Everybody is somebody.
"Imagine if you didn't have a home life. Imagine if everybody had pretty much given up on you. Now imagine what it would mean for hundreds of people to suddenly believe in you."
That's a quote from an article a friend sent me the other day. A high school football coach decided to cheer for the other team, a group of players currently serving jail time. In essence, when the world told them they were nobody, this coach showed them that everybody is somebody in God's eyes.
It's a beautiful example of what it means to love your neighbor.
Check it out if you get a chance.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
How much?
A friend in Australia sent me this clip. In it, Penn, of the comic duo "Penn & Teller" asks a really bold question after a stranger gives him a Bible. His explanation of why we desperately need to witness to people completely caught me off guard.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
two words, one lie
two words, one lie
The devil is more than willing, and very able, to tell you what a Christian should be.
A Christian should feel happy all the time.
A Christian should be rich.
A Christian should never doubt.
A Christian should know more Bible by now.
A real Christian should never have a marriage that is broken, a child that is run away or a hope that feels small and extinguished.
A real Christian should never be hurt or lonely or sad or angry or stressed or depressed or confused.
Painting a picture of what a Christian should be is perhaps the devil's favorite activity.
But, he will never be able to tell you what a Christian can be.
He cannot plumb the depths of God's love within us.
He cannot fathom the might of God's power within us.
He cannot comprehend the relentless pursuit of God's grace within us.
He cannot tell you what a Christian can be, but he will whisper aggressively what a Christian should be.
The challenge is not to confuse those two words, can and should. Because one produces shame and condemnation, attempting to put limits on a God that is limitless. The other, shines a light on a God in which all things are possible.
Can and should.
Which one do you hear most?
Which one are you listening to?
The devil is more than willing, and very able, to tell you what a Christian should be.
A Christian should feel happy all the time.
A Christian should be rich.
A Christian should never doubt.
A Christian should know more Bible by now.
A real Christian should never have a marriage that is broken, a child that is run away or a hope that feels small and extinguished.
A real Christian should never be hurt or lonely or sad or angry or stressed or depressed or confused.
Painting a picture of what a Christian should be is perhaps the devil's favorite activity.
But, he will never be able to tell you what a Christian can be.
He cannot plumb the depths of God's love within us.
He cannot fathom the might of God's power within us.
He cannot comprehend the relentless pursuit of God's grace within us.
He cannot tell you what a Christian can be, but he will whisper aggressively what a Christian should be.
The challenge is not to confuse those two words, can and should. Because one produces shame and condemnation, attempting to put limits on a God that is limitless. The other, shines a light on a God in which all things are possible.
Can and should.
Which one do you hear most?
Which one are you listening to?
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Awake and asleep.
Awake and asleep.
I read an article in last month’s Men’s Journal about some coal miners that died in a tragic accident. While trapped miles under the earth, with their oxygen running out and death coming quickly, the men decided to write some notes to the people they loved.
One note said:
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
That is a gift,
if you are dying.
That is the only thing you can give your family and the people that love you. That was a kindness, a man letting his family know that he did not suffer. I was overwhelmed by the selflessness of that action. With only a few short breaths left, that man did not focus on the pain he was in, but instead used his last energy to do everything he could to ease the pain of the people he loved.
But if you are alive,
if you still have years ahead of you, if you are still above ground, breathing and living, that note is note a gift.
It is a curse.
It is a note that I wrote to describe my own life for many, many years.
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
Things weren’t horrible, I just went to sleep. I stopped caring about anyone but me. I stopped giving and focused on taking. I let go of risk and settled into a nice, safe, comfortable life.
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
I am tired of living that way. Tired of writing that note. Tired of being those words.
I don’t know if you’re like me and it’s easy for you to fall asleep. Easy to focus on the wrong things. Easy to miss the love and the life and the joy God keeps whispering in the corners of your day.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
That is my prayer for 2009. That I would not sleep. That I would not live a life that is really not all that alive. That I would remember Revelation 16:15, “blessed is he who stays awake.”
What kind of note will you write this year?
I read an article in last month’s Men’s Journal about some coal miners that died in a tragic accident. While trapped miles under the earth, with their oxygen running out and death coming quickly, the men decided to write some notes to the people they loved.
One note said:
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
That is a gift,
if you are dying.
That is the only thing you can give your family and the people that love you. That was a kindness, a man letting his family know that he did not suffer. I was overwhelmed by the selflessness of that action. With only a few short breaths left, that man did not focus on the pain he was in, but instead used his last energy to do everything he could to ease the pain of the people he loved.
But if you are alive,
if you still have years ahead of you, if you are still above ground, breathing and living, that note is note a gift.
It is a curse.
It is a note that I wrote to describe my own life for many, many years.
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
Things weren’t horrible, I just went to sleep. I stopped caring about anyone but me. I stopped giving and focused on taking. I let go of risk and settled into a nice, safe, comfortable life.
“It wasn’t bad. I just went to sleep.”
I am tired of living that way. Tired of writing that note. Tired of being those words.
I don’t know if you’re like me and it’s easy for you to fall asleep. Easy to focus on the wrong things. Easy to miss the love and the life and the joy God keeps whispering in the corners of your day.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
That is my prayer for 2009. That I would not sleep. That I would not live a life that is really not all that alive. That I would remember Revelation 16:15, “blessed is he who stays awake.”
What kind of note will you write this year?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
How to love a prodigal - part 1
How to love a prodigal - part 1
One of the first things that happens in a prodigal situation, a moment in which a child emotionally, spiritually, mentally or physically runs away from home is that a moral chasm is opened. I'm not talking about the obvious gulf that exists between parent and child in this situation. The separation of geographical distance, age or ideas. I'm taking about the distance between wrong and right, good and evil, clean and dirty.
What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.
I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.
Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.
How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?
You share your junk.
You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.
That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:
1. You earn life currency.
Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.
2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.
3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.
This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.
Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.
One of the first things that happens in a prodigal situation, a moment in which a child emotionally, spiritually, mentally or physically runs away from home is that a moral chasm is opened. I'm not talking about the obvious gulf that exists between parent and child in this situation. The separation of geographical distance, age or ideas. I'm taking about the distance between wrong and right, good and evil, clean and dirty.
What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.
I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.
Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.
How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?
You share your junk.
You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.
That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:
1. You earn life currency.
Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.
2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.
3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.
This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.
Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.
How to love a prodigal - part 1
One of the first things that happens in a prodigal situation, a moment in which a child emotionally, spiritually, mentally or physically runs away from home is that a moral chasm is opened. I'm not talking about the obvious gulf that exists between parent and child in this situation. The separation of geographical distance, age or ideas. I'm taking about the distance between wrong and right, good and evil, clean and dirty.
What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.
I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.
Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.
How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?
You share your junk.
You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.
That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:
1. You earn life currency.
Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.
2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.
3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.
This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.
Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.
What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.
I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.
Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.
How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?
You share your junk.
You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.
That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:
1. You earn life currency.
Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.
2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.
3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.
This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.
Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The lady in the corner.
The lady in the corner.
One of the greatest benefits of writing a blog is that you get to hear some really beautiful stories. The other day, I wrote a post about how there are essentially three types of pastors' wives. It will a silly little post, with very little grit to it, but one comment really surprised me. I wanted to share it with you.
I had an English pastor's wife growing up. I think she went to some dark and gloomy boarding school that taught courses like Missionary Tea Parties and Slamming Certain People Without Ever Cussing. She was 4 feet nothing and whenever we'd have a sleep over with her daughters, she wore heeled slippers late at night, in case someone came over and saw how short she was. All I wanted to say was "Lady, you're a hobbit, get over it." She was as tough as nails and as kind as a Queen.
The event that sealed her "scary wonderfulness" in my mind was her daughter's birthday party. It was the very early 1970's. We were a noisy crowd of happy little girls who were giddy and squealing. But in the corner sat an older woman none of us knew. She just sat and smiled at us, and then she'd look out the window to somewhere far away. I asked my friend's mom/The aforementioned Pastor's Wife who this woman was and why she just watched us. My friend's mom replied, "well, she just wanted to be around us at the party, to enjoy all the fun we're having." I smiled and said "Oh".
Then years later I realized WHY this woman was allowed to sit quietly and just observe some happy children. I noticed at the party that she had big numbers written all down her arm, but I didn't realized until I was older that they weren't written in pen, they were tattoos.
And my very first Pastor's Wife had allowed this lonely, childless mother to spend time in the company of happy, healthy children.
I have yet to see that level of suffering in the 38 years since. Or that level of kindness.
It's funny when it happens, but sometimes people show you the most perfectly simple, perfectly stunning ways to live out your faith. Thank you JennyM.
