The Middleton

The bridge that took so long to build across the deep ravine
To safely pass across that place no soul would pass between
And oh, for careless foolishness, now rendered useless fast
And no, "Sorry" is not enough to wipe away the past

Standing in the ashes. Shaking your head. Senseless waste. Why?

To those who tried to tell me, thank you.

For years you all have petitioned that I take a break, citing that were I to maintain the exorbitant level of output that I have prided myself on giving to all undertakings, I would dramatically decrease by ability to be effective at all by decreasing the amount of time I have to be of any good. You tried to tell me for so long. Back to my undergraduate years, you were there, seeing my bloodshot eyes, telling me there was a better way. In my days at the ARISE Institute, you were there, cautioning me not to take on burdens that were not my own. And as I moved on to a meadow of miracles, there you were, holding signs of warning.

For years I have heard you, I have fought you, and I have denied your reality, but now I acknowledge your wisdom. It has taken much for me to "see the light," but the nail in the coffin came just this past weekend as I read the following from one of my favorite authors:

The misuse of our physical powers shortens the period of time in which our lives can be used for the glory of God. And it unfits us to accomplish the work God has given us to do...Those who thus shorten their lives and unfit themselves for service by disregarding nature's laws, are guilty of robbery toward God. And they are robbing their fellow men also. The opportunity of blessing others, the very work for which God sent them into the world, has by their own course of action been cut short. And they have unfitted themselves to do even that which in a briefer period of time they might have accomplished. The Lord holds us guilty when by our injurious habits we thus deprive the world of good. {Christ's Object Lessons 346.4}

The Christian life is not made up of unceasing activity, or of continual meditation....Christians must work earnestly for the salvation of the lost, and they must also take time for contemplation, for prayer, and the study of the word of God. It will not do to be always under the strain of the work and excitement, for in this way personal piety is neglected, and the powers of mind and body are injured.

Our God is ever merciful, full of compassion, and reasonable in all his requirements. He does not require that we shall pursue a course of action that will result in the loss of our health or the enfeeblement of our powers of mind. He would not have us work under a pressure and strain until exhaustion follows, and prostration of the nerves.

Though the harvest is great, and the laborers are few, nothing is gained by sacrificing health and life.
{Review and Herald, November 7, 1893}

Message understood, loud and clear. Change is on the way.

Another night preaching gone by, I leaned forward on the couch staring into a blank document I had just begun on my computer. I had work to do. Fluttering through my mind were the events of the past two days. Just two nights before I had watched as one of the perceivably most hardened boys broke down in tears under the conviction of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit would not let the boy rest until he came and told me the truth. After praying with him and sending him off to bed, I walked into the office, looked at my team leader, and shook my head in disbelief. “Every day something new,” I breathed out, “I didn’t see that one coming.”

The next night I was sitting on a couch beside another boy, explaining to him my “big picture” theology, meaning that, as we understand that we are insignificant of ourselves, that our only value comes from the one who declares us to be worth something, and that every aspect of our lives will be meaningless, senseless, and worthless without Him, we see the “big picture,” of which we are a small part. The more I shared with him, the more it seemed to make sense to the both of us, and I began to feel the conviction that I needed to explore the entire subject more deeply. I started outlining that evening and considered the possibility of it turning into a larger scale project.

The following day I remember intending to get lunch in the cafeteria and pull a student to brainstorm on some goals for his academics. I decided first to check if Sir J. could cover worship on Saturday night. A moment’s check turned into a much longer time of discussion of a subject that hadn’t even been on my mind. Now late for lunch, I hurried through line, found the student, and had the necessary discussion, never actually stopping to consume the meal I’d taken for myself. When I finally did get the chance, a former student came by to ask me a question, but looking into her eyes, I knew there was something else going on that she needed to express. Before we could talk, another student came by and something told me to have her sit down for a moment. She was trying to appear ok, but, within a moment, she shared some things that were weighing heavy upon her. Just as she was finishing, the former student returned. I finally got her to agree to talk about what was bothering her, and we left campus for her to vent freely. As we sat in DQ, the 23rd Psalm came to mind, and I shared it with her from a perspective I had never seen before, then combining it with some thoughts I’d just developed on the “big picture.” I knew I had to preach on the “big picture” theology I was developing that very night; there was no time like the present.

After the sermon was all said and done that evening, I made an appeal for all who wanted to see the big picture with God’s eyes, and the response was overwhelming, but as I lingered upon the appeal, I caught glimpse of a boy still sitting. My eyes wandered about and then found him again.

Now, an hour or two later, back in the dorm, the boy came to me and asked if we could talk tonight. “Not tonight,” I said, “I have too much stuff that needs to be turned in for work.” He asked if we could pray together, and I prayed with him. Somewhere inside of me, a voice whispered indiscernibly. Moments later, I had to go downstairs to close a phone call. Sitting in the office the whisper grew discernable, saying, “Don’t let this opportunity pass.” I had the boy sent down and called him into the office, and I listened to him vent for a long time about his past. I didn’t say much, not seeing much necessity, but finally I had to share my perspective. As I spoke, I felt a tear begin to form in my eye and saw one fall from his. I rose from my chair and sat on the floor beside him, placing my arms about him and telling him, “I love you.”

