Grace, my father, my future

The internal argument about whether to "put this out there," has been one of comparison: other people have suffered far worse than I, have climbed taller mountains, trekked through deeper valleys. But at the end of the day, this is my story to own, to make sense out of, to find clarity and perspective. Call it whiny. Call it self-involved. It's my road to walk, not yours.  My apologies for this piece's lack of fluidity.

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 There is a natural progression that happens in the parent/child relationship as a child reaches adulthood. As a grown-up, children begin to see their parents in a different light. Because of their own experiences in the world, the child grants the parent a reprieve, gives them grace, and accepts them for who they are: human. The father becomes friend.

Unfortunately, I was never able to have this with my dad. He died before I was truly able to "come home."

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The one thing that most people, arguably all people, would say about my dad was that he was a good man. The minister that spoke at his funeral said, "if you met him, you liked him." And, there is no denying that. He was friendly to all with whom he came in contact. He doted on my friends, always having a hug for them, ever the encourager. I'm grateful that he was kind to people that, still today, are very dear to me.

Home life; however, was not a mirror of that behavior. It seemed as if, when public time was done, he was out of smiles and hugs. He was not abusive or cruel by any means, but he was damagingly critical and had an uncanny ability to take any situation that involved me and turn it into a reflection upon himself. The easy-going, edifying, affectionate man my friends knew would morph into a short-tempered, name-calling, judgmental tyrant. Granted, these were the worst days and they weren't so often that recovery could not occur, but even on the other days, my dad was dismissive, opting to spend his time in solitude out in his shop and gardens. I had to go to him; he never came to me unless he was angry, (probably the catalyst for many of the things I did that had zero purpose beyond infuriating him).

I don't want to vilify my dad, but I do have to be honest about how his actions informed my development as a man. As a person. And I was a holy terror. From a very young age, I was on the attack. Plotting. Scheming. Planning my next ambush just to throw everyone off their game. From hiding keys and wallets, to loudly repeating something my dad had said about someone else, I'd found my purpose for existence:  to make him miserable. (There are also instances of lighting the dog on fire and attempting to blind my brother, but those are stories for another time). This all began, I believe, after my mom became sick.

I discovered what helpless meant as I watched cancer slowly and deliberately take away the one person I trusted.  My family did the best they could during those times. While my mom was sick, my brother and I were forever being shuffled from one person's house to another, never finding our footing, never sure of what the day would hold. I was a mama's boy, always by her side. To be shaken from that place of comfort so abruptly took an enormous toll. It seemed that, from then on, I was pitiable. I was the boy whose mom died and I was treated accordingly.

There were loving moments that I recall from my father during my mom's illness and death, and I cherish those memories. I think it was really hard for him to even be around me after she died, as I was a reminder of her.

Losing my mom changed him. For the rest of his life, you could often catch him with a far-off look in his eye. Wistful. Longing. Sometimes, even defeated. The grief that you carry when you lose a spouse is multiplied by the grief you carry for each of your children who've lost a parent. And it never goes away.

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I could rant on about the selfish choice my father made as he remarried less than a year after my mom passed, but he paid for that in very tangible ways. And I know he recognized how my brothers and I suffered the consequences of this choice and many others as well, it just took him longer than I would've liked.

My dad had so much to overcome. He came from dirt-floor poverty, battled alcoholism, could barely get out of the gate to run his own race. He provided for his children the best he knew how. He craved a simple, Godly life but, in his later years, he finally began to understand the great mystery and complexity of his heavenly Father and that he wasn't as wise as he thought his opinions reflected.

In my last visit with him, which would have been a couple years before his death, he told me he was ready to go. He had raised his kids, done all he knew how, was tired and wanted rest. I am thirty years younger than he was when he died, but I not only hold on dearly to this conversation, I actually understand that feeling. That longing for home. This life is hard enough, but it's that much harder for those of us who have been taught to bet against ourselves.

I will never understand why God gave us each other. We were different in almost every way and only similar in the ways that kept us apart. For him, I had to be a freak of nature. For me, he was who I didn't want to be. I have flashes of anger still, when I think about his temper, his selfishness, his avoidance of me, his burying secrets and covering things up because of his own weakness, but at this point, holding on to any of it is no more than a crutch and enables a life less lived.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to have him in my life now. I would still do things in public to embarrass him, I'm sure. The one thing my dad and I always shared was love for a great prank. I imagine I would drive my lawn mower the hour or so to him, not because I really needed him to fix it, but because I learned, too late, that when he was tinkering with something, his mind and spirit would open up and he could really listen. He was more thoughtful. We would discuss politics, (and agree more than my brothers could actually imagine, he may have been a Reagan democrat, but he was still a democrat), we would talk about grace and shake our heads at how long it took both of us to really begin understanding it. I would poke at his legalistic badges and he'd lecture me about things that really don't matter and we'd be right back to grace.

I am grateful that I have a step-mother who is also a dear friend. She has taught me a great deal about my dad since his passing. Shared insight into situations and decisions. I can see now, in some situations, she was trying to bring us together even though I had a target on her back as well. She occasionally finds things around the house and hangs on to them for me until I make a far-to-rare appearance.

One of the first items she gave me was my dad's pitch pipe.  I carry this in my truck and, if you see me up front on Sunday, that's what I have in my hand. I guess it's my way of turning pain into poetry. Weariness into worship.

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At some point, revisiting the past becomes exhaustive, repetitive, fruitless. So I take each harsh word, each dismissive action, each moment that broke my heart just a little more, I take great pains to pen each story with truth and reverence and when each story is complete, I exhale and whisper, "I forgive you, because you forgave me." I tie it to a balloon and, with a hopeful glance up toward heaven, I let go.

 I say goodbye to what was and embrace what will be.

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

It is ridiculous, really, that I have allowed the "events" over the past couple of weeks to just wreck me. I have nearly made myself sick over the silly rhetoric, smug posturing, feigned indignation, and self-righteous hullabaloo.

I was confessing this to a dear friend today because I just cannot grasp why this has bothered me to my very core. This was her reply:

                                   "Maybe God's breaking your heart for what breaks His."

I think my physical heart actually stopped for a moment when she said this. Beautiful words from a beautiful soul, truly, but I had to dismiss these words immediately.

While God has done a massive amount of surgery on my heart and soul over the past few years, most of it highly invasive, I doubt the prognosis. I forget that, for the first time in my life, I am on a spiritual adventure with Him that was only made possible through His healing. I doubt me. The realization came this afternoon that, in doubting myself, I am doubting my Great Physician and His work.

I want my heart to be in perfect time with the steady, never-failing, beat of my Father's. Perhaps I'm not as off pace as I so quickly assume. So I began to digest the audacious words of my friend. My heart. His heart. Working together. Not impossible. Not even improbable, really.

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The Kingdom of God didn't enter this world with any great welcome. No pomp and circumstance. No trumpets. Only the soft cries of a newborn baby marked His arrival.

Today, the Kingdom stood still as many of its presumed inhabitants gathered together, patted each other on the back, swapped self-congratulatory hugs...and consumed a great number of trans fats. They set themselves apart from the world. And not in a good way. Less holy, more holier than thou, is what the onlookers thought. All because some unqualified, benefactor of nepotism said, "that's wrong" and somebody else said, "you're mean" and then someone said, "get out of my sandbox."