One of the greatest benefits of writing a blog is that you get to hear some really beautiful stories. The other day, I wrote a post about how there are essentially three types of pastors' wives. It will a silly little post, with very little grit to it, but one comment really surprised me. I wanted to share it with you.
I had an English pastor's wife growing up. I think she went to some dark and gloomy boarding school that taught courses like Missionary Tea Parties and Slamming Certain People Without Ever Cussing. She was 4 feet nothing and whenever we'd have a sleep over with her daughters, she wore heeled slippers late at night, in case someone came over and saw how short she was. All I wanted to say was "Lady, you're a hobbit, get over it." She was as tough as nails and as kind as a Queen.
The event that sealed her "scary wonderfulness" in my mind was her daughter's birthday party. It was the very early 1970's. We were a noisy crowd of happy little girls who were giddy and squealing. But in the corner sat an older woman none of us knew. She just sat and smiled at us, and then she'd look out the window to somewhere far away. I asked my friend's mom/The aforementioned Pastor's Wife who this woman was and why she just watched us. My friend's mom replied, "well, she just wanted to be around us at the party, to enjoy all the fun we're having." I smiled and said "Oh".
Then years later I realized WHY this woman was allowed to sit quietly and just observe some happy children. I noticed at the party that she had big numbers written all down her arm, but I didn't realized until I was older that they weren't written in pen, they were tattoos.
And my very first Pastor's Wife had allowed this lonely, childless mother to spend time in the company of happy, healthy children.
I have yet to see that level of suffering in the 38 years since. Or that level of kindness.
It's funny when it happens, but sometimes people show you the most perfectly simple, perfectly stunning ways to live out your faith. Thank you JennyM.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
One more reason I should be a cheesy minister.
One more reason I should be a cheesy minister.
The other day someone asked me about making fun of the church. I told them I didn't think I was making fun of the church. I feel like my mission is to clear away the debris that sometimes presents us from seeing the beauty of faith. Whether that means silly products, old thought patterns or a million other things, I think there is great power when we can collectively identify and discuss the things that sometimes stand between us and the core of our relationships with Christ. We might not agree, but we can at least open up some discussion.
Another reason I don't feel like I am punching the church is that the target of most of my finger pointing is me. Things I have struggled with, things that tangle me and trip me, stupid things I do. That is hopefully what is on parade more than anything else. And I want to do that today.
What I am going to tell you is the kind of thing I would usually tease. It's just kind of cheesy but for so long I've been a Christian snob, throwing little rocks at ideas that don't fit my definition of "cool," whatever that is.
So here's my idea. Last night while mowing the lawn, I was mentally writing a post in my head. I kept asking God, "why." Why am I writing this post? Why am I sharing personal stuff? Why am I doing it? As a former Journalism major, it's part of the 5 Ws (Who, What, When, Where and Why.) I think those are good questions to ask, but sometimes I obsess on them, demanding a clear answer from God like I'm a petulant child.
I felt like in between lines in the lawn He responded with, "Let me worry about the 5 Ws. You focus on the one M." I said, "What M? What one M are you talking about?" And He replied, "Me."
There are times when I get details and times when I don't. I didn't get an answer to my "why" last night, but I did get a reminder, although perhaps cheesy, about what matters more.
God is where my focus needs to be. The one M.
The other day someone asked me about making fun of the church. I told them I didn't think I was making fun of the church. I feel like my mission is to clear away the debris that sometimes presents us from seeing the beauty of faith. Whether that means silly products, old thought patterns or a million other things, I think there is great power when we can collectively identify and discuss the things that sometimes stand between us and the core of our relationships with Christ. We might not agree, but we can at least open up some discussion.
Another reason I don't feel like I am punching the church is that the target of most of my finger pointing is me. Things I have struggled with, things that tangle me and trip me, stupid things I do. That is hopefully what is on parade more than anything else. And I want to do that today.
What I am going to tell you is the kind of thing I would usually tease. It's just kind of cheesy but for so long I've been a Christian snob, throwing little rocks at ideas that don't fit my definition of "cool," whatever that is.
So here's my idea. Last night while mowing the lawn, I was mentally writing a post in my head. I kept asking God, "why." Why am I writing this post? Why am I sharing personal stuff? Why am I doing it? As a former Journalism major, it's part of the 5 Ws (Who, What, When, Where and Why.) I think those are good questions to ask, but sometimes I obsess on them, demanding a clear answer from God like I'm a petulant child.
I felt like in between lines in the lawn He responded with, "Let me worry about the 5 Ws. You focus on the one M." I said, "What M? What one M are you talking about?" And He replied, "Me."
There are times when I get details and times when I don't. I didn't get an answer to my "why" last night, but I did get a reminder, although perhaps cheesy, about what matters more.
God is where my focus needs to be. The one M.
Monday, July 14, 2008
That's pretend, right?
That's pretend, right?
It rained today for a few hours and it felt weird because we haven't had a ton of that in the last year in Georgia. We've had some off and on showers, but we've been struggling with a drought that has robbed our lakes and placed several water bans on our neighborhoods.
The weird thing is that until you don't get any rain, you take it for granted. You just expect that it will happen. That is what naturally happens. Water falls from the sky, clouds open up, flowers and trees and birds get a drink. But when you don't have rain, when it just stops for a week or a month or a year, you suddenly realize how much you've been taking it for granted.
The other day, my daughter dropped a child-sized nuclear bomb on me that reminded me of something else I have taken for granted.
We were looking at a book on storms, something she loves right now, and came to a page about drought and famine. In the corner of the page was a little boy from Ethiopia. He was starving, with ribs sticking out and flies covering his small face. I kept flipping the pages but L.E. made me stop and return to that one. She asked, "What's that?" I told her, "That's a little boy that doesn't have enough food to eat. He is poor." She thought for a few seconds and then responded, "That's not real though. That's pretend right?"
This simple question floored me. In her mind, deep within the truth that is the heart of a four year old, she could literally not fathom a child ever being hungry. The idea that someone would starve did not make any sense. Death by poverty did not register with her. She thought it was unreal.
I confess that I take poverty for granted. I flipped right by that photo without registering even the faintest emotion I throw at ABC's Extreme Home Makeover. I act like poverty is natural. That starving is just something that happens. That kids without food is the way the world is.
But maybe it's not. Maybe when Christ said he wants us to have the faith of a child, this is exactly what He was talking about. That it is unacceptable for a child to starve to death. That it is not right or natural for another human being to die of a preventable disease or a mosquito bite or water that is polluted.
I support a few charities and tonight I registered a new website, unrealpoverty.com. There is nothing up right now and I don't know if I will ever be able to do anything with it. But if things continue to go the way they are going and people to continue to build a community around the conversations we are having online, maybe someday I'll get to start a charity. Maybe someday I won't take poverty for granted. Maybe someday I'll help make it unreal.
It rained today for a few hours and it felt weird because we haven't had a ton of that in the last year in Georgia. We've had some off and on showers, but we've been struggling with a drought that has robbed our lakes and placed several water bans on our neighborhoods.
The weird thing is that until you don't get any rain, you take it for granted. You just expect that it will happen. That is what naturally happens. Water falls from the sky, clouds open up, flowers and trees and birds get a drink. But when you don't have rain, when it just stops for a week or a month or a year, you suddenly realize how much you've been taking it for granted.
The other day, my daughter dropped a child-sized nuclear bomb on me that reminded me of something else I have taken for granted.
We were looking at a book on storms, something she loves right now, and came to a page about drought and famine. In the corner of the page was a little boy from Ethiopia. He was starving, with ribs sticking out and flies covering his small face. I kept flipping the pages but L.E. made me stop and return to that one. She asked, "What's that?" I told her, "That's a little boy that doesn't have enough food to eat. He is poor." She thought for a few seconds and then responded, "That's not real though. That's pretend right?"
This simple question floored me. In her mind, deep within the truth that is the heart of a four year old, she could literally not fathom a child ever being hungry. The idea that someone would starve did not make any sense. Death by poverty did not register with her. She thought it was unreal.
I confess that I take poverty for granted. I flipped right by that photo without registering even the faintest emotion I throw at ABC's Extreme Home Makeover. I act like poverty is natural. That starving is just something that happens. That kids without food is the way the world is.
But maybe it's not. Maybe when Christ said he wants us to have the faith of a child, this is exactly what He was talking about. That it is unacceptable for a child to starve to death. That it is not right or natural for another human being to die of a preventable disease or a mosquito bite or water that is polluted.