As I sat there, I felt a spiritual battle commence, but this one was to be unlike any other I had ever engaged in. As I continued speaking to him, upon the mention of his need to call upon the name of Jesus, I felt him tense his muscles. Every time I said the name, he shifted his position. Before I knew what was happening, I began rebuking demons in the name of Jesus and telling them to leave. The boy began to shudder more violently, and clutching his face, he groaned, “Stay! Stay!” I cannot tell you how long the battle raged, but it was unlike anything I have ever experienced. He began fighting to push my hands off him and pull my arms from around him, but I kept rebuking the demons in Jesus name. And finally, the shaking stopped, and the boy called upon the name of Jesus. The demons were gone. We prayed, and the boy was clearly transformed.

Dear friends, can we ever be too busy? Could the work I needed to accomplish that night really have been worth neglecting a soul in need? Thank God that He checked me that night, for, because of it, another soul is safe in His Kingdom. Another soul has been torn from slavery to the accursed one. Another soul is free from bondage to sin. Forget paperwork. Forget deadlines.

Can we ever be that busy?

Priorities.

Life is full of "what if" moments--those moments when you stand back a look at a situation, whether good or bad, and imagine how things might have gone if you had done things differently. Without question, these moments are usually pointless, as they only serve to waste time and cause eventual depression. "What if" moments are not productive, unless, of course, you make them so.

A mere seven hours ago I drove towards the main building on campus, preparing to lead evening vespers, only to realize that I had left my Bible by the door at home. After apprehending it, I crossed paths with Sir Julien, who informed me that there was some anxious anticipation that I had not yet arrived inside. I made my way inside to hear the lively, almost frighteningly so, songs of worship, and pulled out my Bible, and glanced at a card with notes I had jotted down earlier in church, preparing to speak that evening. A mere 20 minutes earlier I had been sound asleep, but awakened and roused quickly, knowing the time limit. Now I heard the call for opening song and saw everyone stand.

"I might have prepared better," I thought to myself. The notes were basic. Five passages, one illustration, and two Bible stories. On a wing and a prayer, I walked toward the front, bumbled over an introduction, and offered opening prayer.

Fast-forward.

Appeal time. I recapped the points on friendship, and called for all those willing to have an unashamed relationship with God to stand. Most did. I exhaled softly and offered a closing prayer. As I made my way towards the back, some of the kids approached me, stating that they enjoyed and appreciated the message. Moments later, several staff members commended me for bringing such a timely message. I smiled and gave glory to God, knowing I really hadn't done anything.

The evening waxed late, I made my way home, warmed up a snack, and retreated to the small confines of my room. Tired, but not sleepy, I pulled up a random movie online that looked amusing enough, and leaned back to pass the time. Now here I am, taking stock of the day.


What if...
What if, I say, what if I had taken the time to ensure that my heart and mind were fully prepared to present the message? What if I had determined to pray and not faint? What if I neglected the sleep before preaching and engaged it afterward instead of wasting my time with some foolishness through the middle of the night? Could not the Spirit have moved more freely? Would not the effects have been more powerful?

Were this an occasional occurrence, I would have naught for which to abase myself, but timelessly, consistently, I find myself to be an unfaithful steward of the most costly commodity--one that cannot be bought or sold, made nor destroyed, only used or wasted--time. One of my favorite authors made a statement that if we would but make the Word of God the object of our focus, we would find no need to look for further revelation and inspiration.

And now begin the hours of Sunday, a day upon which most men in my country find able time to waste--3 to 6 hours, if not 9--Football Sunday. Now I determine to engage myself thusly, that I no longer leave the "what if" moment unimproved, but rather embrace the Word for a solid hour to see if the world becomes less tasteful and more wasteful. And then, a day before, how much better suited may I be to rightly deal the Word of truth, in word, in conversation, in deed? Time will tell.

Next time, do yourself a favor. Make your next "what if" moment a productive one.

(disclaimer: these are the ramblings of an over-active, over-taxed, under-rested, under-fed mind and body, and being such may not be initially coherent)

o⋅be⋅di⋅ence  [oh-bee-dee-uhns]
–noun
1. the state or quality of being obedient.
2. the act or practice of obeying; dutiful or submissive compliance.
3. the trait of being willing to obey.

force  [fawrs, fohrs]
–verb (used with object)
1. to compel, constrain, or oblige (oneself or someone) to do something.
2. to drive or propel against resistance.
3. to put or impose (something or someone) forcibly on or upon a person.

Can obedience be forced?

The question is simple enough, and the answer may seem to be the same as well. Some would immediately assert, "Yes, it can be!" Others would state the contrary. Both sides have valid points to make.


Conflict

Obedience can be forced.
--------------------------------
If you define obedience as complying with the will of another, then by all means, obedience can be forced. For example, I tell you to sit down. You refuse. I then force you to take a seat. Obedience was forced.

Obedience cannot be forced.
--------------------------------
If you define obedience as complying with the will of another, then by all means, obedience cannot be forced. For example, I tell you to pay attention. You refuse. I cannot force you to do so. Obedience could not be forced.

Thus in these cases, operating with the same definition, two contrary conclusions arise.


