Somewhere in the dusk I have found myself surrounded by Night. It has filled my soul, like water filling the lungs of a man drowning. I feel chocked, weighted, engulfed, by the lack of light that has blanketed me. How I loath and long to be freed of such an welcome company. Oh how long shall I be trapped? How long shall my cries go unheard? I am a prisoner to an unseen world. Trapped by all things that cannot be defined.

As the man drowning feels himself weighted down not knowing where the surface is, he holds tight to what little air he has. He then races his mind to the feeling of what it would be like to breath again. The body yes convulsed and on the verge of dying has but one thought, and a will to keep it. Hope! A hope for what that breath will be like. A hope for what it will be like to come to the surface coughing, scared, weak greedily taking Its air.

This darkness, drowning, Being prisoner to that which is unseen, the company my mind wishes to rid itself of. All these are kinsmen sharing the family name of Pain. My pain has wrapped around me like a blanket of night. It has trapped me in a cell of self loathing, and at times I fell I am drowning and I cannot breath. For now these kinsmen reside in the hall of my mind and I long for them to leave.

Shall pain go unnoticed? Shall I tell my self that I do not suffer? Paint my smile, console myself with such scriptures as “trust in God,” and be on my way. No! There is a point to my yarn, my story. Like the man drowning I might not know where the surface is. I have no idea where or when I shall find my air. I must however learn to direct my attention to hope for that air. Hope to see the light in all this darkness.

A preacher that is a lot smarter than I am said it is the light of the morning that brings us out into the world and it is the dark of night that brings us all home. It is our pains and our sufferings that help us relate to one another and to Christ, for who has suffered more. Paul tells us in Romans 5 : 3 “We rejoice in our sufferings, because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope: and hope does not disappoint us."

This is not my story, but a story worth telling. As I grow and walk with our Lord I am learning to step aside and watch Him work in those around me. So in a sense this is my story, but only in the fact that I was part of the audience. The play was set before me, characters all on queue, script in hand and I watched the actors step forward with talent and skill. Our focus however does not rest on the actors, for where would they be with out the inspiration to act. This story is about that Inspiration. This story is about The One behind it all. The one writing the play in which we are all privileged to take part in. On first glimpse one might ask what part does a spectator, audience, have in a play? Well what good would a stage be if there where no audience in front of it to perform? Does not the presence or the promise of an audience dictate where the stage will be set. If Jesus did not have an audience who then would he have given His sermon on the mount to. The mount became the stage only after the audience was there. An audience guides where and when the play will be acted and then watches the beauty of the play. That is my role, I merely showed where the audience was then sat down, and took part in a divinely orchestrated play.

The stage was set in a place that not a lot of people are familiar with. It is in the city of Kiev, Ukraine. It is summer time and the weather is warm. The climate is humid and leaves you longing for shade and something cool to drink. If left outside or in a heated bus for too long sweet pours and tempers flare.

Forty Americans had set out on a journey that is unlike many journeys. Today when people set out they set out for them selves. For instance for the amount of money these people raised they could be sitting on the beach in Greece eating shrimp. Instead they chose to use that money to show people something more. These people wanted to share what Paul calls the greatest virtue, and that is Love. These people had done their best to live by this concept and where now inspired to show how it had invaded and changed their lives. I use the word “show” because that is what these people where forced to do. They where in most circumstances separated by a language barrier, and where forced to touch, show compassion, express joy, and give a sense of caring, all without words. These people set out to serve, and to “show” Love. They set out as Eph 2:10 says “to do good works in which God has set before them.” Now a lot of them had no idea what that meant, but they had been inspired to try. The fact that 40 Americans had come up with enough money to come to Ukraine to run a summer camp, work with the sick, orphaned, imprisoned and stay here for a week breaks the logic of today‘s mentality. I see this as a miracle. These people get nothing from this. There is no gain to be had from going thousands of miles away to sit with the broken hearted and sick. It is a testimony that God and his Love can not be explained.

When I took my seat in the audience to watch the play before me I was at the Kiev international airport. I then was introduced to the actors. I saw expectation, fear and excitement. Like any good play these people where eager to start out in their roles. These forty people had few things in common. Their biggest bond that they shared was the same inspiration. I saw that they not only shared inspiration with each other but they shared it with me as well. They had come to serve in a land where I was living and serving in. We shared something, and that was God. God had inspired both parties to be where they where.

Over the next few days I found myself in a place that I had never been before. A place that was distant from the hands on experience of an actor I had been so accustomed to. By default I like to be the one who is in there in the midst doing, touching, acting. Instead I found myself in the audience watching people that where so inspired so full of love they could do nothing less then to show their skill. It was testimony to all that I believed in and it had nothing to do with me. God was on display in front of me using those around me to show His love and I was watching, and loving it. I have come to know God as the One who is behind it all. The one who has built the stage, written the script, and gives the inspiration. I live be this and as I sat there I saw Him work, I saw all the things I have lived my life by played out in those around me.

So what is the lesson? What is the point? Where am I going with all of this? The answer is it is not about me. John the Baptist says there needs to be less of me so there can be more of Him. I have realized this. That true beauty true Love exists when the story, the play, the audience and the actors are all claimed by God. As part of the audience I showed the actors where the stage was to be set. They, then inspired by God, set out to perform his play. This story isn’t about me but I will claim it anyway. It is a story about people who have had one common Love change all their lives. The Love is God.