I support a few charities and tonight I registered a new website, unrealpoverty.com. There is nothing up right now and I don't know if I will ever be able to do anything with it. But if things continue to go the way they are going and people to continue to build a community around the conversations we are having online, maybe someday I'll get to start a charity. Maybe someday I won't take poverty for granted. Maybe someday I'll help make it unreal.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The bottles that come back.
The bottles that come back.
I think I've mentioned before that my fear about the great opportunities that the site Stuff Christians Like is opening up is that I'll waste everything. That I won't manage it the right way or maintain it the right way and the whole thing will just fall apart.
When I told my counselor Chuck that a few weeks ago, he said that I should stop worrying. He said that "God doesn't waste anything. He doesn't work that way. He uses everything to His purposes and if you feel like you could waste it that means you feel like you created it and you're not God."
That was a very freeing thing to hear. That in essence gave me permission to enjoy it rather than try to maintain it. To take part in the accidental community that is developing right now instead of trying to hold on to it.
I think that one of the reasons I was worried about wasting things is that it seems like we rarely get to see the way God uses what He calls us to do. Certainly a mission trip has very visible results. You can see that a child was fed, a mother was comforted, a baby was clothed. But often, it feels like God calls us to do something for Him and we do, and it's like a note we put into a bottle and then promptly throw into the ocean of life.
That guy at work He calls us to reach out to switches jobs and we never hear from him again. The neighbor we walk through a divorce moves to another town and disappears. Our prayers for people line the shore like a thousand bottles floating away from us without resolution or closure.
But sometimes they come back to us. Sometimes, God blesses us with the gift of knowing exactly how He used what we do for Him. And that can be a very beautiful thing.
The other night, I shared a story my counselor had told me on my site, 97secondswithgod.com. It was a short story about how God loves when we wrestle with Him because it's impossible to wrestle with someone far away. We feel guilty about it, because we think we should trust instead of wrestle but He sees it as a sign of intimacy.
Here is what a reader said on my site in response:
Jon, my wife has stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, and it looks like she's entering the beginning of the end. As you might imagine, I've been wrestling with God quite a bit lately.
When I read your words just now I broke down and cried because the guilt, frustration, fear and anger were instantly replaced by the image of a loving God. Thank you so much.
God is weird. A man I've never met, in Oregon, a state I've never been to, dealing with a disease I've never dealt with, got the bottle he needed. I threw it out into the ocean and God sent it across the country.
That's how He works. It's not my talent or anything I'm doing that matters. What matters is that I throw out the bottles. He wants them. He wants us to throw them out even if we can't begin to imagine how He will use them.
So today, let's throw some bottles.
I think I've mentioned before that my fear about the great opportunities that the site Stuff Christians Like is opening up is that I'll waste everything. That I won't manage it the right way or maintain it the right way and the whole thing will just fall apart.
When I told my counselor Chuck that a few weeks ago, he said that I should stop worrying. He said that "God doesn't waste anything. He doesn't work that way. He uses everything to His purposes and if you feel like you could waste it that means you feel like you created it and you're not God."
That was a very freeing thing to hear. That in essence gave me permission to enjoy it rather than try to maintain it. To take part in the accidental community that is developing right now instead of trying to hold on to it.
I think that one of the reasons I was worried about wasting things is that it seems like we rarely get to see the way God uses what He calls us to do. Certainly a mission trip has very visible results. You can see that a child was fed, a mother was comforted, a baby was clothed. But often, it feels like God calls us to do something for Him and we do, and it's like a note we put into a bottle and then promptly throw into the ocean of life.
That guy at work He calls us to reach out to switches jobs and we never hear from him again. The neighbor we walk through a divorce moves to another town and disappears. Our prayers for people line the shore like a thousand bottles floating away from us without resolution or closure.
But sometimes they come back to us. Sometimes, God blesses us with the gift of knowing exactly how He used what we do for Him. And that can be a very beautiful thing.
The other night, I shared a story my counselor had told me on my site, 97secondswithgod.com. It was a short story about how God loves when we wrestle with Him because it's impossible to wrestle with someone far away. We feel guilty about it, because we think we should trust instead of wrestle but He sees it as a sign of intimacy.
Here is what a reader said on my site in response:
Jon, my wife has stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, and it looks like she's entering the beginning of the end. As you might imagine, I've been wrestling with God quite a bit lately.
When I read your words just now I broke down and cried because the guilt, frustration, fear and anger were instantly replaced by the image of a loving God. Thank you so much.
God is weird. A man I've never met, in Oregon, a state I've never been to, dealing with a disease I've never dealt with, got the bottle he needed. I threw it out into the ocean and God sent it across the country.
That's how He works. It's not my talent or anything I'm doing that matters. What matters is that I throw out the bottles. He wants them. He wants us to throw them out even if we can't begin to imagine how He will use them.
So today, let's throw some bottles.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Spray on faith.
Spray on faith.
There is a new housing development near our neighborhood. They have about one hundred houses and people are starting to move in on a fairly regular basis. The other day while we were driving by it, my wife pointed out something interesting.
Instead of buying new pine straw for the landscaping that rings the property, the development decided to paint it. Instead of doing something new and true, they simply gave the old, sun worn pine straw a darker shade of paint.
I've never seen that before and maybe it's better for the environment. Maybe, instead of using real pine straw, painting it is a clever way to recycle it without wasting anything. I'm not a yard guy so I am admittedly not a pine straw expert. But something about doing that reminded me of faith.
I think that at times in my life, I have been guilty of spraying my heart with "holy spray." Instead of doing something new and true, like laying fresh pine straw down, I instead just do things that look holy on the outside. I spray myself with big, long prayers or visible acts of kindness that are done in front of other people so that they will think I am a good Christian. I put on a great show, but underneath my actions is old pine straw that is getting worn out despite the new layer of paint.
Worse yet, I think people that aren't Christians can tell when we do this. Much like my wife pointing out the colored pine straw, they can see that all we have done is change our surface. They see that we are faking it and much like DC Talk once said, the hypocrisy of it all chases people away from the Lord.
I don't have a solution for this, as I've just noticed it, but I do have a prayer. I pray that this week, at work, at home, in what I write, in what I do, I will lay down the new and true, instead of just putting a coat of paint on my life.
There is a new housing development near our neighborhood. They have about one hundred houses and people are starting to move in on a fairly regular basis. The other day while we were driving by it, my wife pointed out something interesting.
Instead of buying new pine straw for the landscaping that rings the property, the development decided to paint it. Instead of doing something new and true, they simply gave the old, sun worn pine straw a darker shade of paint.
I've never seen that before and maybe it's better for the environment. Maybe, instead of using real pine straw, painting it is a clever way to recycle it without wasting anything. I'm not a yard guy so I am admittedly not a pine straw expert. But something about doing that reminded me of faith.
I think that at times in my life, I have been guilty of spraying my heart with "holy spray." Instead of doing something new and true, like laying fresh pine straw down, I instead just do things that look holy on the outside. I spray myself with big, long prayers or visible acts of kindness that are done in front of other people so that they will think I am a good Christian. I put on a great show, but underneath my actions is old pine straw that is getting worn out despite the new layer of paint.
Worse yet, I think people that aren't Christians can tell when we do this. Much like my wife pointing out the colored pine straw, they can see that all we have done is change our surface. They see that we are faking it and much like DC Talk once said, the hypocrisy of it all chases people away from the Lord.
I don't have a solution for this, as I've just noticed it, but I do have a prayer. I pray that this week, at work, at home, in what I write, in what I do, I will lay down the new and true, instead of just putting a coat of paint on my life.
Friday, May 23, 2008
The good luck algorithm.
The good luck algorithm.
I recently had the opportunity to hear an MIT professor speak at a conference. The topic of her discourse was casinos and it was terribly fascinating. Honestly, some of the things she told us were pretty startling. There was one idea in particular that I have been unable to shake and that is, the "good luck algorithm."
You see, casinos gather reams and reams of information about the people that play in them. They study the ergonomics of the slot machines, the impact of different lighting systems, the number of times a certain type of person will play a certain type of game, etc. But the scariest thing they measure is something called your "pain point."
That's a phrase they use to describe your threshold for abuse. A pain point represents how much money you can lose before you'll get up and leave. A pain point represents how taken advantage of you will be before you exit the casino. A pain point represents your breaking point.
Why do they measure it? So they know when to start the "good luck algorithm."
Here is how it works: When you hit your pain point, casinos see that happening and will set in motion a process to win you back. Suddenly, as you walk down the long carpeted hall to the exit, someone taps you on the shoulder "randomly." They say, "excuse me, we just wanted to thank you for being such a loyal supporter of the casino. Would you like a free steak dinner and a coupon for five turns on a slot machine?" You smile a little. The pain starts to melt away. "Hey," you think, "maybe this place isn't so bad after all." You walk back in and start to play again.