Resolution:

In order for both examples to work under the same definition, we must modify the definition of obedience and the force of it to account for limitations. Obedience may be forced as the mandate of the commanding power is attachable to physical, manipulateable response. I can make you follow me, but I cannot make you believe I know where I'm going.


Expansion and Application:

While on some levels--namely physical--obedience may be forced, on others--eg. mental, rational, or psychological--it cannot be. However, perhaps the simple fact is that forced obedience is more destructive than listless negligence. To force against the will destroys the future likelihood of the subservient party willfully submitting.

From the example of God, we see a better solution. God never forces obedience. Rather, He leaves humanity free to do as it pleases, merely explaining the results of obedience and disobedience.

Just a thought: next time, instead of forcing obedience, explain expectations and consequences, and let a person choose to obey or disobey for himself or herself.

Humans--they fail.
The Middleton--he's human.
Conclusion--he fails too.

Sitting back knowing all I need to do, my thoughts are pervaded by this thought. Not merely of the ability of humans to fail but also their aptness. Failure is a part of our lives, however miniscule or epic the scale may be. People fail us. We fail them. We fail ourselves. This brings a measure of discomfort, and perhaps rightfully so, yet, it being such a part of our existence, if not our species' definition, should we not accept it? May we actually accept it without being comfortable with it?

Is there a difference between innocent failure and blatant failure? Does intention define failure? For example, if you did something you intended to do, or knew better than to do, is that a failure of success? Or, if you you did something you didn't mean to do, is it a failure or an accomplishment?

It's all in your eyes.

You're human. You fail. I'm human. I fail. You may fail me. I may fail you. Accept that much. In light of that, let's all just be realistic and accept our humanity, with all it entails, and stop pretending like failure is such a big deal or such a small deal. It's just a deal. When dealing with humans, failure comes entailed. Be mindful of that next time you interact with a human.

"He who seeks to transform humanity must himself understand humanity. Only through sympathy, faith, and love can men be reached and uplifted. Here Christ stands revealed as the master teacher; of all that ever dwelt on the earth, He alone has perfect understanding of the human soul."

Education, page 78

Two worlds that cannot peacefully abide. One past. One future.
One present to change it all.
Old man, in my ear. Whisper your lies again to me.
Deceive me when I want to be.
I hear the reality that you try to present, but I should not,
Can not, will not believe you anymore.
Kill the old man, the lust of the world. Make him pay the price
He wanted to charge.
But the truth is, we are human. We love temptation. We linger,
Lulling ourselves to a pseudo-sleep.
Wake up! Be roused! Know you not of the war? Ready your weapons!
On to the fray!
No time for espionage--that is no longer an excuse. Choose
Your side and fight to the death.
You've sat in the lap of luxury too long. You forgot the demons
that lurk outside your home--
Waiting for an entry, waiting for a weak point. And you?
You've left your keys in the door--
Your Bible's on the table. Door wide open now. Your knees still
Don't bend to the floor.
Access granted. Possession gained. And don't think that just because
You're not foaming at the mouth--
It's not true. It is. Waste away your moments. Waste away your life.
Death is still the final price.
It's war, child! It's WAR! Are you still sleeping in bed?
Awake now, swear your allegiance and fight!
The old man is still lurking in the shadows of your mind.
Find him.
Kill him.
Die, old man, die!

This was just passing through my mind, and I wanted to offer it as encouragement to all who will read it:

2 Peter 1:2-4
Grace and peace be multiplied to you through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord, according as His divine power has given to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who has called us to glory and virtue, through which He has given to us exceedingly great and precious promises, so that by these you might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.

Here's my paltry attempt at even beginning to understand what that really means:

1. We receive grace and peace on the principle of multiplication through a growing knowledge of God and Jesus.

2. This is the result of His power gives us everything that has anything to do with life and godliness (once again through our knowledge of Him--which give me the idea we really need to get to know Him better).

3. He has set us apart to exemplify glory and virtue.

4. Through Him, who set us apart, we receive EXCEEDING (I love that word) great and precious promises.

5. By these promises, we may receive the Divine nature (HAVE MERCY!).

6. By these promises, we may escape from this world, its corruption (which is ever-increasing through unsanctified desires), and the end result of it (death).

Praise God for the promises of The One who loved us to death, that we may escape death and receive again the sinless nature we lost in Eden!

"Does anyone have a testimony they would like to share?" The pastor asked.

There I was sitting in the sanctuary of the Toll Gate SDA Church, still doing my best to hide my inner distress over the events of the night before. Preaching with all my heart and knowing that this is not enough never sits well with me. That Sabbath happened to include a communion service. "Why today?" I asked myself. For the first time I just couldn't get excited about the meaning behind the service--that is, until I heard the words of Jesus as he gave the bread to his disciples at the last supper.

"When he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, 'Take, eat: this is my body...which is broken...for you.' "

The words echoed over and over in my head. "My body...broken...for you." It tore at my heart. It was like I heard Him say, "I know you are not perfect, and you may not always be perfect in preaching my word, but my grace covers that because my body was broken for your shortcomings. I was broken for you inadequacy. I cover that."