As the Kingdom stood there, seeing the greater, negative impact of this silliness masked as something meaningful, He whispered, "Come to me, I'm with the week-old baby who is having heart surgery tomorrow. I'm with the mother whose children don't understand why daddy isn't there. I'm with my children in Syria who are fighting and dying for even a fraction of the blessings and freedoms you enjoy and so arrogantly wave around as if you own them. I'm in the car, with no a/c, full of kids, who just drove by you, hungry, hurting, suffocated by poverty. Come follow me."

See, the Kingdom doesn't need a bullhorn, a camera crew, or a Facebook account. He moves as gently as a leaf riding the air until it rests upon the ground. He hasn't always, mind you. There was a time He shook the earth, tore the veil, pummeled the gates of hell and shattered the chains of death. The scene was laid, the battle cry raised, the Victor restored. He has no need for harsh words, strong opinions, loud declarations. He wants open arms, giving hands, forgiving smiles, forward-moving feet. Vocal chords are not required.

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As I work through the muck that is my past: my childhood, injuries inflicted, people I've hurt, terrible choices I've made, consequences I've suffered; I can say, most assuredly, that I have lived most of my days with a broken heart. Laughter masked my sorrow. My smiles told you a lie.

I don't understand this world. I never have. Many days, functioning on even a basic level takes more energy than I, myself, can harness. I don't understand why people buy ridiculous amounts of stuff while others are starving to death. I don't understand how churches can build elaborate structures while the foreclosure signs go up in the surrounding neighborhood. I don't understand why Christians play the political game and fight against gay marriage because of their belief in the bible and yet support a candidate who believes that satan was Jesus' brother. Believe me, none of this comes from a judgmental place, but from a true, child-like, lack of understanding. I don't have the answers, so I keep asking the questions.

This biggest thing I don't understand: how can I make a difference in any shape, form, or fashion?

For so long, all I wanted was for the ache in the middle of my chest to go away. For that overwhelming weight of regret, pain, hatred, and loneliness to be lifted from my heart. I just wanted to breathe. For someone to show me that I have value and that my voice has merit. I was suffocating by the vacuum this world had created within me and I felt myself dying.

I needed my heart to beat again.

What I've discovered in my recovery from heart failure is that my heart doesn't beat like it ever has before. It doesn't beat for me anymore.

This new heart beats for the abused, the ashamed, the junkie, the prostitute, the homeless, the lonely, the outcast.

And my heart beats for those that felt marginalized, put down, or just plain hurt by what some of my brothers and sisters did today.

My heart breaks for a church that just doesn't seem to get it. Leave the rule of law to those that put their hope in it. Follow Jesus to the hurting, the hungry, the orphaned, the homeless and let God sort out the rest. You can be a citizen of the Kingdom or you can be an American, but you can't be both. No. You can't. Deal with it. Stop trying to fight a battle that's already been won. Raise the white flag and accept that Christianity and nationalism are two distinct things and cannot be braided together so you can feel better about your $800.00/month car payment.

Is your heart racing? Good.

Actions Speak Louder Than....Words?

This past week has been exceptionally trying for me. I have been quite self-obsessed for the past couple of months, feeling a stirring to do something, to move, and completely unable to figure out how. While I am still struggling, I cannot help but take a moment and process the events, actions, and words with which I have been bombarded lately. So enjoy the stylish rantings of me being forced out from under my self-imposed rock.

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With good old Dan Cathy choosing to weigh in on the same-sex marriage debate, it seemed a lot of vitriol began to seep onto my Facebook news feed. For me to really finish processing stuff like this, I must put pen to paper, (well, fingertips to keyboard). So, this is your warning to close your browser as you may not like what I have to say.

As Christians, we are called to live an intentional life, where our words and our actions point toward the kingdom of God. When we make blanket statements, as Mr. Cathy did, we may speak truth, but we do it in a way that marginalizes and vilifies our neighbors. There is a reason, I believe, that after Pentecost, we don't see a great deal of "stump speeches" in the New Testament. The greatest example of how we approach the world is through Jesus himself. He was in the mix, sitting at the table with all kinds of people, sharing a meal, swapping stories, building relationships.

THAT is the key to ministering to a lost and dying world: RELATIONSHIPS. Every time we go out and "stand up for what we believe in" by grandstanding and posturing, we take two steps back as a collective. So, in my humble opinion, Mr. Cathy did nothing more than use his position and "authority" to make a mess and bring attention to himself. In the end, all he did was cut us off from more people that need Christ's love, mercy, and healing. And, after a little research, I'm a little disappointed in his corporation in their choices for charitable giving. Instead of paying to "pray away the gay," how about you go feed some poor kids or build a homeless shelter?

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I will never understand the word "senseless." Sometimes it is used to mean stupid or even unconscious, but in reference to the shootings in Colorado, it's definition is "meaningless." As far as I am concerned, there was only one death that ever had meaning and it involved a couple pieces of wood, three nails, and Love in human form.

Even though we use this word, "senseless," it seems all we do is feebly attempt to create meaning for heart-shattering events like Colorado. This inevitably lands in some sort of political discussion and this event, in particular, puts us squarely on the 2nd Amendment without passing go. Honestly, I'm slightly "left of center" on this one. I have no issue with gun ownership, but assault rifles? Really? Is there a valid argument for them?

I am not a hunter, fisherman, type of guy. Granted, I know enough and have done it enough that, in the event of the apocalypse, I can catch my own food and take aim at the zombie's head, but outside of this, it just holds no interest for me. Most of my brothers, and many friends, are passionate about it and I would never begrudge them that. For many, it is a healing, even spiritual experience to commune with nature and enjoy the peace and tip-toe pace of the outdoors. By all means, go hunt Bambi, but who needs an assault rifle or machine gun to do that? And if you really go old school and use a bow and arrow, you score a great deal more cool points with me.

The dialogue in which we find ourselves now is not something I shy away from and, for the most part, really enjoy. I always want to hear what other people think and why, (notice I included "why," give me some foundation for your argument people!), but what I cannot handle is when people run out and make these big baseless statements that just make Christians look like aliens from another planet. Take the crazy senator guy who ran out to a podium and cried out that we got what we deserved because we took God out of schools, (1. you're a fool if you think you or anyone else has the power to take God out of anywhere, except your heart 2. Really? Are we still whining about that? Build a bridge people, and the moment we have to start meeting in cramped, unventilated basements with only one 40 watt light bulb and whisper our worship for fear of being detached from our heads, I will gladly cry out persecution with you, until then, all you will get from me is constant sighing and eye-rolling)  ***And yes, I just broke my own record for the longest parenthetical phrase I've ever written.

What really gets me is when I get on Facebook and see other Christians posting ridiculous pictures and statements in regards to guns, gays, or whatever the trendy topic is. The point is, none of these things can be boiled down to a simple phrase, picture, or statement by a bigwig CEO. These simplistic phrases wound people and do nothing to advance the kingdom. What you're doing is: 1. Reducing a major issue with bad humor, 2. Creating yet another hackneyed statement, 3. Pushing an agenda you have no business pushing in such a way.

And I will just put this fact out there: In states where there are more gun owners, there are also substantially higher numbers of assaults and suicides. Process that information however you like, but it's the truth.

There's a great song that we did last night called "When it's All Been Said and Done," that really sums up what I am trying to say here. There's this line that asks, "did I do my best to live for truth." Notice, it doesn't say "speak the truth" or "tell the truth," it implies actions beyond words. Our "acts" are what define us. Will they define us as humble servants or as polarizing mouthpieces?

I will always have more questions than answers, and the majority will typically disagree with me on things like this. Even in this season of being the man with a compass and no map, I find peace in knowing my direction though I don't know the path. This direction, or foreknowledge of where my journey ends, is informing the choices I make today. All I know is God is Love, God dwells in me, therefore I love beyond my own capacity. Love tells me to sacrifice, to be the least, to get off the stump.