The reason I mention this story is that I think the devil works the same way. Not that casinos are demonic, but that the devil has his own algorithm, the "bad luck algorithm." When things are going well in your life, when things are moving along smoothly, suddenly someone taps you on the shoulder, "Hey, Mark, is that you? It's me Pamela, we dated in college? Wow, it's been so long, you still look great. Haven't lost those college muscles." Or maybe it's just the opposite, in the midst of a really challenging time, you see the chance for some momentary escape. A sign for a strip club suddenly feels larger and more inviting than it used to. The chance to buy those shoes and never tell your husband about the money suddenly materializes. Some temptation dances it's way magically across your field of vision. In an obvious way. In a subtle way, it doesn't matter.
Wherever you are, remember, the tap on your shoulder is never accidental. It's never coincidence. It's never "just one of those things."
It's the bad luck algorithm. And if you're not careful to tell God you need help with the math of your life, the odds are going to be stacked against you.
I recently had the opportunity to hear an MIT professor speak at a conference. The topic of her discourse was casinos and it was terribly fascinating. Honestly, some of the things she told us were pretty startling. There was one idea in particular that I have been unable to shake and that is, the "good luck algorithm."
You see, casinos gather reams and reams of information about the people that play in them. They study the ergonomics of the slot machines, the impact of different lighting systems, the number of times a certain type of person will play a certain type of game, etc. But the scariest thing they measure is something called your "pain point."
That's a phrase they use to describe your threshold for abuse. A pain point represents how much money you can lose before you'll get up and leave. A pain point represents how taken advantage of you will be before you exit the casino. A pain point represents your breaking point.
Why do they measure it? So they know when to start the "good luck algorithm."
Here is how it works: When you hit your pain point, casinos see that happening and will set in motion a process to win you back. Suddenly, as you walk down the long carpeted hall to the exit, someone taps you on the shoulder "randomly." They say, "excuse me, we just wanted to thank you for being such a loyal supporter of the casino. Would you like a free steak dinner and a coupon for five turns on a slot machine?" You smile a little. The pain starts to melt away. "Hey," you think, "maybe this place isn't so bad after all." You walk back in and start to play again.
The reason I mention this story is that I think the devil works the same way. Not that casinos are demonic, but that the devil has his own algorithm, the "bad luck algorithm." When things are going well in your life, when things are moving along smoothly, suddenly someone taps you on the shoulder, "Hey, Mark, is that you? It's me Pamela, we dated in college? Wow, it's been so long, you still look great. Haven't lost those college muscles." Or maybe it's just the opposite, in the midst of a really challenging time, you see the chance for some momentary escape. A sign for a strip club suddenly feels larger and more inviting than it used to. The chance to buy those shoes and never tell your husband about the money suddenly materializes. Some temptation dances it's way magically across your field of vision. In an obvious way. In a subtle way, it doesn't matter.
Wherever you are, remember, the tap on your shoulder is never accidental. It's never coincidence. It's never "just one of those things."
It's the bad luck algorithm. And if you're not careful to tell God you need help with the math of your life, the odds are going to be stacked against you.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
What the barber taught me accidentally.
What the barber taught me accidentally.
I am not fancy. You might think I am, but I am not. I shop the clearance section of Marshall's, eat 97 cent Totino's pizzas and get my haircut at "Fan Favorites." That's not really the name of the store but in order to share what I am about to share, I needed to switch it up a little.
Things are kind of crazy right now. Some cool stuff is happening on the book end. Some really awesome, smart people are asking me for advice. Some opportunities I have always dreamed about are opening up. But, amidst all of that, is the temptation to get drunk on the idea of doing something "big."
I will undoubtedly share this on stuff christians like someday (and feel like I have written about this idea before), but for you faithful few, here is the idea I am talking about. I often think that in order for my faith to "count," I have to do something "big" for God. I have to change the world. I have to win a whole country to Him. I have to shake the very foundation of the earth with what I am able to accomplish.
The problem is, when you think that way, you start to define your faith and your life and your worth that way. If no one ever reads my blogs again, then I am not a good Christian. If the book does not get published, I have failed God. If I don't ever speak at the Catalyst Conference, then this was all a waste.
But recently, a barber at Fan Favorites changed that for me.
Fan Favorites is one of those sports-themed places where 98 televisions are blaring ESPN and there are sports posters all over the place. The other day I went in and the woman cutting my hair started to tell me about her life. In a matter of minutes, she told me that her husband of 30 years had left her 6 weeks ago. The pain and hurt in her was palpable and although I certainly didn't push, she continued to share. From a voice that sounded gray, if that's possible, she told me about how things fell apart. She told me the sadness. She told me the regret.
When she was done, I told her the best marriage truth I had ever heard:
The one thing men want above all is to know that they are enough. That their masculinity, their power, their value, their strength is enough for their wife.
The one thing women want above all is to know that they are not too much. That they can be as big and as beautiful and as powerful as God made them without overshadowing a man who is too fragile or insecure.
I didn't tell her to fix her marriage or what the Bible says about divorce. I just shared an idea with her, but when I did, it was like a fuse was lit.
"Yes!" she said, "He didn't want me to go back to school. He didn't want me to have my own friends or outside interests." She paused, "Since we've been apart I have started taking care of myself and have lost weight and started to make new friends." She started to get happy and by the time I left, this once shy, pain stricken barber was shouting to me when I was at the door, "You look great. It is a great haircut because I am a great stylist!"
I didn't change her life. She and I didn't figure out divorce or come up with a plan that other people should follow. This post isn't really even about divorce. This is about realizing that for God and for us, it's about people. Not selling books, not selling out speaking gigs, not getting big or successful. It's about loving on people.
That's what I felt like God said in that moment, "See Jon, I'm glad that more people are reading your sites, but that's not what the goal should be. The goal should be loving on people. That conversation with that barber is every bit as world changing as writing a book. Don't ever underestimate the power of a personal conversation."
And that's what the barber helped me learn.
I am not fancy. You might think I am, but I am not. I shop the clearance section of Marshall's, eat 97 cent Totino's pizzas and get my haircut at "Fan Favorites." That's not really the name of the store but in order to share what I am about to share, I needed to switch it up a little.
Things are kind of crazy right now. Some cool stuff is happening on the book end. Some really awesome, smart people are asking me for advice. Some opportunities I have always dreamed about are opening up. But, amidst all of that, is the temptation to get drunk on the idea of doing something "big."
I will undoubtedly share this on stuff christians like someday (and feel like I have written about this idea before), but for you faithful few, here is the idea I am talking about. I often think that in order for my faith to "count," I have to do something "big" for God. I have to change the world. I have to win a whole country to Him. I have to shake the very foundation of the earth with what I am able to accomplish.
The problem is, when you think that way, you start to define your faith and your life and your worth that way. If no one ever reads my blogs again, then I am not a good Christian. If the book does not get published, I have failed God. If I don't ever speak at the Catalyst Conference, then this was all a waste.
But recently, a barber at Fan Favorites changed that for me.
Fan Favorites is one of those sports-themed places where 98 televisions are blaring ESPN and there are sports posters all over the place. The other day I went in and the woman cutting my hair started to tell me about her life. In a matter of minutes, she told me that her husband of 30 years had left her 6 weeks ago. The pain and hurt in her was palpable and although I certainly didn't push, she continued to share. From a voice that sounded gray, if that's possible, she told me about how things fell apart. She told me the sadness. She told me the regret.
When she was done, I told her the best marriage truth I had ever heard:
The one thing men want above all is to know that they are enough. That their masculinity, their power, their value, their strength is enough for their wife.
The one thing women want above all is to know that they are not too much. That they can be as big and as beautiful and as powerful as God made them without overshadowing a man who is too fragile or insecure.
I didn't tell her to fix her marriage or what the Bible says about divorce. I just shared an idea with her, but when I did, it was like a fuse was lit.
"Yes!" she said, "He didn't want me to go back to school. He didn't want me to have my own friends or outside interests." She paused, "Since we've been apart I have started taking care of myself and have lost weight and started to make new friends." She started to get happy and by the time I left, this once shy, pain stricken barber was shouting to me when I was at the door, "You look great. It is a great haircut because I am a great stylist!"
I didn't change her life. She and I didn't figure out divorce or come up with a plan that other people should follow. This post isn't really even about divorce. This is about realizing that for God and for us, it's about people. Not selling books, not selling out speaking gigs, not getting big or successful. It's about loving on people.