My mind was far off as people in church shared their testimonies. Then, one of my students shared how God had used me to bring her to a point where she could pray again while going through a trial. God was telling me, "Your work is not in vain."

That afternoon I was with some of the boys up in the dorm. "Small Man" came up to me and asked me where the story of Samson was in the Bible. Just the night before I had preached on the story of Samson. Was it coincidence that this kid wanted to know more now? I think not. God was telling me, "Your work is not in vain."

Later, I was in the conference room grabbing something when one of the teachers stopped me to thank me for the sermon that I had preached for evening worship on Friday night. Once again, God was telling me, "Your work is not in vain."

1 Corinthians 15:58 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.

You flip through your Bible, strategically placing the marker ribbons near the passages you intend to use most. You glance over at the makeshift notes you've put on your phone...Three passages, one story, one theme: Awake from sleep. You hear the scattered, half-hearted, insincere voices of the youths faltering over a hymn. To your knees you fall, begging God to take any self in you away so that you can transparently communicate a message from heaven. You rise just as the opening song begins. You sing.

The chaplin then makes his way to the front and gives a few remarks, and then you come forward to the applause of the kids who say they like it when you speak. You look into their eyes. They are not with you. They have no energy. That's not good. You need them to be energized. You start off telling a random, humorous object lesson that you learned during the day. All are amused and a few get the point.

You start with prayer and then share the word. The concept comes first, then two parables, and then you tell the Bible story that brings it all together. The kids seem to pay attention. You try to keep them with you. You pray silently while you speak. The story goes on. They love the little humorous details you imaginatively inject into the story. They are entertained. The tone of your message shifts as you move to the conclusion of it all. You bring out points that make some uncomfortable. The faces that had been smiling are now dark and somber. You catch the eyes of one who glares at you from the back with an almost demonic expression, muttering under his breath. You keep preaching.

It's appeal time. You pour your heart out. You have nothing left to say, and yet the Lord has you stil speaking. With a trembling voice that is almost gone, you make the call to stand. Some stand. You strech the appeal, knowing that more need to stand. All that will stand are standing. You can't see them. Hearts have opened to the Lord, but you can't see them. Your spirit weeps. You hide the tears of your heart with a smile on your face. You consecrate, in prayer, those who have made a decision and beg God to keep working on those who would not.

You walk away. Weak and broken. Wondering why God still uses you. You find water, you find a seat. You find no rest. You gather those you are responsible for and take them to the dorm. You try to share with those who have questions about the message, but they can't seem to hear you. You tell them that you've been where they are. They don't get it. You tell them that when their feelings contradict the reality of what God's Word says, they must, in faih, hold on to the Word of God over their feelings. They don't understand. You are empty, poured out like water. You send them off to bed. Your thoughts are far away. You can't see the ones who stood at the impression of the Spirit. All you see is those who sat.

Is there something more you could have done. Had you prepared more, would the outcome have been different? Had you been more closely surrendered, had you yielded yourself not just before you spoke, but all day...all week...could the Spirit's power have been increased? Could more hearts have been touched? You could have done more. Hours pass, and into the hours of the night, you are sick to your stomach. You could have done more. You can't see those who stood...only those who sat. You could have done more. May God have mercy on your soul.

Now you're supposed to go to sleep.

Every day has its drama. Yesterday the highlight was one of my sons ran away. I was relaxing, or attempting to do so, in my home when word reached me of the escapee. I was hoping to get a brief interaction with my bed while I was still off, but this was not to be the case as I suited up and began to peruse the backwoods. I called in to discover where assistance may be needed and spent several hours jaunting about the paradise/wasteland (I reckon it's all in the perspective of the viewer).

Anyhow, after several fruitless hours of traipsing about, I returned to prepare myself to officially come back on duty. It was then that I realized how tired I was. Tired, perhaps not so much physically. Tired of the idea of effort being expended in vain. Running for naught? Why bother? At every turn, we face these moments, and God says, "Do you really trust Me? Even when you cannot see the point of pressing on?" Point made.

Today I had to take a co-worker to the hospital for an appointment with a heart doctor. Along the way it became obvious that my beloved car, Breeze, was nearly dead. She got a fever halfway down the highway. By the time we reached the hospital she was sweating steam from under the hood. I shook my head as I parked, knowing that I would have to push her out of the parking space since her transmission system is weakened and her reverse no longer works. I tended to her needs with the last bit of coolant I had. Poor baby.

"Come on girl, you can make it home." I said to her as I left. The smoke and the beeping was almost too much for me to bear. The temperature meter was almost maxed out, no signs of relief anywhere to be found. I sent up a prayer for my baby. The temperature steadily dropped nearly 60 degrees. Finally a place where coolant could be apprehended. Like one who carefully places a band-aid on a massive gash, I poured in all she could take until the smoking had nearly abated.

Almost home now. I dropped off my passenger and pulled up to my house. I turned her off a looked under her hood once more. "This is it, girl." I said to myself as a housemate of mine came to see the cause of the smoke. I tried to find a way to calculate the cost of repairing her to be less than I paid for her, but there simply was no way that could happen. Unexpected expenses already had me in debt months earlier. Now there was clearly no way that she could be saved. No way.