We are........family?

Family. There isn’t any great definition for it. There are a number of organizations around that claim non-profit status, take your money under the guise of fighting for the “traditional” family, when really all they do is promote bigotry and self-righteousness, (just so you know, I pretty much despise the word “traditional” as much as I hate the word “doctrinal” as neither of them rarely move us forward).

Not too long ago, a group of friends and I slowly came to the realization that we are living in community. We are involved in each other’s lives and invested in one another. These are the people that I consider my family.  This motley crew is comprised of many family units who are in varying places on their journey and, on the surface, don’t seem to have a great deal in common. So, why does this group work? We share a hunger for something more, something greater than ourselves.

I’m sure you were all thinking that I was going to say God. And on one level, that is true, but it over-simplifies. I worship with a church of roughly a thousand people and God is my common denominator with them. Sadly, it is also as far as most of those relationships will ever go because most church-goers still live in the American ideal of church and not in the intended close-knit, interdependent family of believers that the church is supposed to be.

Unfortunately, the American standard of Christianity has been boiled down to a few simple ingredients that don’t come anywhere near what God wanted for his children. An unintended consequence of this and the American lifestyle that has been allowed to infect the church is isolationism. In this age of inter-connectedness, we have become so distant from each other. I will be the first to admit that I don’t know a single one of my neighbors. There’s apparently an older gentleman that lives next door to me on whom I have never laid eyes. I came home last night to find a family moving in to the house on the other side of me that I didn’t even realize was empty, (their midnight move-in does have me hoping that maybe they’re in witness protection or something).

This isolationism has left us indistinguishable from the society in which we live. We operate with this attitude of, “it’s my business,” or “that’s my kid,” or “it’s my life.” It isn’t that there isn’t any truth in those statements, but when you live in community, the “traditional” family ideal is obliterated and you come to understand that no one spouse or set of kids can provide everything for each other. Yes, parents, I’m talking to you. No, you cannot provide everything your child needs to become who they are. You need other parents, mentors, even other children. In short, you need to expand your idea of family.

I should also state that we don’t live in a commune. Not that I am against it. I am all for communal living provided there is no kool-aid or stock-piling of weapons. I would love nothing more than my friends and I to buy out a cul de sac, but proximity is not a prerequisite for community and in no way ensures or improves the likelihood of success.

This concept of community has really hit us hard lately as we’ve been dealing with a lot of hurt and grief and learning how to love and support each other as new paths are chosen and some relationships change or even end. The beauty of our current situation is the openness of my friend’s hearts, homes, and resources as we each grow through these tough times. What it has really done is solidify our commitment to each other. It is a thing of wonder to look at my friend’s children and know that I will be alongside them as they laugh, cry, hurt. I will be there as they grow.

I encourage all of you to seek out those that can be intimately involved in your life. I pray that God will lead you to people that you can trust to be your partners on this crazy, exhausting journey. The greater question is: are you willing to be a part? Living in community is not easy. It requires commitment, engagement and an enormous amount of grace. Quite often, it is about serving the needs of those in your family that, in truth, you’d rather not be bothered with. At those times, will you get in there and be a part of the fight, the struggle, the ugliness, or will you say, “I’m staying out of that drama.”

The whole purpose God wants us to realize by living in community is that it is a model, a training ground, for how we serve the world. If we cannot learn to be interdependent and give all we have to each other, how then, can we be truly prepared to change the world?

Stormy Weather

There's just something about summer rain that I love. These are the special rainstorms where the sun is still shining bright and we respond to those heavy drops of nourishment with a smile. We had our first one of the year here yesterday and I greeted it gladly while I closed my eyes, looked up toward the heavens and thanked Him for the much needed blessing and the peace that these showers bring to me.

Blessings. 

This is a topic that, while we sort of understand it, we don't react the way we should for the most part. It is our selfish nature to make our Christianity all about us. Christ died for me. I'm not saying this isn't true, but I now understand that it is incomplete. Yes, Christ died so that we may be saved AND through our salvation reveal the glory of God to all the earth. What makes you think your blessings aren't the same? Psalm 67 says, "May God be gracious to us and bless us; look on us with favor SO THAT Your way may be known on earth, your salvation among all nations."

Over the past couple of years God has been overhauling me. My broken heart, my broken spirit, my lack of understanding Him and His purpose. One of the big hurdles for me was trying to comprehend grace, (as much as we mere mortals can, that is). What I came to understand was that grace doesn't just stop with me. He doesn't give us grace, He gives grace to the world through us. The same can be said of any of the virtues as well: patience, joy, wisdom, mercy. These are all gifts that we ask for and, once we've received them, should be spread to all those around us. Sadly, I think we fail at this more than we succeed.

The same principle should be applied to all the extrinsic gifts God has given you as well. Did He give you a spouse? Then you honor Him through how you treat them, support them, exalt them, love them. Did He give you children? Then you better follow Max Lucado's lead and lift them back up to Him. Your house? Your car? Your money? Your health? In what ways is the glory of God being shown through the blessings He has given you? Are you playing safe with your blessings, (yes, you probably are), or are you giving til it hurts/scares you? And I'm not talking about what you give to your church, either, (but I will be driving that bus sometime this week), I'm referring to the people you encounter on a daily basis. What are you giving them? Whoops! Wrong question. What would God give them? I have much more to say on this, but I will save it for another day. But I hope that you will pray about your hangups, your own selfishness, and how the world could truly see God if we truly stepped out on faith.

I will praise You in this storm, too.

We talk a lot about the storms of life. The trials. The rough stuff. We talk about how these times refine us and bring us closer to Him. All of this is absolutely true. I've lived it. Repeatedly. 

But what about the other times? When the sun's still shining and yet He is teaching us, still. Nourishing us. Are we searching and listening as closely during these times as we do when we are hurting? Most likely not. We are a fickle bunch whose emotions can influence our choices. This spiritual "summer rain" is a place I've seen many get caught off guard by satan. 

When things are good, we relax and, naturally, we are less diligent about our communication with God. Our prayers are less frequent and less intense, our spiritual disciplines become an afterthought. 

I haven't had many times like this in my life to be honest and certainly am not there right now. In fact, I don't think I'll know how to react when it happens again. That moment where you exhale all the crap and you have such joy for all the amazing things God has done, (I confess I'm still short of breath most of the time). Chances are I will end up in the midst of an ugly cry again, so just call me a modern day Margery Kempe and stop staring!

What I wish for you my friends is that whatever rainstorm in which you currently find yourself, whether dark as night or bright as day, take the time to be still, lift your face and hands to the sky, allow the rain to completely drench you, to nourish you, because it's all for His glory, not ours.

Pick me! Pick me!

I was never picked first in elementary school. Most of the time it was close to last or, on a few occasions, dead last. It wasn't that I completely sucked at sports, well except dodgeball. I never understood dodgeball, but if you'd given me a sport where I could chase people with a bat instead of an awkward-sized rubber ball, I most certainly would've excelled. I think it's because I've always been an unknown variable. Consistency is not exactly my strong suit to say the least.

This, "never being picked first" curse has followed me my entire life. Having been passed over for jobs or promotions, never getting the role I really wanted, rarely being asked my opinion on important matters, this did little to validate me. Even in the moments I have had a little success, I felt like it was in someone else's shadow. In turn, I have always behaved however I wanted. It's not like anyone was paying attention, right?