That's what I felt like God said in that moment, "See Jon, I'm glad that more people are reading your sites, but that's not what the goal should be. The goal should be loving on people. That conversation with that barber is every bit as world changing as writing a book. Don't ever underestimate the power of a personal conversation."
And that's what the barber helped me learn.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Michael Jordan and the Prodigal Son and Me.
Michael Jordan and the Prodigal Son and Me.
I met Michael Jordan one summer while he was golfing at a country club in Pinehurst, North Carolina. My uncle and his family lived on the golf course and I was spending a few weeks there before I started the seventh grade.
When word spread that Jordan and a gang of other important people in the clubhouse that morning we all went down to get a closer look. This was before Jordan became human. Before the gambling and his father’s murder and the failed baseball experiment and the infidelity. Jordan was a God at the time and I had a Nike swoosh mark shaved into the back of my head to prove it. I told everyone in Pinehurst that summer that I had my haircut that way as a tribute to a friend in Boston that had been shot and killed for a pair of Air Jordans.
I’m not sure why I lied like that. In the ninth grade after I shaved stripes in my left eyebrow (insert your own Vanilla Ice joke here) I told everyone I knew that my neighbor Kerri Kapapolous had done it while I was asleep. She yelled at me in front of my whole world in the cafeteria during lunch. For at least a week I spent my lunchbreak in the school library pretending to read the paper because when it was unfolded and held upright in your hands it offered a pretty good hiding place.
Maybe I’m like Samson, razors bring out the worst in me, but Michael Jordan didn’t know any of that. Neither did Dean Smith or Dr. J, who were with him.
They all signed the back of the shirt as well as a couple of random rich looking white guys. If I ever become a random rich guy and I’m having dinner with Lebron James and some awkward eighth grader comes to the table and asks me for my autograph cause he assumes I’m famous too I hope I’d say “You don’t want my autograph kid, I’m just a random rich guy.”
Later that day with the autographed shirt safely tucked in a drawer I went back down to the clubhouse. It had been 3 or 4 hours and I wanted to see if I could get Jordan’s autograph on a piece of paper to frame.
The party had already finished golfing and all the fans had gone home. I saw Jordan walking to his car in the parking lot. I ran out after him and said “excuse me Mr. Jordan, can I please have your autograph?”
He stopped in his tracks and turned, a golf bag resting high on shoulders that towered over me. With a look that froze opponents across the planet he said “didn’t I already sign you kid?”
Life is Limited
In the real world, in parking lots in Pinehurst, North Carolina, life is limited. Your hero turns to you and tells you that he’s not going to give you another autograph. Your hero tells you he remembers you and that you’re not getting a second signature, the only thing you want that day. That stupid summer, with a lopsided swoosh mark growing back in the back of your head and a mouth full of lies.
Sometimes I think God is like that. Bothered by me, tired of my requests for his time, even if it’s just 3 seconds for him to sign off on some prayer I’m saying or need I’m sure I can’t live without.
He’s on his way somewhere important after a round of golf with Moses and Elijah or Elisha whichever one plays. I’m chasing him down in the parking lot. He turns with his big God golf clubs and he looks down at me. And he says in that massive voice of his “Didn’t I already forgive you kid?”
Forgiveness is the thing I ask for the most. In my head maybe I know that God’s forgiveness is eternal and inexhaustible but in my heart I feel like he’s going to run out of them. That he’s got a limited supply. And I’m burning them up, one by one, sin by sin.
The Day After the Party
I’ve read the story about the prodigal son more than anything else in the Bible. If you’ve messed up life like I have it’s a pretty good read. I think when you get arrested they should read you that to you right after your Miranda rights. Imagine you’re in the car handcuffed and the cop in the passenger seat is just up there with the NIV version. I think that’d be a nice way to take a little sting out of going to jail.
Part of the reason I’ve read that story so many times though is that I think there’s something missing from it. I feel like there’s some verse or passage that I might have skipped that makes the whole thing make sense. It seems too good to be true. The prodigal son takes his inheritance, blows it on fast living, ends up in a pig pen and then gets a party thrown for him when he returns home. I’ve always wondered what the day after the party was like:
The first rays of sunshine crept across the floor and landed on a pile of party favors being swept up by a servant. A welcome home banner was being taken down and across the house the sounds of morning reverberated.
In his old bedroom, the prodigal son rolls over and slowly opens his eyes. He’d dreamt it so often, dreamed of this place so often he didn’t believe it was real. Those nights in the dark, curled under a bush or beside the barn when his money was gone and his hope with it, he’d wondered if he’d ever know safety again. He sat up, surprised to find himself there, laughing at the memories of the night before. The feast, the party, the ridiculousness of it all. His family that celebrated his return as if his absence had only increased their love for him, amplified it. There was a knock on the door. He had a door again, that was something he had missed.
The head of a servant peered in:
“Sir, your father is waiting for you in the kitchen.” This servant didn’t go to seminary either and didn’t seem that concerned that in Biblical times “kitchen” was definitely the wrong word to use.
With a yawn and a scratch of his head the prodigal son got up. He put on his clothes and made his way to the kitchen. There at a small table sat his father.
“Sit down son.” He said, motioning to a chair across from him.
“Thank you for the party father. I never expected that and …”
“Son, we need to go over the list.” His father said, interrupting him.
“The list?”
“Yes” he replied, touching a large pile of blank paper with his hand. “We need to make a list of all the money you spent, all the mistakes you made and all the people you hurt. Then we need to figure out how you start repaying your debt.”
“I had a plan father. I had plan when I was walking home but when I saw you running I didn’t think I’d need it. At the party I forget what my plan was.” The son said, with a voice of shame and sorrow that had taken but a brief hiatus during the previous night’s celebration.
“Well, you’ve got the rest of your life for it to come back to you.” The father said taking out a pen and writing “family inheritance” at the top of the list.
I would say that most of my life this is how I would have written the second part of that story, the directors cut if you will, an alternative ending that was too harsh for the version they released in the Bible.
The father’s anxious sprint toward the lost son doesn’t make any sense. That’s not how life works. People pay for their mistakes. They don’t get a party for them. When you return home from wasting your inheritance on the world your father says “didn’t I already bless you kid?” End of story.
Forgiveness
I don’t understand forgiveness and it’s always depressing to me when I read a book that tells me that’s the first step of the Christian walk, believing that God forgives you. If I can’t get past that first step than the rest of it, all the rest of it remains completely closed to me.
It’s not that I think I don’t need forgiveness. I just don’t understand how it’s possible. If I can’t earn it, than it’s out of my control and I’m powerless.
I remember the first time I ever knew how outrageous and insane real forgiveness was. I had gotten myself into some serious trouble at work. The kind of trouble that’s so big and ugly it makes you ashamed that there are people in your life close enough to you to get some of the trouble spilled on them. I wanted to push everyone away, to expel people from the planetary system that was me and just go float somewhere and die.
I called my wife on the phone and told her as much.
“I’m sorry you met me.” I said through angry, frightened tears. I was desperate for her to go, to pull away from me so I could inflict pain on only one person. The person I felt deserved it the most. Me.
“I love you.” She yelled through the phone.
“How can you say that? That doesn’t make any sense.” I responded.
“You don’t get to decide who I love. I love you. That’s my decision. You can’t take that away from me. I love you. I choose to love you.” She repeated words like these over and over again. She attacked me with love that day. And forgiveness I didn’t deserve. Forgiveness I couldn’t earn or make sense of.
I was overwhelmed that day. And I think that was such a thin sliver of what God’s forgiveness is like, how big and nonsensical is love is. I heard a minister once say that his forgiveness, God’s grace is given wastefully. He pours it out on us in such abundance that it’s almost wasteful.
The tenth party
I have to confess that most days I still think there’s a list God will ask me to work through the day after he throws me that welcome home party. I have a hard time understanding how something can be true and illogical at the same time. And so much of God is that way.
But some days, when I least expect it, in ways I can’t control, I believe a different day after for the prodigal son.
The first rays of sunshine creep across a dusty road and grate against the eyelids of the prodigal son trying to sleep uncomfortably on a bed of gravel. His teeth felt dirty, his mouth and hands stained with the red of cheap wine. A long scratch ran across his cheek, a shoe was angled beneath his head for a pillow. How many times did this make he thought from the part inside him that still remembered returning home. He was doing so well, things were so happy but his never agains always seemed to fail him in the end. How long would he be gone this time?
Miles away, an anxious father stands by the front window of his house.
“Sir, I checked his bedroom and the barn. His things are missing. He’s left.”
“I know.” The father says with sad eyes.
And then with slow steps he walks to a large closet and motions to the servant.
“Help me with this Welcome Home Banner.” He said pulling one from a pile of a thousand.