(dramatic ending)
I fell to my knees. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" I cried out. I reached my hands out to her bumper. The sweat on my fingertips evaporated against her heated metal body. I stared into her headlights as the light and life faded out of her. And then...she was gone.

(real ending)
With a small void in my heart, I walked inside wondering why unexpected expenses are so unexpected...and so expensive too. Soon my baby, Breeze, may be laid to rest. No money for healing, no funding for a new ride. What now?

And God said, "Do you really trust Me? Even when you cannot see the point of pressing on?" Point re-emphasized.

Trusting

2 Corinthians 5:17-19 (ESV)
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.

God has entrusted into our hands the powerful message of reconciliation. The principle is simple: One party willfully commits a wrongful act against a second party, and though the responsibility rests upon the first party to bring about a reestablishment of cordial relations, the second party takes upon itself the burden of bringing about unity.

In the case of heaven and earth, each of us constitute the first party. On a daily basis, we willfully transgress the law of heaven, yet God, in His great love and forbearance, reaches out to bridge the awful chasm that we have created. God's mechanism for this was Christ.

Now Christ has bodily ascended into the heavens yet has promised to be with and work through all who allow themselves to be reconciled to Him. Heaven is fully invested in reconciling us despite the wreck we have created. Once we abide in Christ, and He abides in us, we become instruments or mechanisms of reconciliation.

Translation: Just as God reconciled the wrecks that you and I have made between heaven and earth, He expects us to reconcile the wrecks that we make between ourselves--even if we are not the cause of them, we are the solution.

About a week ago, Monday, I was in Ohio relishing my last hours away from work before having the country roads take me home to the place I belong...Weeesssst Virgina (thanks to John Denver for a song I can joke about when I go home). It was a moment of melancholy as sat in the gazebo of a familiar park with a young lady I hadn't seen in ages. The clouds slurred behind the distant trees as I looked into her eyes, saying, "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't know how much longer I can give everything I have to these unappreciative kids, knowing that they won't care, and understanding the negligible likelihood that any effectual change will take place in the time that I spend with them. I just don't know."

We sat there in silence. She looked at me, her eyes saying that she wished she had an answer for me--that she wished there was something she could say or do. I breathed deeply and leaned forward. The wind changed directions and I could feel the chill as the hair on my bared arm began to rise. My mind began racing, searching for an answer. How much longer could I give and give, seeing no fruit. My commitment to service was made indefinitely--that is, until such time as God would tell me to leave. Having no directive from God as to how long I should stay, could I, in good conscience, leave?

Again the question came. How long? How long can I give? How long can I expend all my time effort and energy to a cause that offers no fruit? Can I press on in relentless dedication to an uncertain goal entirely unattainable by my efforts alone? Can I continue to give my all in desperate hope that someday one or maybe two of these kids will see the sacrifice I've made, appreciate it, and bring about a change in their own lives?

And the lone answer I could reach was, I don't know. I don't know. Then I heard the voice of God calling to me, "but that's what I did." And every objection I could raise, and every uncertainty that could rise. One answer: "...but that's what I did." All I'd been able to think of was all that I do for the kids, but finally God was able to show me all that He's done for me.

God's victory enables ours.

Victory and Defeat, and Victory--
The past week has been one immeasurably taxing on all the faculties I possess spiritually, mentally, and physically. Preaching by day and working by night left little to no time for sleep. Nevertheless, God saw to it that victory was won. On Wednesday evening, as I was preaching about the resurrection of Christ and what it means for us, the Holy Spirit came down and lit a fire in my bones. As the excitement escalated and began running through my soul, I found myself preaching in blur, telling how Gabriel the angel just couldn't wait to get to the tomb on Sunday morning to open it up and call Jesus out. My excitement was contagious as I heard more of a collective response from the kids during the sermon than I had ever heard before. Soon, as I made the appeal and students stood to their feet, I felt the Spirit lead me to hold out just a little longer. I stopped and looked around the darkened room asking God who else needed to stand. Then I saw him. And then he stood.

After the service was over, I talked to him. He told me that as I had described the scene--all of heaven watching the events of passover and then Gabriel speeding his way through space to reach the tomb of Jesus--he had seen the most vivid picture of Jesus coming back to this earth, and as goose bumps spread across his body, he knew he wasn't ready. That night as we talked, he decided, through his tears, to make his calling and election sure--to go all in for Christ. Victory.

Two nights later I was in the same situation with a different boy. Different problems, different doubts. We talked for nearly an hour. I explained to him that his problem was that he was afraid to give complete control of his life to God. After what seemed like hours the spiritual warfare came to a flaming head. With all the energy I had left in me after working a week of sleepless nights and preaching 2 or 3 times a day, I pleaded with him again to pray the prayer and experience the peace. He turned and walked away. Defeat.

I fell to my knees in the chapel, having lost all strength and any comeliness I may have had, and I began to cry out to God to save this boy. I heard the outside door close and a ceaseless flood of tears began to flow. Earnestly I begged the Lord to bring him back. Helplessly I acknowledged that there was nothing more I could do. Then I heard footsteps. I thought perhaps it was the Chaplin of the school, and so I kept praying. Then I heard the voice of the boy asking me why I was crying. Through my tears I attempted to explain just how much God cares about him and how much it hurts for me to see him reject that love. Somehow, God moved his heart, and the boy asked me to help him pray. That night he gave control of his life to God. Victory.