The further away I get from the values of the world and closer to understanding the life God wants for me, the less I am bothered by my curse. Don't get me wrong, I'm still hoping that someday I will walk into a room full of people who adore me, cheering and clapping and throwing confetti with Whitney Houston on stage belting out "One Moment In Time," (obviously this dream needs an update), but I can laugh at myself now. I accept that this life isn't about me at all. It's about God using me to reveal His own power and glory. To take someone so shattered by this world and recreate him into an instrument of grace and love is something only God can do and for which only He can be given praise.

It's painful, no doubt. Much like a doctor must re-break a bone that has healed wrong, God had to re-break my heart so that He could perfectly mend it. The result of this, you ask? His clever plan for me to be completely, 100%, no holds barred, dependent upon Him. This has taken the conversations in our relationship to a whole new level which is exhilarating and exhausting all at once.

We argue daily. And I get so frustrated that I can't see my path forward yet, but He is teaching me to trust Him completely. For someone that has never actually trusted another living soul since the day his mother died almost 26 years ago, this is no easy achievement. In "Life of the Beloved," Henri Nouwen writes about a choice we make through the healing, reconciliation, and realization processes: "It is here that we are faced with the freedom to make a decision. We can decide to be grateful or to be bitter. We can decide to recognize our chosenness in the moment or we can decide to focus on the shadow side."

As easily as bitterness comes to me, I fight it with prayer and praise because, while my dry, cynical wit is still an obvious card I play in social situations, there is no room for the seeds of sour grapes in this new heart He's given me and filled with His spirit.

Of course I struggle. I haven't finished a blog in over a week because I couldn't get over myself and my own feelings of doubt and frustration. But today, among other good things and people, a friend, (an AMAZING friend at that), texted me this:

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

I have read this repeatedly for the past couple of hours. Actually, I'm clinging to it like a toddler with a security blanket, because, well, I'm human and giving up my own life and my own say in the direction of that life is, well, completely and utterly terrifying.

But that's what it takes. Total surrender. Asking to be chosen last. To be made least. There is no other way.

So take heart my fellow dodgeball failures! God's got a plan for your mad skills.

And for those of you who've been hogging the spotlight, be careful, it can blind you to the truth.

The Heart of the Matter

Yesterday our church spread out all over Jonesboro to serve our community. I was part of a team that went to support an effort our friends at First Baptist had already begun. We did a mini-VBS with the kids and served lunch to anyone who showed up.

Now, before I say anything else, I should tell you I didn't really do anything. I went into this event feeling like I should step back and observe because there was something for me to learn. And boy did I.

I had invited some ladies to come with me to the event and they were very happy to join in and help. They are members of our church, but tend to keep to themselves mostly and not because they are strange or try to isolate themselves. I think it's because they just don't get asked. Know anybody like that in your church? If you don't, I suggest you look around next Sunday.

These ladies arrived at the complex with me, but took off ahead of me as I waited for others. Before I knew it, I looked up and saw them wearing gloves and walking all over the apartment grounds picking up trash. The interesting contrast was that I saw many of the "involved" members of our church standing around talking to each other sort of lost on what to do.

Now, I am not being judgmental at all. I am grateful for each person that gave of their time and even showed up. Many of us, me included, are stepping out into unknown territory and have quickly become experts at hand-wringing. There's an adjustment that has to happen when you step out of your bubble. God never said that his work would just come naturally to us. It takes time and there is a learning curve. And we certainly had far more volunteers than tasks.

My point is, while God is the only one who can truly know, there are some moments we get a glimpse into the hearts' of others . These ladies are servants and I am humbled by their fearlessness to just walk into a situation, see a need, and start taking care of it. No muss, no fuss. Those are my gals.

Each of you have people in your life that you don't invite to things like this. Sure, you've probably invited them to worship, but that's an immediate turn off for what I would guess is the majority. However, we live in a time where most have a sense of social responsibility and do like to volunteer.

So here's your chance friends! Engage the people around you and give them a chance to show you what kind of heart they have. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

And a big thank you to those that led all of the events around town yesterday, especially Meagan Cremeens for putting ours together and being a great example of leadership to our young women. You can read her latest blog post at:  http://inthenameoflovelaughterandliving.blogspot.com/2012/04/you-love-for-me-to-sing-to-you.html?spref=fb

I wanna hold your hand

People always leave.

I came to accept this "absolute truth" at a young age when, in a very short span of time I lost my mom, my grandmother, my grandfather, and my aunt. I felt abandoned. And there was no one left in my life to show me affection. Don't get me wrong, my needs were met, and I know people loved me because they took care of me, but none of them really showed me through physical contact. Given everything else that went on during this "7 to 11" age, (someday I'll be brave enough to write about them), it's no wonder that, by the time I hit puberty, I felt completely alone in the world. I also had a lot of hate and I dolled it out in true "Shane" style for the better part of two decades.

In just the past few weeks, I've watched friends suffer great loss. A single car accident that killed a previous co-worker, the mother of a dear friend just suddenly gone, and a buddy, with whom I shared a birthday and deep sadness over a girl who left us too soon, killed in a motorcycle accident. The ripple effects of these lives are evident in the outpouring of emotion from their deaths.

Now, there's a little boy, Joseph, for whom my heart breaks everyday. My buddy, Joe, was his father and his mother was Jennye, the girl who left us too soon. I know this child's ache. That physical, painful emptiness that sits in the middle of your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Even at thirty five I still feel like an orphan. Even though I know it wasn't by choice, I still feel abandoned. Fortunately, Joseph is surrounded by family that includes many of the most amazing, loving, godly people I've ever known. And they know how to show affection.

Loneliness sucks. And more often than not, I still get swallowed by it, but I'm trying to trust that He is with me and that I am loved, no matter what. It's easier said than done when days go by and you think, "I could be dead as a door nail on my bathroom floor and no one would even know. I hope I'm clothed if that happens."

The truth is, we all need to make more effort to love the people in our lives. It is far too easy for the hurting, the abandoned, the broken-hearted to slip from our grasp because we were too busy focusing on things that don't matter in the end. And in this age of technology, there's no reason why, when you think of someone, you can't tell them, (and if you don't, you could be ignoring the Spirit, just sayin').

I love the aramaic/english translation of Hebrews 13:5 that says, "...for THE LORD JEHOVAH has said, “I shall not forsake you, neither shall I let go of your hand.”

Much of the way God shows his love for us is through his people.

God wants his people to be affectionate. He knows the importance of being embraced. He knows that when you put your arm around another person that, even if it's just for that moment, that person feels special. Loved. 


So get to huggin' people. There's no easier way to change the world. 


And if you need someone to hold your hand, just ask, because my God always provides. Always.

Knock, Knock

Today I have been visited by an old friend of mine: doubt. I'm sure you have met him. He's a clever cat, always there, consistent, patient, just waiting for that one thought. That one moment of weakness where you consider the lie as truth.

Yesterday, a friend, and someone for whom I have great respect and love, made a joke about the fact that I don't act my age. So true. And completely harmless, until I get home and am by myself for five minutes and begin to obsess. What do these people think of me? Do they think I'm stupid? Silly? Shouldn't be respected? Unworthy of them?

Yes, I confess, this is how I operate. Every conversation, every situation, I replay on a continuous loop to find some underlying meaning or intention, or to confirm what I already believe in my core: you don't really like me. I have no extrinsic value. I am merely taking up space and oxygen.

This journey toward realizing my own self-worth has been unbearably long, filled with anxiety, frustration, and a lot of tears, (I'm getting weepy in my old age), but the rewards are what keep me from opening that door on days like today. When God shakes me out of my inner-turmoil coma and shows me how He used me to impact a child's life, change a perspective, or how He turned my sacrifice into something far greater, I live for these moments. I guess you could say it's my new addiction.