“Today could be the day he returns.”
(I wrote this about a year ago and took it down off my blog but a few folks asked for it to return. So despite it being really long, I put it back up.)
I met Michael Jordan one summer while he was golfing at a country club in Pinehurst, North Carolina. My uncle and his family lived on the golf course and I was spending a few weeks there before I started the seventh grade.
When word spread that Jordan and a gang of other important people in the clubhouse that morning we all went down to get a closer look. This was before Jordan became human. Before the gambling and his father’s murder and the failed baseball experiment and the infidelity. Jordan was a God at the time and I had a Nike swoosh mark shaved into the back of my head to prove it. I told everyone in Pinehurst that summer that I had my haircut that way as a tribute to a friend in Boston that had been shot and killed for a pair of Air Jordans.
I’m not sure why I lied like that. In the ninth grade after I shaved stripes in my left eyebrow (insert your own Vanilla Ice joke here) I told everyone I knew that my neighbor Kerri Kapapolous had done it while I was asleep. She yelled at me in front of my whole world in the cafeteria during lunch. For at least a week I spent my lunchbreak in the school library pretending to read the paper because when it was unfolded and held upright in your hands it offered a pretty good hiding place.
Maybe I’m like Samson, razors bring out the worst in me, but Michael Jordan didn’t know any of that. Neither did Dean Smith or Dr. J, who were with him.
They all signed the back of the shirt as well as a couple of random rich looking white guys. If I ever become a random rich guy and I’m having dinner with Lebron James and some awkward eighth grader comes to the table and asks me for my autograph cause he assumes I’m famous too I hope I’d say “You don’t want my autograph kid, I’m just a random rich guy.”
Later that day with the autographed shirt safely tucked in a drawer I went back down to the clubhouse. It had been 3 or 4 hours and I wanted to see if I could get Jordan’s autograph on a piece of paper to frame.
The party had already finished golfing and all the fans had gone home. I saw Jordan walking to his car in the parking lot. I ran out after him and said “excuse me Mr. Jordan, can I please have your autograph?”
He stopped in his tracks and turned, a golf bag resting high on shoulders that towered over me. With a look that froze opponents across the planet he said “didn’t I already sign you kid?”
Life is Limited
In the real world, in parking lots in Pinehurst, North Carolina, life is limited. Your hero turns to you and tells you that he’s not going to give you another autograph. Your hero tells you he remembers you and that you’re not getting a second signature, the only thing you want that day. That stupid summer, with a lopsided swoosh mark growing back in the back of your head and a mouth full of lies.
Sometimes I think God is like that. Bothered by me, tired of my requests for his time, even if it’s just 3 seconds for him to sign off on some prayer I’m saying or need I’m sure I can’t live without.
He’s on his way somewhere important after a round of golf with Moses and Elijah or Elisha whichever one plays. I’m chasing him down in the parking lot. He turns with his big God golf clubs and he looks down at me. And he says in that massive voice of his “Didn’t I already forgive you kid?”
Forgiveness is the thing I ask for the most. In my head maybe I know that God’s forgiveness is eternal and inexhaustible but in my heart I feel like he’s going to run out of them. That he’s got a limited supply. And I’m burning them up, one by one, sin by sin.
The Day After the Party
I’ve read the story about the prodigal son more than anything else in the Bible. If you’ve messed up life like I have it’s a pretty good read. I think when you get arrested they should read you that to you right after your Miranda rights. Imagine you’re in the car handcuffed and the cop in the passenger seat is just up there with the NIV version. I think that’d be a nice way to take a little sting out of going to jail.
Part of the reason I’ve read that story so many times though is that I think there’s something missing from it. I feel like there’s some verse or passage that I might have skipped that makes the whole thing make sense. It seems too good to be true. The prodigal son takes his inheritance, blows it on fast living, ends up in a pig pen and then gets a party thrown for him when he returns home. I’ve always wondered what the day after the party was like:
The first rays of sunshine crept across the floor and landed on a pile of party favors being swept up by a servant. A welcome home banner was being taken down and across the house the sounds of morning reverberated.
In his old bedroom, the prodigal son rolls over and slowly opens his eyes. He’d dreamt it so often, dreamed of this place so often he didn’t believe it was real. Those nights in the dark, curled under a bush or beside the barn when his money was gone and his hope with it, he’d wondered if he’d ever know safety again. He sat up, surprised to find himself there, laughing at the memories of the night before. The feast, the party, the ridiculousness of it all. His family that celebrated his return as if his absence had only increased their love for him, amplified it. There was a knock on the door. He had a door again, that was something he had missed.
The head of a servant peered in:
“Sir, your father is waiting for you in the kitchen.” This servant didn’t go to seminary either and didn’t seem that concerned that in Biblical times “kitchen” was definitely the wrong word to use.
With a yawn and a scratch of his head the prodigal son got up. He put on his clothes and made his way to the kitchen. There at a small table sat his father.
“Sit down son.” He said, motioning to a chair across from him.
“Thank you for the party father. I never expected that and …”
“Son, we need to go over the list.” His father said, interrupting him.
“The list?”
“Yes” he replied, touching a large pile of blank paper with his hand. “We need to make a list of all the money you spent, all the mistakes you made and all the people you hurt. Then we need to figure out how you start repaying your debt.”
“I had a plan father. I had plan when I was walking home but when I saw you running I didn’t think I’d need it. At the party I forget what my plan was.” The son said, with a voice of shame and sorrow that had taken but a brief hiatus during the previous night’s celebration.
“Well, you’ve got the rest of your life for it to come back to you.” The father said taking out a pen and writing “family inheritance” at the top of the list.
I would say that most of my life this is how I would have written the second part of that story, the directors cut if you will, an alternative ending that was too harsh for the version they released in the Bible.
The father’s anxious sprint toward the lost son doesn’t make any sense. That’s not how life works. People pay for their mistakes. They don’t get a party for them. When you return home from wasting your inheritance on the world your father says “didn’t I already bless you kid?” End of story.
Forgiveness
I don’t understand forgiveness and it’s always depressing to me when I read a book that tells me that’s the first step of the Christian walk, believing that God forgives you. If I can’t get past that first step than the rest of it, all the rest of it remains completely closed to me.
It’s not that I think I don’t need forgiveness. I just don’t understand how it’s possible. If I can’t earn it, than it’s out of my control and I’m powerless.
I remember the first time I ever knew how outrageous and insane real forgiveness was. I had gotten myself into some serious trouble at work. The kind of trouble that’s so big and ugly it makes you ashamed that there are people in your life close enough to you to get some of the trouble spilled on them. I wanted to push everyone away, to expel people from the planetary system that was me and just go float somewhere and die.
I called my wife on the phone and told her as much.
“I’m sorry you met me.” I said through angry, frightened tears. I was desperate for her to go, to pull away from me so I could inflict pain on only one person. The person I felt deserved it the most. Me.
“I love you.” She yelled through the phone.
“How can you say that? That doesn’t make any sense.” I responded.
“You don’t get to decide who I love. I love you. That’s my decision. You can’t take that away from me. I love you. I choose to love you.” She repeated words like these over and over again. She attacked me with love that day. And forgiveness I didn’t deserve. Forgiveness I couldn’t earn or make sense of.
I was overwhelmed that day. And I think that was such a thin sliver of what God’s forgiveness is like, how big and nonsensical is love is. I heard a minister once say that his forgiveness, God’s grace is given wastefully. He pours it out on us in such abundance that it’s almost wasteful.
The tenth party
I have to confess that most days I still think there’s a list God will ask me to work through the day after he throws me that welcome home party. I have a hard time understanding how something can be true and illogical at the same time. And so much of God is that way.
But some days, when I least expect it, in ways I can’t control, I believe a different day after for the prodigal son.
The first rays of sunshine creep across a dusty road and grate against the eyelids of the prodigal son trying to sleep uncomfortably on a bed of gravel. His teeth felt dirty, his mouth and hands stained with the red of cheap wine. A long scratch ran across his cheek, a shoe was angled beneath his head for a pillow. How many times did this make he thought from the part inside him that still remembered returning home. He was doing so well, things were so happy but his never agains always seemed to fail him in the end. How long would he be gone this time?
Miles away, an anxious father stands by the front window of his house.
“Sir, I checked his bedroom and the barn. His things are missing. He’s left.”
“I know.” The father says with sad eyes.
And then with slow steps he walks to a large closet and motions to the servant.
“Help me with this Welcome Home Banner.” He said pulling one from a pile of a thousand.
“Today could be the day he returns.”
(I wrote this about a year ago and took it down off my blog but a few folks asked for it to return. So despite it being really long, I put it back up.)