. . .and Defeat. . .
On the final night of the evangelistic series I preached a message on the Apostle James' exhortation to be hearers of the word and not merely doers. God used the message to reach hearts, and as I made an appeal for all who had been impressed concerning what place in their lives they needed to make a commitment with God to stand, my heart was filled with joy to see so many standing. My eyes then fell upon the young man who had surrendered control of his life to Christ the previous night. He was seated, and he remained seated. Defeat.

. . .and Victory. . .
Later that evening I called the boy aside to see what was going on with him. That opened a whole new can of worms that I wasn't prepared to deal with. The adversary had been hard at work planting seeds of doubt in his heart. I responded to his initial issues, but his doubts would just not be altogether dispelled. As we talked, I felt led by the Spirit to bring the conversations to an end. I told him that he knew the peace that he had the night before when he had given total control of his life to God. I said that I was there that night because he didn't know how to gain the peace on his own. Now that he'd gained it, I wasn't needed. I told him that I'd be there if he ever wanted help, but ultimately that he could choose to have the peace whenever he wanted it.

That night as I prepared to sleep, I laid down on the bed and opened my Bible, seeking words of encouragement. I chuckled to myself as I turned the pages, realizing that is was the first time I'd slept in a bed all week long. My Bible opened to a passage where a piece of paper had been left, and I began to read of how King David made provisions for the work that he could not do in building the Temple. Instantly I was comforted to know that I was doing a work of preparation in the life of the boy, and that God would see to the completion of that work even if I would not personally see it. I then looked at the piece of paper and found it to be a note from a girl who had borrowed my Bible. She thanked me for doing all that I had done to make the evangelistic series and went so far as to call me an angel in disguise. I smiled as I read the words and then saw a scripture reference in the postscript. I turned there in the Bible and saw it was the words that Jesus says to the sheep on His right hand. The words that even now linger,"...inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these my brothers, you have done it unto me." Victory.

"God, why don't you just kill me?!" he shouted through his tears, "This isn't fair. Just kill me!"

The 16-year-old boy leaned in pain over the broken wheel barrel full of manure. He was tired by a chain of consequences for his own actions. He was the one who played instead of working. He was the one who put the prong of the pitchfork into the wheel barrel tire. And he was the one who now had to finish moving all the manure with the broken wheel barrel before he could eat supper. He had tried time and time again to pull it, but all his efforts were to no avail. More often than not, the wheel barrel would tip over and he'd have to begin his task again. Dragging the wheel barrel along was literally back-breaking work. His frustration led him to verbally express a desire to cease to be in the land of the living.

I called his name. I walked to where he was and looked into his tear-filled eyes. "Can you do this alone?" I asked.
"No! I can't!" He cried out.
"Then why don't you admit that you can't do it and ask for help?"
"Because I don't think anyone would help me."
"You'd be surprised if you asked."
He paused for a moment and then asked, "Would you help me?"

Without a word I took hold of the wheel barrel full of manure and dragged it to the far end of the garden. By the time I'd gotten there my back was asking me, "Why are you doing this? This isn't your problem." True. It wasn't my problem. But then again it was.

Seeing that I was doing all the work myself, and perhaps feeling a little guilty that he was doing nothing he said, "Maybe we can carry it." We returned again to the manure pile and filled it again. I took hold of the handles and he took hold of the wheel as we started towards the garden again. Within 25 paces he dropped his end and cried out, "I can't do this! It hurts too much."

Without a word I walked to the other side of the wheel barrel and picked up his side so he could have the lighter end of the load. Again, this time more swiftly, my back questioned, "Why are you doing this? This really isn't your problem!" Then my mind began to more clearly see what I was being Jesus and this boy was being me. Now I knew I couldn't quit, no matter the cost.

Time and time again we made the tedious trip to and from the garden. Each time my bodily agony grew stronger as my muscles grew weaker and my prayers for divine help grew more fervent. And then at last the final trip was made. I looked at my hands that had so eagerly awaited supper. They were covered in manure. My once clean jacket had fared even worse. My body ached, and I feebly attempted to straighten myself from the deformed posture to which I had accustomed myself.

The boy walked away to eat his supper, apparently unmoved by my act of benevolence. He never said thank you. I was tempted to feel outraged, but then I thought of the Son of God who came down from a kingdom of indescribable glory to help resolve a problem He didn't create. He endured all the abhorred, filthy elements of this world to save me. And after He'd carried my burden, and after He'd been covered in a different manure, I walked away unmoved by His act of benevolence. And I'm the one who didn't say thank you. The story repeats itself time and time again as I continue in sin, crucifying Christ afresh--putting Him to an open shame.

Walking away from the garden, I learned the lesson. I can only hope the boy did too.

Revival.
It comes in many different shapes and sizes. Here at MMS it came in the form of a weekend of prayer. Sebastien Braxton came and shared his testimony with the students and lives were miraculously touched. Some students gave their hearts to the Lord for the first time; others renewed their commitments to God. The hand of God dealt mightily, and thus came the revival.

