselves, because every other day of the week we’re fighting against the tendency to turn our lives into mini-awards shows.

Sundays are a template for the rest of our week.

My two cats are asleep. My kid is watching an Anne Hathaway biography. My wife is reading a book. The view from the window is white and bare. It feels a bit deja vu from the day before, but today I’m motivated about music, ministry and the future. I also feel motivated about strawberry shortcake, but that’s not a reality in my life today.

Always needing to seperate what is, and what is not.

A sleepy Saturday in the fog and snow. I remember how I would dream about having days like this not so long ago. Slow days, where you drift from a book, to a conversation, to a cup of tea, to a little project, letting the hours take care of themselves and giving your thoughts time to collect.

Kind of glorious.

One of the major flaws of my heart is the tendency to pour over the past and at times despair over the consequences of the decisions I’ve made on the roads that I’ve travelled. I think the word for this is typically called “regret”. I always find it mildy amusing when I read an interview with a celebrity type who has had a less than desirable run of events in life and they say “I don’t regret any of it, it’s made me the person I am today”. Of course, the question that has to be asked is, “just what kind of person is that, exactly?” 

It’s only through the transforming power of God’s grace that we can become the people that God intends for us to be, despite the choices we make along the way, which will inevitably be a mix of both good and bad.

And now for the good part. 

His grace is what enabled me to make what is undoubtedly one of the most unregrettable decision I’ve ever made: marrying my best friend and true love, Melissa.  

One of the most astonishing books I read last year (or any year for that matter), was A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken. In fact, I would say that the opening chapter of the book may be the most beautiful, heart wrenching, equisite description of the past that I’ve ever read. More than that, it’s a love story written about the life of Vanauken and his wife, both of whom experienced the mercy and grace of God at the hands of tragic events, as well as through the friendship developed with C.S. Lewis at Oxford.

My only regret is that I didn’t read it years ago.

Going to the movies is timeless. You walk in the theatre, there’s the curtains, the dim lights, that weird popcorn smell, and all of sudden it could be any year of any time in your life because you’re in a moment that’s remained constant for as long as you can remember. I remember standing in a line that wrapped around the theatre twice back in 1977, waiting to see the first Star Wars film with my Dad and sister. I was barely able to read, but I got to stay up late, eat barrels of candy and popcorn and take part in one of the biggest pop culture phenomenons of our time. The day after was almost better because all of us kids in school and on our block played light sabers together. I kind of wish I still could.

But then I’d be a larper and that can’t happen.

Nights can be daunting. Like everyone in the known world, I go to bed in hopes of falling into a steady, restful sleep. The trouble starts when, four hours later, I’m staring at the ceiling frustrated, exhausted, and fully awake. It’s like a battle. Thoughts are literally raging a war within my mind. It’s a loss of control.

What do I do? I don’t know. I get up, I read, I try to pray, I write things down and try to clear my head. Sometimes it works….last night it did not!

Here’s to another day to consider why it didn’t.

“You need to post more than a sentence or two”.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not really blogging….you do like two sentences”.

“What do you mean ‘not really blogging’? I’m posting something every day. It’s blooming hard.”

“Yeah, but it’s so short.”

“Hold on…..you’re actually FOLLOWING my blog??!!”

I have ridiculous conversations almost daily.

Drawing comfort from God’s grace so that we’re able to meditate on his goodness was preached to me this morning before I had the privilege of closing our service with this tragic, yet glorious hymn:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

That we would find ourselves broken enough to prove those words true in our lives.

Reading a book called “Shadowplayers - The Rise and Fall of Factory Records”…a fascinating look into what happens when people love and become obsessed with passions and pursuits other than Christ and Christianity.

On a more positive and less obscure note, I’m hoping the order of my day promotes family, relationships and the desire to grow further in God’s grace.

I have about 15 hours starting now.

Italian food. Friends. Driving on dark highways. Conversations about the past, present and future. Thoughts on where God has lead and is leading us. Hopes and fears. And then the night comes to a close.

Never sad to be home.

Grabbing this R.C. Sproul quote from Melissa, who grabbed it from www.theresurgence.com

God just doesn’t throw a life preserver to a drowning person. He goes to the bottom of the sea, pulls up a corpse, takes him up on the bank, breathes the breath of life into him, and makes him alive.

This is GRACE.

It was a long day, but I’d still be where I’m at right now if it would’ve been any shorter.

Communication is a fragile proposition. Anything can affect the state of it’s progress. A shrug of the shoulders, an expression of the eyes, a slight nodding of the head, or a reactionary response can either build up or break down the delicate balance of understanding. Words can be uttered as easily as leaves falling from trees in autumn, but can touch down on the listener with the weight of an anvil.

I want my words to be like cotton. Fresh, clean to the touch, pleasing to the soul and protection against the elements.

God creates out of nothing. Therefore, until a man is nothing, God can make nothing out him.

Martin Luther

None of us are really very clever, are we?

I got nothing. Truly. Watched the Golden Globes, talked with friends, and enjoyed a rather low key Sunday thinking partly about Monday. 

Because I have limitations, possibilities are not endless.

On an average day, I probably get asked at least five times how I’m “liking the snow”, followed by sort of a nod, wink and smirk. I mean look, I get it. I was a California native, so people have to wonder how much I’m “hating” this cold, arctic torture known as winter. And everyone assumes I must hate it. But here’s the thing….I like it. I really do. There’s something so stark and peaceful about the snow. I was hiking in it today with Melissa and we couldn’t stop talking about how picturesque it was. There’s a poetic beauty in looking through a forest of bare trees, with snow covering the limbs, hanging like boughs of cotton candy. There’s a sadness to the landscape that I think I’ll always love.

It’s a contemplative weather condition.  

The past is ever lurking behind every corner, isn’t it? Some of us can’t escape it, some of us don’t want to escape it, and then there are those who have chosen to live a life that points onward and upward. Everybody “believes” in forward motion. From jobs, to finances, to relationships, to football, to taking a casual ride in the family jet….our intent is to always be moving forward. But we dont always. Sometimes we slip back. Other times we are simply at a standstill.

I love making plans. I love thinking about what the future might hold based on the kind of deep rooted relationships that are building around me. I have no idea what God will develop through these relationships, or if it will even be more than simple (and much needed) friendship, but it’s fun to watch, wait and see. And it keeps me looking onward and upward.

But the past is like a tornado, seeking to pull me back in and lay waste.

Very tired, but blogging duties must be attended to. My daughter painted a picture last night that I love. Its a beautiful scene of a boat, on a lake, at night, with the moonlight shining on the face of the water. There’s also a rather lovely tree on the left.

I will frame it and put it on my desk because paintings astound me.

Today I am torn, as I’ve been for months, with loving things more than the things I should love more. It’s the equivalent of swimming under a blanket of ice when you can see the opening of light right next to you. The light draws you out but the lack of air is somehow intoxicating.

I will reach the light when claustrophobia stops providing comfort.