Sometimes the strangest things catch our eye. I don’t know if you ever been doing something and all of a sudden from no where the strangest thing will shimmer your curiosity. My room mate tells me this happens to me more often because I have the mind of a child, I do not know if that is meant to be an insult or not but I take it as a compliment.

For instance you could be walking and there on the side of the road amongst the trash you will see a rose pedal set apart in color. You see half damped paper and plastic, and there in the middle is something that just doesn’t belong, something natural something that is not made, something else. Your curiosity now being awoke you either turn your head to watch as you keep moving or you stop to look. You notice how dark it is how vibrant the colors. How amongst all the trash it stand out as something all together foreign in its surroundings. The canvas on which it lies is muddled, ugly, used and blurred together. And yet like a good painting all the lines seem to bring your eye to this small, tinny bit of crimson red. Not made by the hands of man but being beauty, it is destined to stand apart.

Not only does beauty catch our eye but it captures our mind as well. It sneaks up on us when we are not looking and then we are overwhelmed with a sense of peace, awe, wonder and mystery. Beauty makes us forget our cares, and this runs parallel with an assurance that something greater something more beautiful is forever present. That yeah there is something good something overwhelmingly beautiful amongst the trash. I and many people that I know would call this God, you can call it what you want. Oh yeah and if all this seems like some hall mark card or something that makes no sense to you, I am truly sorry.

So the other day I decided to go dancing. I had not been dancing in quite a long time and the whole experience was completely different then previous occasion. Early in my life the preparation before dancing went as follows. Think of all the dance moves I would use to attract the ladies, find the clothes I will need to attract the ladies, put the right gel in my hair to attract the ladies and finally gather with my fellow wing men so we can drink the courage we need to attract the ladies. There was definitely an underlining theme to all this. We where looking to get laid. In contrast preparation for dancing a couple nights ago went dramatically different. I did shower and shave and put on somewhat nice clothes, but then I did something different. I prayed, I asked that I and the people that I would be traveling with would be kept from harm and that I would be kept from doing harm. This is not to say that I am some sort of evil person, but I know myself. I am a guy and I do know my previous reactions to girls in short skirts dancing.

Upon arrival to a dance club I and my friends than reached a higher state of consciousness. Or we would like to think so. We become hunters on the prowl, looking for our next victim, or girl we where going to dance with. Conversations took place with a nod and a smile. We where all about dancing with many girls or finding a girl that we could make out with or make out with, on a latter date. I know now that this idea of being with a girl was something that I told myself would make me happy. It is something that when I went to the dance club recently saddened me more than I could have expected. The eyes that I saw there shifting from one face to another, looking for acceptance or some version of love saddened me. I know some might say that that is not what dancing is for them at all, and they just go to dance. Yes of course many people do go, to just dance. But many people go because they are looking for someone or something that they think will make them happy. And when I looked around I saw something that I had once believed, written on the faces of others. Accept me, love me. Unfortunately dance floor love aint really love (I think that should go on a baseball cap or something).

The night came to a close and I felt saddened. Sad for myself that I had lived that life for so long, and sad for a lot of the people that where believing something that is not going to make them happy. I had lived a life that involved chasing false hopes for what I thought was happiness. I had chased the wind and had stories I would not tell me grandchildren. I had chased it till my own lines had become blurred and you could not tell my color from that which lay around me. My own depravity facing me like a timeless mirror showing me what I always have been and what I am destined to be.

So me, a friend, and a girl that that is dear to my heart climbed into a cab exhausted. It was 4 or 5 in the morning and we had danced and where now tired. We started to drive and the roads where desolate. I sat in the back seat, my friend in the front and the girl leaning against my arm. Sleep was a robber coming to steal all or consciousnesses, and we where all inviting him with open arms. As I sat there half awake, half asleep we where traversing over a bridge the city of Kiev, in which I live, started to come clear. Now Kiev is a pretty big city with big city like buildings. The sun was not yet visible but the light was setting a backdrop. All things made stood out black as night. They had a presence of a city carved out of the sky. And the sky was barely red and starting to fade in its colors. I was captured. I looked to my right where lay the girl and she was asleep, and in the front seat my friend lay asleep as well. I started to feel a sense of peace a sense of beauty that I have never felt before. Mind you I had nothing to drink and was under no influence. In that moment things felt perfect, not a thought, just awe, pure amazement at the beauty of life and the things in it. I can honestly not explain the absolute peace I felt. It is a simple thing in logical sense. I cab ride, night of dancing, girl on your arm. But for some reason it was so much more, so much deeper in feeling. I do not want to try and explain, for I believe Logic can rob beauty of its mystery and its awe.

The night was a mix of a emotion. The only thing I had left the club with was a heart heavy with sadness, for myself and those around me. It was the trash we fell that we are living in. The hurt that is everywhere; false hopes, pain, an unquenchable thirst to be loved. Upon nights end, I felt drenched in this sadness this trash. The dawn of the new day captured my eye. I was show a peace the abolished understanding, a sense of the divine. My attention had been drawn to that crimson red rose pedal and I never want to take my eye off it.

It is moments like this I know God is real, and that He is beautiful. Somebody once said something to me that I probably quote way to much, that is “there is too much painting for there to be no painter.” It has never felt more true than now.