Demons.
They come in many different shapes and sizes too. Here at MMS some came seeking to ruin a Sabbath afternoon. As I was sitting in the office in the boys' dorm, I heard a commotion coming from one of the back rooms. I went around the corner to check the quarantine rooms and found Mr. Pascal holding one of the students down on the floor. The boy was screaming uncontrollably and fighting with all his might to raise himself from the floor. Instinct kicked in for me, and I grabbed the boy's free arm and twisted it behind his back. I could feel the presence of the demons. The screams reminded me of some Jesus movie...you know, the scene where the demon-possessed boy, screaming and foaming at the mouth, is brought to Jesus. All I could do, helping Mr. P. pin the lad, was pray over and over that God would dispel the evil spirits that had gathered in the room and that had control over the boy. After what seemed like hours, the screams wearied, the fighting waned, and the crisis was over. I stood to my feet and shook the dust from my suit, straightened my tie, and returned to the office, feeling the need to weep and pray, agonizing for the souls of those here who have given place in their lives to demons.

Treachery.
It comes in--you guessed it--many different shapes and sizes. Here at MMS they have their own brand of treachery. On January 26th I was given an unforgettable reminder. I had intended to keep the significance of the date--that being my date of birth--in utmost secrecy. Alas, my plans were thwarted by the single staff member who had already befriended me on facebook. She let the word out, and by the end of the day I had been dusted with flour--an initiation by the students to any staff member on their first birthday at Miracle Meadows. I shall avenge this treachery.

Passive Restraint.
It is used on people of many different shapes and sizes. Here at MMS it is the preferred method of dealing with an individual who poses a threat to others or to himself or herself. However, sometimes we don't get to use that method. As I stood in the gym supervising a cleanup crew, a fellow a bit larger than I (who always tries to push the limits) decided to try his luck against me. He approached me and causally placed his arm around my neck in a classic head-lock. I advised him to cease from his folly in a matter of five seconds or less. He chose not to heed my warning and I was forced to take action. Instinct took over and I body-slammed him on to the gymnasium floor. He landed squarely on his back, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. His hold on my neck loosened, but he refused to give up so I initiated countermeasure #2. I placed my left hand on his face and began to place pressure on his eyes. That was all it took. As I stood over him I shook my head at him and said, "I wouldn't do that again if I were you." Next time he may his face to the floor and his arms behind his back...in passive restraint.

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” (Ephesians 6:12)

As many times as I have read the verse written above, only recently have I truly seen the full ramifications of it in not only my life, but in the lives of those around me. On Sabbath afternoon, January 17^th, I saw this campus for what it really is: a warzone.

Mr. Gavin asked if I would be willing to sit in on a group session, and having nothing scheduled for the afternoon, I was more than willing to join. It started slowly with the usual frivolity of most parties involved, attempting to veil their discomfort at the idea of “opening up.” By the time we’d gone halfway around the circle, I was stupefied to discover that ever one of the boys in the group had at some time in the not-so-distant past communicated with evil spirits—whether through just praying to the devil or, in one case, actually speaking with demons. I recalled the time I had once prayed to the devil, and it took me a moment to understand that it’s not as much of a rarity as some would believe.

As the group time continued, I found myself in the midst of a battle—visible to myself if no one else—with the powers of darkness. Just as progress seemed to be made spiritually, some distraction would come, or someone would crack a joke. I began silently praying with increasing fervency that the spell of the evil one would be broken.

As we prepared to end our time together we each said prayers over the individuals involved. My heart began to fill with gladness as I believed the battle was over. But I was wrong

Satan mounted a final attack, and while we were praying, some began to lose focus and the spirit of irreverence and foolishness spread from one to another. As I began my prayer, a deep vexation came over me and midway through the prayer I broke away and told one of the boys, “Get out.” The others quickly halted the frivolities and jestings and I finished praying.

When all was said and done, I walked out of the room and caught eyes with the boy I’d so harshly sent out. A conviction came over me that I should not have sent him away. As I spoke to him about it, I could see that he had been wounded by my action, and I confessed my fault and asked him for his forgiveness. He responded that, “It takes a real man to admit when he’s wrong.” And from there, we were cool. In the ensuing moments, a conundrum arose in my mind. How is it possible to be doing the Lord’s work, through prayer and the laying on of hands, and at the same time lose connection with God to the extent of grieving the spirit of another? “What is this madness?” I asked myself over and over. “Am I really who and what I think I am? Or is this a farce? Mustn’t it be if I allow the flesh to take over while attempting to do the work of the Spirit? Am I striving in my own strength?”

Questions to no end. I still don’t have the answers; I just knew what I had to do. I called the group back together and asked the forgiveness of all for having misrepresented Christ by my rash action.

I don’t have the answers. I just see the warzone more clearly. It’s a battlefield where you can shoot one of your allies while trying to set another one free. It’s a battlefield where you lose unless you are fully committed to, connected to, and driven by the Holy Spirit.

And this “Camlan,” this combat zone, this arena of supernatural inter-cosmic warfare is where I have chosen to live.

May God have mercy upon me.

