Dia 25 de Abril

Yesterday was Portugal's independence day. It marks the day that Salazar, their last dictator, fell. There are streets, pracas (squares?), a bridge, and other things named "April 25th" in honor of the day he fell from power. It marks a turning point in the Portuguese culture and the lives of the people individually. I thought about it yesterday and today and i want so badly to see such a revolution take place again, a spiritual day of freedom of the darkness, the depression, the hopelessness that encompasses them. I want to stand in the square at the entrance of the city and see it filled with people singing praises and praying not to Mary but to God through Jesus Christ. I want the people to know the jubilation and liberty I have experienced in Christ. I want them to be able to say that they count everything a loss (14 months salary every year, their children, their wine, their food, their education, their careers) compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus as Lord.

Hope? Significance? Purpose?

I'm currently writing a literary analysis paper on "Gooseberries" by Anton Chekhov. One of the reoccuring themes of Chekhov's writing is the pursuit of ultimate happiness and satisfaction. His characters search in everything, from sex to taking care of someone to gooseberries plants and never quite find what they are looking for. They find moments of contement, moments of purpose and meaning. But yet still something is lacking. The quest of the characters is a reflection, naturally, of Chekhov's own search for significance and satisfaction, which to the end of his life only tastes in fleeting incriments.

As a Christian, a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, I know where ultimate contentment, satisfaction and purpose can be found. I hope in the fact that I no longer have to search for significance because my meaning rests in one who will never change, my heart is secure. The picture above is from a cathedral in Portugal in a city called Fatima. People from all over Europe make yearly pilgramages there to pay tribute to the Virgin Mary and seek some sort of reconciliation from their current offences. They crawl on their knees for miles and burn meter long candels in search of deliverance and forgiveness.

I'm both rejoicing in the hope that I have right now, and sitting here heart broken for the people crawling on their knees in search of the very hope that I have. I guess the next question I ask myself is, what am I doing with my hope?

Affections?

After reading through old conversations and journal entries and flipping through pictures of former affections, my heart is full of a mixture of odd and confusing thoughts and sentiments, questions to be sure. What happens to the passions of the previous seasons of my heart? Are they soley for that portion of my life or will they again be resurrected? Why are there some things I just can't seem to shake? Why do certain thoughts, memories, people, loves, aches, tears, smiles linger in my mind both haunting and comforting my soul at once? How much more can my heart take? Will everything come back to life again?
My thoughts have turned to the resurrection, remembering the signicifance of Christ's resurrection and the hope it holds. We too, as Christians have passed from death to life. But what does that mean, exactly? What am I doing with that truth?
Stir my affection for You and You Alone, Father. Fill me with the hope of your Resurrection, your Life, not only 2,000 years ago, but today in me.