Monday, April 21, 2008
Why I am back in counseling.
Why I am back in counseling.
Last week I started seeing counselor #3 for the first time in about a year. The reason I am going to see him again is that for reasons beyond my understanding and ability, the site stuff christians like has exploded. And to tell you the truth, I fear that without surrounding myself with wise counsel, I will become an arrogant jerk. Or more of one, since some days I am already there.
Arrogance is one of those traits that we sometimes give a free pass. We say someone is "driven" or "focused" instead of calling them prideful. But I read something in 2 Timothy that challenged me this morning. Here is what 2 Timothy 3:1 says:
But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days.
That's a little scary sounding and for good reason. In the Old Testament, when things were terrible, people did horrible things. They murdered pregnant women, ate their children to prevent starving and killed each other for false Gods. So when the verse warns of terrible times it's difficult not to think of a particularly dark and bloody future. But here's what the next verse says:
People will be lovers of themselves,
Wow. I thought that threat of "terrible times" would be punctuated with an example of something horrible. Murder. Genocide. Cannibalism. Certainly those things are available in other parts of the Bible, but Paul didn't pick them. He picked arrogance. Out of the pantheon of sin, the one he referenced first as a sign of the last days was that "people will be lovers of themselves." In the next few verses he further drives home the point by calling out the words, "boastful, proud and abusive."
That's why I am in counseling again. It has been a joy and an honor to be part of stuff christians like. And soon I am going to announce some really cool things that are coming down the road. But I hear the siren's call of arrogance. I hear the temptation to think this is about me and not about God. I see love letters written from me to me. And I realize that alone, I am not strong enough to ignore them. Alone, I will help usher in terrible times with my arrogance. Alone, I will fall again and again.
That's why I am back in counseling.
Last week I started seeing counselor #3 for the first time in about a year. The reason I am going to see him again is that for reasons beyond my understanding and ability, the site stuff christians like has exploded. And to tell you the truth, I fear that without surrounding myself with wise counsel, I will become an arrogant jerk. Or more of one, since some days I am already there.
Arrogance is one of those traits that we sometimes give a free pass. We say someone is "driven" or "focused" instead of calling them prideful. But I read something in 2 Timothy that challenged me this morning. Here is what 2 Timothy 3:1 says:
But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days.
That's a little scary sounding and for good reason. In the Old Testament, when things were terrible, people did horrible things. They murdered pregnant women, ate their children to prevent starving and killed each other for false Gods. So when the verse warns of terrible times it's difficult not to think of a particularly dark and bloody future. But here's what the next verse says:
People will be lovers of themselves,
Wow. I thought that threat of "terrible times" would be punctuated with an example of something horrible. Murder. Genocide. Cannibalism. Certainly those things are available in other parts of the Bible, but Paul didn't pick them. He picked arrogance. Out of the pantheon of sin, the one he referenced first as a sign of the last days was that "people will be lovers of themselves." In the next few verses he further drives home the point by calling out the words, "boastful, proud and abusive."
That's why I am in counseling again. It has been a joy and an honor to be part of stuff christians like. And soon I am going to announce some really cool things that are coming down the road. But I hear the siren's call of arrogance. I hear the temptation to think this is about me and not about God. I see love letters written from me to me. And I realize that alone, I am not strong enough to ignore them. Alone, I will help usher in terrible times with my arrogance. Alone, I will fall again and again.
That's why I am back in counseling.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
What this weekend holds.
If past behavior is a predictor of future behavior, I am not good at making decisions. I will make many, many bad decisions in the future. I will fail. I will choose the wrong door. I will go for option 3 when clearly option 2 was where God was waiting.
But recently I read something in 2 Timothy 2:4 that shook my snowglobe so to speak. It was not some massive revelation. I did not hear the pitter patter of angel wings in my ears. I was not instantly enrobed in a beam of heavenly light. I just realized something that I think you might realize too. Here is what the verse says:
"No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs."
Feel free to insert your own "I'm in the Lord's army joke," but I think there's something else to this idea. I think that when you look at this a little closer, a simple truth jumps out:
In the wrong activity, all the options are bad.
Sometimes I get so focused on making a good decision that I don't take the time to even look at the affair. I worried about which job God wanted me to take in Atlanta for the longest time without even asking him if it was the right time to move. The reality is that every job was the wrong choice because at the time, the move was not the right affair. The move was a civilian affair. The move was something I shouldn't have even been involved in.
It's easy for us to casually drift into circumstances where we have to "make the most of a bad situation." Where we choose the lesser of two evils. The dating relationship that is better than the horrible one, but not really that great. The lie that is the whiter of the two, but still a lie.
I think instead of analyzing our options we need to pull things back and ask, "Is this the right affair?" I think we need to pause and say, "Regardless of my decision, should I even be involved in this activity?" Because the best of the worst is still less than the best can be.
But recently I read something in 2 Timothy 2:4 that shook my snowglobe so to speak. It was not some massive revelation. I did not hear the pitter patter of angel wings in my ears. I was not instantly enrobed in a beam of heavenly light. I just realized something that I think you might realize too. Here is what the verse says:
"No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs."
Feel free to insert your own "I'm in the Lord's army joke," but I think there's something else to this idea. I think that when you look at this a little closer, a simple truth jumps out:
In the wrong activity, all the options are bad.
Sometimes I get so focused on making a good decision that I don't take the time to even look at the affair. I worried about which job God wanted me to take in Atlanta for the longest time without even asking him if it was the right time to move. The reality is that every job was the wrong choice because at the time, the move was not the right affair. The move was a civilian affair. The move was something I shouldn't have even been involved in.
It's easy for us to casually drift into circumstances where we have to "make the most of a bad situation." Where we choose the lesser of two evils. The dating relationship that is better than the horrible one, but not really that great. The lie that is the whiter of the two, but still a lie.
I think instead of analyzing our options we need to pull things back and ask, "Is this the right affair?" I think we need to pause and say, "Regardless of my decision, should I even be involved in this activity?" Because the best of the worst is still less than the best can be.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
It's time for beauty.
It's time for beauty.
I recently wrote about feeling convicted to throw away my copy of the movie, "Fight Club." I wrote that for years I threw it away only to buy it again. And the post got a lot of responses. People had lots of different opinions about throwing things away in general and Fight Club in specific.
I didn't do a very good job explaining why I might not need to watch Fight Club, but Paul does. Here is what he writes in Philippians 4:8:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Forget Fight Club, I think this verse is bigger than that. I think this changes the filter with which I look at the world. You see, I judge things by their potentional to hurt me. I look at movies and books and friendships and magazines and conversations and think to myself, "Is this poison?" Will this thing or person damage my walk? It's a "how can I not fail" way of looking at things.
But Paul flips that idea on its head. He says I am wrong. He says, the question is not, "Is this poison?" The question I should be asking is, "Is this art?" That is, is this something so lovely, so excellent, so pure that it will elevate my walk with God?
It's not about sorting through the snakes until you find one that isn't poisonous. It's about seeing the sunset and the things that are beautiful and true and powerful and bigger than me.
I like the book Fight Club. I think it says something powerful about men and our needs and where our culture is headed. I recommend that book all the time to Christians. But if I ran the movie, with the nudity and the sex and the violence and the destruction through the Paul beauty filter, what would I find?
I'm not sure.
I recently wrote about feeling convicted to throw away my copy of the movie, "Fight Club." I wrote that for years I threw it away only to buy it again. And the post got a lot of responses. People had lots of different opinions about throwing things away in general and Fight Club in specific.
I didn't do a very good job explaining why I might not need to watch Fight Club, but Paul does. Here is what he writes in Philippians 4:8:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Forget Fight Club, I think this verse is bigger than that. I think this changes the filter with which I look at the world. You see, I judge things by their potentional to hurt me. I look at movies and books and friendships and magazines and conversations and think to myself, "Is this poison?" Will this thing or person damage my walk? It's a "how can I not fail" way of looking at things.
But Paul flips that idea on its head. He says I am wrong. He says, the question is not, "Is this poison?" The question I should be asking is, "Is this art?" That is, is this something so lovely, so excellent, so pure that it will elevate my walk with God?
It's not about sorting through the snakes until you find one that isn't poisonous. It's about seeing the sunset and the things that are beautiful and true and powerful and bigger than me.
I like the book Fight Club. I think it says something powerful about men and our needs and where our culture is headed. I recommend that book all the time to Christians. But if I ran the movie, with the nudity and the sex and the violence and the destruction through the Paul beauty filter, what would I find?
I'm not sure.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Why I am writing about stuff.
Why I am writing about stuff.