Things have gotten interesting in the past 24-hours. Yesterday I was seriously challenged by one of the kids here in what could have become a heated altercation as it involved shouting and cursing, but it was quickly quelled. Today started with a 2-3 hour mop-the-floor-my-way-or-doing-it over-again session. I had an unfair advantage though since I realized that he had no other options but to obey me. It was just a matter of giving more consequences until the only choice became clear to him. Later I gave my first assignment to the same student who broke his social restriction.

The highlight of the day had to be when one of the older boys thought it would be a delightfully fun thing to do to come up behind me and attempt to put me in a full nelson. It wasn't. He ended up getting dropped in a matter of seconds on the tile floor with me riding him all the way down. All who witnessed the event grilled him for being so quickly dropped by someone with a gimpy knee. I didn't maliciously slam him; it was just an instantaneous reflex. He shook it off and "pounded it" (hit the rock) to affirm good will between us. Less than two minutes later another poor soul, who did not witness his friend's earlier misfortune, attempted a similar feat and met the same fate. He was then grilled by all who had seen me drop the last fellow a moment earlier.

I kind of wonder if things like this make me a legend or a target. I'd like to stick with the legend idea, but knowing these boys, anything is possible. Now here I sit in the office of the boy's dorm wondering if there's anything else I could wish for. I've got an awesome job, an even more awesome family, and an infinitely more awesome God.

This is the life.

Perhaps you are taken aback by the title fragment on the line above. Seemingly uncharacteristic of an English major, isn't it? Answer 1: Even the mind of an English major thinks in fragments from time to time. Answer 2: Before we graduated, they told us that we were allowed to use fragments so long as we knew they were fragments and did it for a significant reason.

The interesting question behind the fragment is one that the greatest minds of the world have pondered before undertaking anything. Even the not-so-great minds have a habit of asking if the outcome outweighs what it requires. After having hypothesized, some hesitant soul reaches a conclusion and acts. Yet, even the most forward-thinking, perceptive, brilliant mind must take a moment to reevaluate the situation after having acted upon the final hypothesis. My point? I'm not only normal for doing what I do, but perhaps also prudent to do so.

Today, having not just tested the waters but having been fully immersed in the new position at Miracle Meadows, I began to ask myself the same question. Here I am, working in the middle of nowhere trying to help kids who appear to not only have no desire to be helped but present a resentment for the implication of my presence that perhaps they do need help. Earlier in the day a student began comparing me to other staff members, stating that I am the best one there (for clearly biased reasons) and predicting that I would eventually hate the school but would never leave because I don't ever give up. It's funny how kids have their own little way of giving their expectations all the while trying to pass them off as reality. (Looks towards the clock—poised at 11:56PM—and slaps forehead muttering, "Focus, man! Focus!") But, I must digress.

Worth it? The answer came this evening as I had a conversation with one of the older students. It started with him just asking about me and my background, seeing that we'd never really conversed seriously. The discussion then turned when he began asking what I learned at the ARISE Institute—from which I just recently graduated. I told him of all the classes and the things we studied in the Bible. He then asked about prophecy and just what the Bible says is still left to transpire before the Second Coming of Christ. I led him through some passages I could think of off the top of my head that have not yet been fulfilled, and from there, the conversation grew. In the end, the heart of the discussion was a follow-up to the biblical view of Judgment Day. We talked about what God is really looking for in His people and how we, knowing the standard, seek to meet it in our own strength—which always proves to be wholly inadequate. I then showed him the man of Romans 7, who has the desire to live a Godly life but, while serving God with the mind, finds his actions inconsistent with his desire. As I talked with the young man, he completely identified with that frustration and expressed the desire to escape from it. Before bedtime arrived, I was able to share with him some simple methods from scripture through which he can begin to unite his actions with the Godly aspirations of his heart. As he was walking away to retire for the evening, he said, "Thank you," and then asked if we could talk more tomorrow.

Worth it? Yes. These few days in the wilderness of Salem, WV have not been the easiest in my life—more like some of the most challenging. Tonight I ask myself, is it really worth it? It is. If that is the most I ever get to minister to the students while I am here, it is still worth it, but I speculate that this is only the beginning. Worth it? More than worth it.

Hello to all. As you may have guessed, I miss you all a lot.

I just arrived to my new job as dorm staff at Miracle Meadows School (a boarding school for at-risk youth in WV) two evenings ago. Last afternoon began my "Two Weeks of Hell," as it has been called by the staff. The basic idea is that I'm working 2 weeks straight in the dorm (336 hours in all) to see what I'm made of. Being nearly 24 hours into it, I see why they call it what they do.

Naturally, this endeavor has been accompanied by intrepidity and and anxiety--intrepidity in that I'm doing something I've never done before on a scale that I've never even imagined, and anxiety being the natural result of uncertainty. The only certainty in my mind at present is that the Lord has called me here, and keeping that in mind, I press on.

One passage of scripture has been indelibly etched in my mind since I decided to come here; Philippians 3:7-14

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith--that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Coming here, I realize that though I have a decent amount of knowledge and experience in a lot of things, I cannot rest on that, but rather I must consider all my accomplishments as worthless in order to reach the level upon which the Lord is calling me to minister here at MMS.

Your prayers are and will continue to be much appreciated.

Much love to you all,

-The Middleton