There is, however, a greater story here. And that is, what should I look like? We generally ascribe certain things to my age, (marriage, kids, career, home, stability, etc.), but what's the truth in them? Honestly, there isn't any. There's nothing wrong with any of it, so don't misunderstand me, but these things can be, (and typically are), as selfishly driven as anything I've ever done. All of these "trappings" are the sign of a grown-up, a person who has made the right investments, worked hard, claimed their "40 acres and a mule," if you will. It's the American dream and, at its core, it is a very dangerous one. How could that be dangerous, you ask? Because it leads to self-sufficiency and pride.

I really struggle with this "ideal" that people put upon me, (and, for years, I put upon myself), that I had to live a certain kind of life to be respected or appreciated. It's not so much my own self-worth anymore as it is the people I see hiding behind these mostly "surface" identifiers. I just want to jerk them up from that job or house they're hiding behind and say, "see, you were meant for more."

And don't get me wrong, marriage can be a great and godly thing, but with a sixty plus percent divorce rate among Christians, (higher than the national average), we've made it either a hurdle for approval or a selfish investment. And kids? If I had the resources, I'd adopt and foster as many as I could tomorrow. I know how it feels to be left alone in this world. But I'm not there yet, (hopefully someday I will be), and until then I will support my friends who are parents, giving them breaks, and being an example of an individual who stands strong in Christ.

All the other stuff? I doubt that God will ever leave me in a comfortable place for long, so why bother. This world isn't my home anyway, so it's no surprise that I have never felt like I belong enough to want those things.

Now, to set you all straight so my inbox isn't flooded with comments: I am not judging any of the things I've mentioned here, (though I do dare you to ask yourself the question, "did I really need that mercedes/lexus/bmw, or could I have bought a Honda and been just fine, therefore freeing up more resources for God to use?"), I understand that people are unique and have different levels of need. And God really wants us to enjoy His blessings, but you should ask yourself to what extent your blessings are for you and for you to bless others.

I do challenge you to ask yourself the questions that I am challenging myself with: what do I REALLY need? What could God do with me and the things He has blessed me with if I got out of His way?

I am sure that doubt will come a knockin' again soon, possibly before the sun reaches the horizon, but I will simply lock the door, sing His praises and dance like the barefoot fool the world, (and a lot of the church), thinks I am.

Cause this is God's house. And He don't take kindly to strangers.

Short and Sweet

PSALM 117

Praise the Lord, all you nations; extol him, all you peoples. For great is his love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever. Praise the Lord.

That's it. The shortest chapter in the bible. There's an irony here. Three sentences with the second one ending in "endures forever." That's pretty long isn't it? Unfathomably long actually. But I have to say I enjoy the sentiment here: this is what you do, this is why you do it, so just do it. I often wish my own pulpit minister, (yes, I own him, he just doesn't know it, well, until now), would take a lesson here, (love you Jimmy, no really, I do), because sometimes I just don't have the mental capacity, the energy, the "umph" to listen for 20 to 30 minutes. Just say what needs sayin' and let's get on with it already! I figured out what I want for lunch during that unbearable silence in communion, so now I'm starving! Hurry up man!

It's not that I don't ever listen, I do. And I am making a concerted effort to take notes these days, (mainly to recall ideas for blogs, I confess), but I am trying. But, no matter what, I catch myself watching one of the teens doing something silly or trying to make out faces on the farthest side of the auditorium from me just to check my eyesight, (yes, I have vision insurance, but I find this exam cheaper and no one's blowing air on my eyeball which is the part that gives me serious gas pains.).

Patience is something not easily gained. And don't ask Him for it unless you're really ready. He will give it to you in spades. And never let up. Ever. Side note: He has a similar plan with wisdom which begins with a very long process of making you realize you don't know a flippin' thing. Turns out Aristotle was right all along.

So, the purpose of this was, wait, I've been too busy going back and forth between this and Facebook to recall. Oh, nope, wait, I've got it.

God knows we all suffer from some form of ADD. So, just because you haven't progressed to some deep place of spiritual discipline, (you know, like me), it doesn't mean that your brief moments of prayer and worship aren't as sweet to Him as the most intricate, well thought out, masterly crafted Psalm.

Often it is "Help," but mostly it's a sigh, a groan, an upward glance, or a handful of tears. To Him, it is the reason you were made and there is no more beautiful melody than that. He even appreciates my old school, Vanilla Ice, two pounds on the chest followed by a peace sign. Stop. Collaborate and listen.

Take a Hike

Okay, before I get on with this, I need to explicitly state something that I have previously implied but perhaps some of you have missed. For now, this blog is inherently about me. My struggles. My lessons. I look forward to the day that I significantly reduce the number of personal pronouns used in my writing, but until then I can only put down what God puts on my heart. This is all new to me and so I will make mistakes. I only today have truly realized three things: 1) That something I say or do might actually impact another human being. The idea that someone would actually take me seriously, well, I'm struggling with that concept. 2) My intended audience is those of you who are in the "in between" so to speak. You're not stumbling around in the dark, necessarily, because you recognize God for who He is, but have yet to truly realize His power, grace, glory and how it can flip you and your life on its head, (in a good way). 3) My actual audience is far more diverse and eclectic. From preachers to well, whatever the opposite of a preacher is. There will be times that one side of the spectrum or the other will be lost in what I write or may read into it more than is my intention. For this phenomenon, I will just beg your forgiveness up front because I guarantee you it will happen again.

I titled my first entry "the middle of the beginning....with no end" because that's what all of this is. It is mid-conversation. As much as I try to build a framework for each topic by prefacing or referencing back story or whatever, my entries would be far too long if I went into too much detail. This is about how He has changed me and is continuing to do so. So when I say something along the lines of I don't need this that or the other to be what I am called to be, I am not subversively attacking a person that exists with those qualities. I am stating that  this is who I thought I had to be and now realize that it is most certainly not. I'm not attacking those things or judging a person like that, (though I confess, I am chronically "judgy" and I am working on it), I am showing you, the "in between," that you don't have to fit some mold either. God wants to take hold of you right where you are. You don't have to move or even flinch. In fact, He'd prefer it if we'd just let Him control every muscle group, (especially the ones involving the mouth and hands).

Last night, I received an email from a best friend who was deeply hurt by what I wrote. I read this email while I was at work and I couldn't tell you a single thing I did or said from that point on. I was on auto-pilot. I just kept saying over and over in my head, "what have I done? what have I done?" While I do want to challenge you, push you, press a little hard on a tender spot, even anger you a bit, I don't ever want to inflict a personal wound like that, (so if I ever do, I expect to you to confront me).

Something funny happened, though, during my panic. I realized that I cared. As many of you can attest from experience, I have been a person who says what he wants and if you don't like it, it's your problem. Build a bridge and get on over it. Granted, much of that frankness and willingness to talk about the elephant in the room is alive and well within me, but never before have I felt like someone else's hurt was my hurt.

Let me tell you about my friend. He's a Galatians 6 kind of friend. Verse 2 says, "carry each others' burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." We have known each other for, well, like 57 years, but only since I moved to Jonesboro two and a half years ago did we truly begin a friendship. For the record, it has not been easy. We are totally different people. I am an open book mostly, emotional, outspoken, back and forth, up and down, anything but stable. He is reserved, thoughtful, careful, and steady. We have two completely different world views and have led two drastically different lives. In any given situation, if I'm attacking it head on at full speed, I can almost guarantee you he's gently backing into it from the opposite side.

