Smoking Out With Jesus

I've found myself reflecting on more topics than I realistically have time to write about. These topics, to name a few, include the war in Iraq and Christian views of war/pacifism, the abstinence/virginity movement, the Christian idea of "the one" when it comes to love and marriage, and whether or not something as awful as gnome theft could strike my safe, suburban cocoon. I am, admittedly, a backlogged blogger, and RFL has seen a little less action than usual primarily because September is a personal tour of sleepless chaos and fun at work, which, when mixed with finishing my last class in the MBA program, is a cocktail for no website love. I'll be aiming for one post of substance and one post of total fluff per week; this would be a good month to send in articles and links of interest, or to write a guest article if you are so inclined! For now I've chosen a slightly unconventional topic, but one I consider vital in my relationship with God: cigars.

This is not a joke. I believe that God dwells in cigars. Some of you might not believe me, but it's in the Bible. Look at Exodus 19:18, which clearly states, "Mount Sinai was covered with smoke [from Moses' Montecristo No. 2], because the Lord descended on it in fire." Some say the relevant portion of this verse was inserted by someone other than Moses himself, but it is obviously accurate since all of the letters that make up the word "cigar" can also be found scattered throughout the entire Bible.

The other night, Corrie and I had just gotten back from spending some time with friends playing one of the most addicting games known to man. As I got home, I found myself growing increasingly anxious about all kinds of things: things that were coming up that I needed to do, decisions that needed to be made but that had vague answers and information for, things I wished I had done, things I wished I had time to do, and the fact that I had just pooped my own pants yet again. I tried to go to bed, and Corrie, picking up on the subtle cues of my clenched jaw and numbed stare, prayed for me - I just had no peace. As I lay in bed, the anxiety just seemed to get worse, and as I felt more and more restless, I decided I needed to go for a walk. On my way out, I grabbed a cigar. Granted, it wasn't the cigar pictured at right (which, incidentally, is the cigar mentioned in the Bible), but for anyone that know or cares, it was a particularly tasty alternative: the Hoyo De Monterrey Excalibur No. III (Maduro).

I went to one of the highest points on campus called the "Hero's Garden," which overlooks the University and much of Malibu. As I alternated between slowly pacing and sitting on a bench, I started telling God all the things that were weighing on me. What's up with this? I'm freaked out about that. And what the heck are You up to in this other situation? I knew He was there, I knew He was listening, and more than having all the answers, I became instantly aware of how none of the things I was worried about merited the attention I was giving to them. Our conversation is usually light; my talks with God in these times are not prolific, complicated conversations. Much of it is not even verbally communicated between us; it is simply felt and enjoyed. It may seem strange to say it, but I knew unequivocally that He was there enjoying my cigar with me, and it was more than enough to enjoy the profound simplicity of being with one another.

I think God is always speaking - and in all honesty, I just don't do well with structured time of prayer. That's a personal preference; I don't think there is anything wrong with having a traditional "quiet time," but for me, it just feels too impersonal and, well, structured. I don't really structure time with friends or family. I don't talk to them with an agenda of what needs to be discussed or what is going on with me. We just have relationship, and we share life together. It's much the same with God. And I think structuring time can lead us to compartmentalize when we go to Him, and even when we are aware of His presence in everything we do. He's always there. Worship and prayer are as simple and natural as talking and expressing our delight with who He is right there, right then. Although some will surely call me a heretic for saying so, it could be said that Jesus died so that we could share the proverbial "cigar" with Father anytime - and really, that is where my heart is being led; acknowledging Him in all things and at all times.

I don't just have a cigar when I'm freaking out; often, it's just because Corrie is out of town and I know she won't have to put up with the morning after, dead-cat-in-my-mouth aftertaste of a cigar. In college as an RA, I kept a humidor full of cigars for the guys in my hall, and we would smoke on average, once every week or two. Just a few weeks ago I enjoyed an incredibly memorable time of fellowship out in the middle of a lake with two of my best friends, Andrew Brumme and Jonathan Bakewicz, smoking Cuban cigars that Andrew might have possibly smuggled back from Europe. It is always a time of tremendous fellowship and sharing, because it allows us to slow down enough to really refocus on what is important and share our hearts openly with each other and God. I don't smoke cigars all that often anymore- and it's certainly not the only time I enjoy spending with Him in this way. But when I do have the opportunity to enjoy them, either alone or with friends, I am constantly amazed at the extent to which Father can use the time to really speak to me.

So here's to each of us finding time today to smoke out with Jesus, in our own way, with or without a cigar. Though preferably with, since it's more biblical that way. And, here is a reminder that you can personally contribute to my "time with God" as a graduation present come December (Excalibur No. III, Maduro).