Dangling from the tree of life

And being fervent in spirit, he spoke and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus.  Acts 18:25

Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Romans 12:11

Sloths are an amazement. I am quite familiar with them after our trip to the coastal jungles of Costa Rica.  They drape from many an unexpecting branch, chomping mouthful after gentle mouthful, blinking their heavily lash-laden lids a bit dazed at the swirling world around them.  Certainly not actors in their world, beyond that of depositing their nutrient-filled feces at the base of the home tree, some tiny offering towards a symbiotic relationship. Creatures of habit, they are bound both by comfort and by fear, the unknown.  

So my quick-breathed prayer before I dug into this chapter was: what does the Spirit look like at work in lives, in me?  The Spirit is fervent.

This is not a directive to get up at 4:15 a.m. every morning, run, run, run all day, and collapse into bed just as Jay Leno hits the monologue.  This is foolishness, and I am missing the brain cells to prove it.

This is fervent in spirit.  My attitude.  Not so much quantity, but quality.  How and not what.    Not sloppy, living with accuracy, with an eye for detail.  

Poor Zach.  Every Thursday for a long, long time, I have been asking that he be filled with a fervent spirit, “awestruck by Your holiness.”  Sort of shades how one studies for that next microbiology test.  I wonder.  I remember my prayer for his entire eighth grade class, posted on the bulletin board behind my desk; I wonder if they ever noticed.  The now part of urban-myth Googleable diary entry of a Zimbabwe preacher, the day before he was martyred for his faith:

I'm a part of the fellowship of the unashamed. The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made. I'm a disciple of His and I won't look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.

My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure. I'm done and finished with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, cheap living, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I don't have to be right, or first, or tops, or recognized, or praised, or rewarded. I live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, lift by prayer, and labor by Holy Spirit power.

My face is set. My gait is fast. My goal is heaven. My road may be narrow, my way rough, my companions few, but my guide is reliable and my mission is clear.

I will not be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded or delayed.

I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice or hesitate in the presence of the adversary. I will not negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity.

I won't give up, shut up, or let up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, and preached up for the cause of Christ.

I am a disciple of Jesus. I must give until I drop, preach until all know, and work until He comes. And when He does come for His own, He'll have no problems recognizing me. My colors will be clear.

A decent way to die, since we all have to go.  

And as I walk through these last years of my father’s life with him, there are a lot of things that I do not particularly wish for in my waning moments: the shuffling steps, the sometimes bleary eyes, the tripping up and tangling of words into strings of meaninglessness, the utter weariness of it all.  But, ya gotta admit, the spirit is still burning fervently, as he brightens with the request to lead us in grace, “Father, we are yours.”