When our journey, (hike up the mountain, really), started back then, I was still in a very dark place, battling the ugliest of demons who were daily ripping at my flesh to get to my soul. While I had some good days, for the most part I was in pitch black, sitting in a pool of my own blood, screaming for help. I lashed out. A lot. And often, it was my friend who was at the receiving end of it. Partly because he was the embodiment of everything I thought I had to be and I resented him for it. Some days, I wanted to hate him for it. The other reason was because I didn't trust him, so I tested him. Constantly. I've pulled this trick with every man in my life and that goes back to a lot of childhood crap that I am sure I will cover at some point, but not today.

During this journey, he has been steadfast. Some seasons he has been more present than others. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he knew I needed to work through something on my own, sometimes he would walk away to avoid one of my tantrums or to let me pout on my own, (yes, it is possible to put another grown up in timeout). Sometimes he stayed away for his own sanity and safety to ensure my darkness didn't take him over. He did this without saying much, he's not much of a sharer in the conventional sense. But sometimes, I would come home from having worked out of town 4 or 5 days straight and my yard would be mowed. Little notes or texts from him and his wife would pop up at the perfect moment to say, in many different ways, " I see you, I see your hurt, you will get through this, you are not alone."

I added so much extra weight to his load for a long time. I complicated situations, I demanded attention, I put so much responsibility on him because I couldn't do it on my own. And he carried it. He carried me.

This morning, we met and walked around the park together, (I confess, I chose this because I wanted multiple exit strategies), and we talked. We discussed a lot of different things. He questioned me and I was more than willing to answer. We laughed at ourselves and we talked in a way that we really haven't before. He gave me trust and respect by showing me his heart and I am forever humbled by that gift. Granted, he told me what he thought and I took it. I relished in it actually.

That's the funny thing about Godly relationships. No matter what the other person is saying, when you know how much they love you and are invested in you, you soak in everything they're saying with joy in your heart. My friend did this and all the while walking a hilly road with traffic, passers by, other distractions, and being the one to step off into the mud when necessary so that I didn't have to. That is my friend. That is who God  made him to be. While the walk this morning had its own moments with steep inclines that had to be pushed through, it was a respite from the hike we've been on for what seems like forever, but our hike continues.

You see, when God puts you on His path, stands you up, dusts you off, and gives you a chance to look around, you find His people. The people whose hearts are filled with His grace, patience, compassion, joy, and so much of it all that they can't help but share it. I am grateful for those people because they have become my family. God gives to completion and one way is through His people and, in this respect, I am the richest person alive. Today, specifically, I am grateful for this particular friend for being everything I couldn't be for myself. On this journey, you have pushed me up the hill and kept me from stumbling down the other side, you've nourished my soul, you've lighted the path in the dark. Though I pray no darkness ever comes your way, if it does, I promise that I will be there, by your side, flashlight in hand.

Money Shuts Up

I did actually agonize over publishing this one, but I ultimately decided that what I have to say is well, at least worth me saying it so it doesn't rattle around in my head any longer, (I will let you decide whether or not it was worth reading, but don't tell me).

It seems money is a touchy subject for people. For me, not so much. I've been "poor" my whole life. Never had money, probably won't ever have much. The difference for me is, I'm actually okay with it. And I'm not a person that really has a problem saying "I'm broke" or "I can't afford that." I don't find shame in it. In fact, I'm not sure I really want a lot of money. With money comes responsibility, (especially when we realize and live out the philosophy that none of it's ours anyway), and frankly, I'm not a fan of the big "R."

I recently, however, recognized more materialism in my self than I thought really existed. For the second time, I invested hours, (hundreds of hours, actually), into a project. I took a script that I had previously written, added new scenes, characters, music, subplots and then directed and played one of the leads in the production. I did this all without any compensation. Totally free. One hundred percent. And, understand, I am in no way exaggerating the amount of actual time put into it. In fact, when I sat down and figured out the hours between the original production and this one, we're somewhere in the neighborhood of 1000 hours. Granted, I did sell the script, so if I stretch that money out, I have made about 70 cents per hour. Also, if you're wondering, that works out to almost six months at 40 hours a week. This would be nothing, really, if I had one of them fancy jobs where you can take time off and actually still get paid. Well, I'm currently not that lucky. If I don't go to work, I don't make any money.

Here's the deal: The last time around, I was basically, well, screwed, after the show. I was far enough behind that I had to work every possible moment for the next three months to catch up, (and still didn't). So, that was basically, at the time, me going to class, then my internship (20 hours/week), then driving to batesville and working open to close Thursday, friday, saturday, sunday, and monday. (50 hours). Then racing back to Jonesboro and repeating the cycle, (try throwing in 300 pages of reading and writing every week, sounds fun huh?). The problem is, I did all of this with a lot of anger. If another minister had looked at me and said, "thanks for all your hard work," I would've said, "thanks for yours, oh wait, you actually get paid don't you? Enjoy those consistent meals you're getting."

My initial response to the project was a resounding NO, but God had other plans. And He wasn't gentle either. He just started pushing me toward the project until I finally said, "fine. I give up." So along I went, being shoved the whole way. Now, let me say up front, I did actually make it clear to both elders and ministers that, with all the time I was having to take away from work, I would most likely need a little financial help. This was met with guffaws, foot shuffles, and awkward glances. I was as forthcoming as I could be and these men couldn't even look me in the eye. Really?

Now, I've said all of that to say this: do you see my problem? All of this talk completely revolved around me. How it affected me. How I had to struggle. How THEY are the ones with the problem. And don't get me wrong, there is a cultural problem here. As a collective, church people do have a problem talking about money. This is mostly, in my opinion, because they still want to believe the money is theirs even though they know it isn't. And we really don't want to feel guilty or pressured into giving it away.

I had a moment, well, a day actually, where I resented these men, but fortunately I see much more clearly than I did two years ago. And the experience this time, was a completely different one. I came out of it with a much stronger sense of who He has made me and who the people around me really are. Many relationships became so much deeper and new bonds were forged that will become new avenues for ministry. Granted, a couple of relationships became more tenuous, but that has its purpose as well even if I don't see the outcome yet. I saw God. I watched Him move through so many people. I watched Him take a bunch of half-wits and prove His power. This experience has changed me forever, without a doubt.

In the midst of my selfish aftermath, I began reading David Platte's "Radical" once again. I had put it away a year ago because I just wasn't ready for it. Thankfully, Dave was to the rescue that day. He reminded me of the man that went out into the field and found the buried treasure, reburied it, and went home to start selling everything he owned so that he could buy that field. Isn't that each of us? We know where the treasure is, so why aren't we giving all of ourselves in response?

I accept that my investment is a heavenly one and I am more than happy to wait.

That's part of the lesson God is teaching me through this trial. The other part? I'm still waiting to see exactly. Something regarding money, I'm sure. We've covered doubt, sex, drugs, hatred, self-worth, I figure it's time for money.

Please understand, I wouldn't change a thing. Period. And I'm not upset with anyone or even freaking out over the fact that all my current problems seem to be money ones, (call me, we'll talk, oh wait, I can't pay my phone bill). And I will do it again tomorrow if that's what He wants. Now, should there have been at least some value placed on my earthly work? Absolutely. But I can't expect people to be ready when I am. I really don't want to offend anyone, (I'm totally lying, I love stomping on toes), but the truth is that I preached a years' worth of sermons in that production, hundreds saw God move in that theater, hearts were broken and healed simultaneously. And I didn't need a bible degree, a wife, kids, or a diplomatic disposition to do it. I told the story that God wanted me to tell. And He did the rest. So, because I gave in to God's will completely and sacrificially, I don't care about the rest. I truly honestly don't, (I don't think). That selfish part of me wants to say, "your thank yous don't pay my bills." But that is becoming such a minuscule part. The servant part of me says, "send me Lord, I am yours, no matter what."

So keep your chump change, cause I gots me a mansion on a hilltop and I'm bettin' there's a cloud-hopping Mercedes in the garage.

Go Go Speed Racer, Part Duh.

In the last post I talked about running and how well that was not going. I told the story of the first attempt; now let me tell you about that night. 

I had to go to work that evening, a Monday, with the expectation that it would require little effort. I was terribly wrong. I found that I was chasing myself all over the building, unable to catch up. About two hours in, when I actually stopped for a moment, I realized I could barely stand. I hobbled through that night and the next couple of days, just waiting for the pain to subside so that I could make my second attempt. It's one thing for me to choose not to do something, but if someone or something is holding me back, it just deepens my resolve. 

But what I came to realize was that, no matter the goodness of my intent, I was unprepared to attack this new challenge the way I wanted. I needed to take a step back and form a game plan for strengthening my knee before I could start putting 5ks on the calendar.

This is something I've done repeatedly in my own life: Leap now, look later. As you can guess, this has not worked out to much benefit for me. The bigger problem is that this is how my faith walk has been and, if you stop and think about it, probably yours too. 

There is a great little book called "Sit, Walk, Stand" by Watchman Nee. Nee was an evangelist in China back before the Japanese War. He points out that most epistles are divided into two parts: doctrinal and practical. The second part can then be subdivided into two sections as well: our life in the world and our attitude toward the enemy. The example he uses is Ephesians that he breaks down like this:

                  Ephesians

                          A. Doctrinal (Chapters 1 to 3)

                                      1. Our position in Christ (1:1-3:21)

                          B. Practical (Chapters 4 to 6)

                                      1. Our life in the World (4:1-6:9)

                                      2. Our attitude toward the enemy (6:10-24)

(I will attempt to sum up this little gem of a book quickly to make my point, but I highly, highly recommend you read this book. It's all of like 65 pages and is one of those you can leave and revisit often and not feel this overwhelming need to finish it before moving on to something else.)

Now, this division of Ephesians is paramount to understanding Nee's philosophy, sit-walk-stand. I will not give this concept it's great due here, as I will try to keep it simple. The idea is that we sit in Christ, walk in the world, and stand against the enemy. 

How often do we reverse the first two? Our current Christian culture is really a "do" one. We want to run out and "do" something for Jesus and then rest. Nee suggests that we take the counter intuitive approach and sit first. He's 100% right as far as I can see. 

The best example of this is the last bit of time the apostles spent with Jesus before He proved to be the original, (and only), Superman and disappeared behind the clouds. In Acts 1:4 we see Jesus chilling/eating with the remaining 11 apostles and He tells them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait for the gift God has promised. So they waited. Holed up in some cramped quarters, hiding away.......................for 10 stinking days. I bet they felt like toddlers on the week before Christmas. Oh the agony! When I read this I can't help but think about my godson, John Mark, (I call him and his brother, Asher, my godsons because, well, as I've told their parents, they're part mine anyway, and I can't imagine loving my own child anymore than I do these two. So what else do I call them? If you come up with something better you let me know). Anyway, back to John Mark. Let's just say JM has not mastered the art of anticipation. In fact, I've thought, in times passed, that the mere waiting for an event that he is super pumped about might actually give him a stroke. He just can't stand it. So in my mind, when I imagine this scene, there's a dozen or so John Marks running around completely coming apart at the seams. 

I've strayed a little off point, so let me bring it back. If Jesus held up his boys, who had to be super pumped themselves to get out and share the news, (hello, Jesus dead, Jesus now alive, they all had to be in surreal, mouth-a gaped  awe), what makes you think He wouldn't expect you to hold back a moment or two as well? 

The most important thing we can do is wait on Him. I actually had a friend question whether or not the phrase, "wait on the Lord," might infer serving the Lord, like waiting on a customer. I entertained this notion for a moment and then I realized that, while this notion is no less biblical really, it messes up the point. God is saying, "DON'T GO ANYWHERE, UNTIL I SEND YOU." 

You see, when we alter the process and leap first, we will most likely make it all about ourselves in the end. God not only wants, but demands, that He be glorified through you, (because it's actually not about you at all, gasp!), so it makes sense that He would want to be in the locker room with you, pregame, and share with you HIS plan. Not to mention, this is far more rewarding for us to encounter than a plan of our own making. And the end result is, well, far more Godly.

So run your race, but let Him hold the starter pistol.

Go Go Speed Racer

About three weeks ago I decided to take up running once again. It's amazing that I could put that concept into a simple sentence considering most days I have trouble even walking very far. You see, I have not been very kind to this old body and now I am paying for it, dearly. I have the knees of someone twice my age, lungs that still need a while to rebound, and neck/shoulder problems that remind me every morning of their existence. Did I forget to mention the extra forty pounds I'm carrying and the insane amount of drugs I did in my twenties?

That first morning, I set out into the streets of my neighborhood, timing my attempt so that most people would be gone to work or school which reduced the number of witnesses to what I had already decided would be an epic fail. There is this one route I can take all the way around my subdivision that is .66 miles. I figured that would be my best bet. So I took off walking at a pretty fast pace, listening to my Andrew Peterson Pandora station and thinking I needed a headband, some of those awful 70's shorts, (you know the ones), and daring any senior speed walker to challenge me. I didn't get halfway through the first lap before I realized there was a short in my ear buds. No more music. But I pressed on. After the first lap I decided to run. I made it about 200 yards before my body was screaming WHAT, gasp, ARE, gasp, YOU, gasp/almost vomit, DOING!!!??? So I returned to walking. Once I concluded that some poor old lady wouldn't find me in the early stages of rigor mortis outside her front door, I attempted running again. Same result.

At this point, even though I kept walking, I verbally abused myself for the next two laps. Every ounce of drugs. Every hamburger. Every cigarette. Every morning wasted by giving into depression. By the time I had finished a little over 2 miles, I hated myself so much that I couldn't even recognize that what I had just done was good.

That attitude of self-hate has been my mantra for as long as I can remember. Since before puberty I have never seen myself as having any value, any purpose, any attribute that was worth while. I deserved every hurt, every wrong, every bit of wrath that has been poured out on me. I am weak, ugly, stupid, lazy.................

The first time I read Henri Nouwen's Life of the Beloved, (thank you Jimmy Adcox), I thought it was a lovely concept. I wanted to believe what Nouwen says: "We are intimately loved long before our parents, teachers, spouses, children or friends loved or wounded us. That's the truth or our lives. That's the truth I want you to claim for yourself. That's the truth spoken by the voice that says, 'you are my beloved.'" But I couldn't let go of what I knew to be true: no one could ever love me like that.

Looking back, I think I now understand, (a little), that I clung to this belief because it was all I ever knew. It sounds strange, but it was my solace, my comfort because it was my foundation. Whatever core values we have, right or wrong, healing or destructive, they are ours and they are as important as breathing.

There is no easy path forward, let me tell you. It is grueling and mostly feels impossible. And there's really nothing you can do, except wait on Him. The most important thing I have come to understand is that I can do nothing. NOTHING. I cannot ever earn the right or deserve to be His beloved. I've heard people say before that God will take 99 steps and all you gotta do is take 1. I'm here to tell you THAT'S not even true.
He will take 99 and carry you the 1.

The funny thing is, I'm in some strange way grateful for my self-hatred. We are all nothing without Him. Wretched, lost, evil, selfish, ugly creatures. I have zero value on my own, (can you truly honestly say that about yourself? Or do you assign certain adjectives to your self view?), but in Christ, I am BELOVED.

Do I still get down on myself? Daily. Do I regret all of the ways that I tried to destroy my life? Of course. But when that happens, I sing a line from my good buddy Andrew Peterson: "I am a Prince and a Priest in the Kingdom of God."

(I have another point to make in reference to my running story, but I figure this is more than enough for now)

Whatever?

Let me preface this by stating, once again, I am radical. So, I'm reading through Colossians and I come to 3:17: "And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him." Okay, please understand up front, I am not saying there's anything wrong with this premise. I think my issue may be with those who have used this as an "excuse" to be, perhaps, well, less "missional" in their lifestyle. In this part of the letter, Paul is talking about what being a real Christian looks like. If you've been raised with Christ, then all of these great attributes, (love, mercy, kindness, patience, the peace of God), push all the old ugly stuff, (anger, bitterness, desires of the flesh, you get the picture), out. In the New King James it is referred to as "putting on the new man." I'm really not crazy about this language. It infers that Christianity is akin to a new outfit you just picked up at a killer sale at Barneys.

Perhaps this type of analogous thinking is okay for the believer who already understands that Godly change is heart change. It comes from a deep place and flourishes through the Holy Spirit. Granted, this does, at some point, mean an outpouring of that inner change into the physical realm. On this level, I get where Paul is going with his word choice: this is what it should look like! But looks can be deceiving, can't they? In fact, the screenplay I am currently working on is all about how well we hide our own brokenness and what happens when light finally penetrates darkness and that evil is unwillingly exposed.

Now, back to my original intent. The word "whatever" that is used in the aforementioned passage really gives me pause, and indigestion. It's so, well, ambiguous. I don't fare well in ambiguity. I need specifics. Details. Step by step instructions. A how-to guide complete with a 30-day, free in-home trial, companion dvds, oh, and a toll free support number where some dude in Bangladesh wittingly calls himself Bob. Paul! Why must you leave me hangin' man? I thought we were pals. I would be stuck here if it hadn't been for great books like "Practice in the Presence of God" by Brother Lawrence, (someday I will get permission to translate it into real, American English), and everything I've read by Henry Nouwen. I get it, Paul, okay? I understand that God's change is in every fiber of my being, every component of my life. His love should be evident with every breath I take.

With that settled, here comes the part you've been waiting for. THIS SCRIPTURE IS NOT TO BE USED TO EXCUSE YOU FROM BEING A REAL SERVANT. Still with me? Okay. There are two things that have become crystal clear to me in the past few weeks, (thank you Mr. and Mrs. Hatmaker and God for opening my eyes), and they are the words of Jesus himself that I cannot deny nor construe and neither can you.

Matthew 25: 31-46
 ³⁴ “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

   ³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

   ⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

   ⁴¹ “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴² For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³ I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

Mark 10:44

And whosoever of you will be the first, shall be servant of all

Do you see what he says to the people that didn't actively care for others? He says "depart from me." If this doesn't call you to action, then, well, there is nothing I can do for you and you probably should never read my blog again. (There's no mention of those who support others who do these things, by the way. I don't know if you get points for an "assist" so to speak. So, if that's your game plan, I won't argue with you, but I will ask you to write me a check), 

I  believe that American culture has so invaded Christian culture that the two are nearly identical. This is what we have taught our kids: I go to school and get a good education so that I can get a good career and support my family and tithe to my church. None of this is actually right. None of it. Jesus says make yourself last! Be the servant of all! He says feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless. He didn't say pay someone else to do this stuff, he said DO IT! Imagine what our world would look like if even a third of the population genuinely cared for each other in these ways on a daily, real basis. Imagine what God could do with your church if each member gave an extra 3-5 hours a week in volunteering and, (here's where I get in trouble, but I'm saying it anyway), maybe didn't have such a big, nice facility that cost so much to pay for and keep up, and (here I go), maybe had ministers that went out and got "real" jobs, (love you all, but really, how much more kingdom impact do you think you could have if you worked side by side, everyday, in the trenches with people who REALLY need your words?).  

Shane Claiborne, who I hope to someday interview in-depth, puts it this way: (and I am largely paraphrasing),  If you want to see God, then look into the eyes of the poor, the sick, and the dying, because that's where He is.

You see, there are certain things that Jesus says that I really don't hear out loud much anymore. Is it because we fear the truth? Is it because we don't want to be inconvenienced? Is it because we don't want to feel guilty about all the nice things we have that we really don't need? YES. YES. AND YES. 

I can't tell any of you how your journey is supposed to look, but I can tell you what Jesus says about my journey. I can tell you that these principles of sacrifice and servanthood are the very heart, hands and feet of our Savior. The question is, are you ready to accept it? Don't pray that prayer until you are ready for you world to be rocked! 

Here's what I have come to understand: Any pursuit that does not honor God is idolatry. Any focus other than Him is myopia. Any purpose other than being a servant is an exercise in hell bound futility.

To be fair, you were warned: I'm a radical.

The middle of the beginning........with no end

To be honest, I haven't really seen blogging as a useful way to spend my time, thus I am far behind many of my peers who have been typing themselves silly for years. The idea that something I do or say might actually be of value to someone else is, well, completely new to me. But now I think I have found my voice as a storyteller. At least for the moment

The concept of 'story' has been around as long as mankind. From legends to anthropology and history, from epic poems to short fiction, story has always been a building block of every culture that informs, defines and challenges its partakers for their betterment. Well, it used to, anyway.

In our weird, "all about me," post-modernish society, many stories are celebrated and perpetuated based on a pop culture that is a far cry from being synonymous with intellect. Don't get me wrong, there are some great writers out there right now, but sadly they are ignored by the masses. If you're not writing about vampires or magic, (and in a very pedestrian manner, I might add), then your voice is unlikely to be heard by many. If you are writing about spiritual matters then your audience really dwindles. If you are writing about the truth, rawness, and ugliness of sin and how it eviscerates one's soul, then you're really talking to yourself because nobody wants to read the truth.

So, for now, I see my mission: to tell THE STORY, (the only one that matters), in real, transparent ways so that people can see the love of God and come to know Him. How will this pan out? I guess we will all have to stay tuned. The great thing is that this is the life for which I was built.

Nothing about my life is conventional. I am in my mid-thirties, single, no kids, no real career, no real labels. Over the past few years, God has slowly ripped away everything that I, at one time, would have used to identify myself. All that I have left is my identity in Christ. This has been the most difficult, painful journey to endure, but the rewards have been worth every tear, every frustration. I now accept that I was not made to live the life that our culture, (and, in many ways, our Church), deems worthwhile and fitting. I am a rebel. I am a radical.

So here I am, somewhere in the middle of my own story, unsure of where the real beginning was and clueless as to how the next chapter will be written. All I know for sure is that my story is His story, and that's good enough for me.

What I am currently reading
World's Fair by EL Doctorow (thanks Ashleigh Givens)
The Good and Beautiful Life by James Bryan Smith
Radical by David Platte
Re-reading Jesus For President by Shane Claiborn (why not, it's an election year)
The books of Romans and Colossians


Just finished
Interrupted by Jen Hatmaker

About to start
Barefoot Church by Brandon Hatmaker