So about a week ago I started a new site called "Stuff Christians Like." I thought it might be a fun way to poke some fun at my faith and the things I do. I could not have anticipated the two things that happened as a result.
The first was the growth. In a single day, that site had more traffic than four months of Prodigal Jon combined. Readers from more than 80 countries have read more than 50,000 stories. I am truly blown away and humbled.
But those are just numbers. What has been amazing is the reaction from non-Christians. The comments they have been writing have really encouraged me and I wanted to share one with you today.
On one of my posts, I jokingly said that I think Christians are slightly less nice than Mormons. The point I was trying to make was that I know a lot of mean Christians but have never met an unkind Mormon. I argued that when we don't allow Christ to change our hearts, we can sometimes justify rude behavior with false holiness. That is, some people use Christianity like a bully uses karate. It's just one more weapon to judge or attack you with. It was a simple post, but one gentleman named Eric responded by writing:
Absolutely brilliant. These posts are so honest it's stunning. I wish every religious person I knew approached life with this attitude. It's unflinchingly Christian but not arrogant, and #62 gives incredible insight as to why. It takes a humanist approach to God, which is what Christ is anyway. No offense to anyone reading this, but if I weren't an atheist, I'd strive to be this kind of Christian.
It's always nice to hear things like, "you are brilliant," but it is the last line of his post that spoke loudest. "If I weren't an atheist, I'd strive to be this kind of Christian." That is why I am writing that site, that is why I am penning silly things to a wide audience. I want people that would never read Prodigal Jon or 97 seconds with God because it's too "churchy" to know that "this kind of Christian" exists. I want people that maybe don't know how much God misses them to know that he is watching the road for their return. I want atheists to see that we can be funny and real and maybe even honest.
I will continue to write on all three sites but since many of you have been with me when no one was with me, I wanted you to know why I have been writing so much on www.stuffchristianslike.net
I hope this post makes sense and that you'll tell all your friends that aren't Christian that there's a different "kind of Christian" with a different kind of site that just might challenge their understanding of our very different God.
So about a week ago I started a new site called "Stuff Christians Like." I thought it might be a fun way to poke some fun at my faith and the things I do. I could not have anticipated the two things that happened as a result.
The first was the growth. In a single day, that site had more traffic than four months of Prodigal Jon combined. Readers from more than 80 countries have read more than 50,000 stories. I am truly blown away and humbled.
But those are just numbers. What has been amazing is the reaction from non-Christians. The comments they have been writing have really encouraged me and I wanted to share one with you today.
On one of my posts, I jokingly said that I think Christians are slightly less nice than Mormons. The point I was trying to make was that I know a lot of mean Christians but have never met an unkind Mormon. I argued that when we don't allow Christ to change our hearts, we can sometimes justify rude behavior with false holiness. That is, some people use Christianity like a bully uses karate. It's just one more weapon to judge or attack you with. It was a simple post, but one gentleman named Eric responded by writing:
Absolutely brilliant. These posts are so honest it's stunning. I wish every religious person I knew approached life with this attitude. It's unflinchingly Christian but not arrogant, and #62 gives incredible insight as to why. It takes a humanist approach to God, which is what Christ is anyway. No offense to anyone reading this, but if I weren't an atheist, I'd strive to be this kind of Christian.
It's always nice to hear things like, "you are brilliant," but it is the last line of his post that spoke loudest. "If I weren't an atheist, I'd strive to be this kind of Christian." That is why I am writing that site, that is why I am penning silly things to a wide audience. I want people that would never read Prodigal Jon or 97 seconds with God because it's too "churchy" to know that "this kind of Christian" exists. I want people that maybe don't know how much God misses them to know that he is watching the road for their return. I want atheists to see that we can be funny and real and maybe even honest.
I will continue to write on all three sites but since many of you have been with me when no one was with me, I wanted you to know why I have been writing so much on www.stuffchristianslike.net
I hope this post makes sense and that you'll tell all your friends that aren't Christian that there's a different "kind of Christian" with a different kind of site that just might challenge their understanding of our very different God.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
We are the wild places.
We are the wild places.
I don't read very cool books. I'm not exactly sure what cool books are, but I'm positive the ones I read in my free time aren't. For one, they usually have horses with flowing manes on the cover. If I'm in public I usually open it from the back to the front so that people near me can't see what I'm reading. And they're all about knights and princes and quests and journeys. And I'm a dork.
But recently, I read a line in one that kind of shaped how I think of one of the most important ideas in the Bible. I'm talking about the concept that we are called to be the temple. It's not the easiest idea to understand. That the God who used to kill people if they touched the ark is now eager to set up his residence inside me, is kind of mind blowing. But for most of my life, I've looked at that idea as just a poetic description and not really seen the power in it. Until I read a line in a new book.
In the book, a group of rangers is preparing to strike out past their realm to explore the mountains in search of a missing group of friends. Before they leave, all of the men except one are visiting their temple before they venture out into the wild places. A character named Jon watches them leave and then decides not to go to their temple because, "his own gods kept their temples in the wild places."
What struck me about that silly line is that I am the wild places. I am the wilderness. The place where the dark and stormy past collides with the brilliance of God's grace. I am broken and beaten, but slowly coming back to life. My walls are torn down, my attic infested with the rats of regrets. And yet I am the temple God chooses to keep. The place he desires to be more than any other place in the universe.
My rooms inside are dim, there are spider webs and years of dust covering this temple of mine and yet, God calls this home. My sanctuary is cluttered with overturned pews, the wall hangings torn and dirty. Snakes and wild animals still roaming the hall. But there is a new master home. Perhaps the temple is not what it should be, but there is someone new on the throne. The wind that rips through the holes in my ceiling is different. There is a freshness starting to sweep away the stagnant air that has long held reign.
Until I was able to imagine myself as God's temple, the idea didn't make sense to me. But now that I see my life as his home, my heart as his residence, well that changes everything.
I am the wild places. You are the wild places. We are the wild places.
I don't read very cool books. I'm not exactly sure what cool books are, but I'm positive the ones I read in my free time aren't. For one, they usually have horses with flowing manes on the cover. If I'm in public I usually open it from the back to the front so that people near me can't see what I'm reading. And they're all about knights and princes and quests and journeys. And I'm a dork.
But recently, I read a line in one that kind of shaped how I think of one of the most important ideas in the Bible. I'm talking about the concept that we are called to be the temple. It's not the easiest idea to understand. That the God who used to kill people if they touched the ark is now eager to set up his residence inside me, is kind of mind blowing. But for most of my life, I've looked at that idea as just a poetic description and not really seen the power in it. Until I read a line in a new book.
In the book, a group of rangers is preparing to strike out past their realm to explore the mountains in search of a missing group of friends. Before they leave, all of the men except one are visiting their temple before they venture out into the wild places. A character named Jon watches them leave and then decides not to go to their temple because, "his own gods kept their temples in the wild places."
What struck me about that silly line is that I am the wild places. I am the wilderness. The place where the dark and stormy past collides with the brilliance of God's grace. I am broken and beaten, but slowly coming back to life. My walls are torn down, my attic infested with the rats of regrets. And yet I am the temple God chooses to keep. The place he desires to be more than any other place in the universe.
My rooms inside are dim, there are spider webs and years of dust covering this temple of mine and yet, God calls this home. My sanctuary is cluttered with overturned pews, the wall hangings torn and dirty. Snakes and wild animals still roaming the hall. But there is a new master home. Perhaps the temple is not what it should be, but there is someone new on the throne. The wind that rips through the holes in my ceiling is different. There is a freshness starting to sweep away the stagnant air that has long held reign.
Until I was able to imagine myself as God's temple, the idea didn't make sense to me. But now that I see my life as his home, my heart as his residence, well that changes everything.
I am the wild places. You are the wild places. We are the wild places.
My snooze button life.
Yesterday, I hit the snooze button five times, which allowed me to postpone the day for another 45 minutes. I wasn't late to work, but it did cut into my quiet time. It also made me think about the other ways that we hit the snooze button in our lives.
Waiting on God is one of the biggest challenges we face I think. When there is something we believe we're supposed to do, but are not certain, we often push pause. We slow down and stop. We pray and seek counsel and allow the days on the calendar to stack up on top of each other.
I think this can be good. I am too impulsive. I jump into things too quickly sometimes and try to force God's hand. But at the same time, sometimes I miss God's call out of fear. I resist his adventure for concern I will mess it up. I don't get to take part in the story because I refuse to jump onto the page.
Paul's approach to this in Galatians is pretty interesting. Here is how he describes his ministry in Chapter 1: 15-17
But when God, who set me apart from birth and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not consult any man, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to see those who were apostles before I was, but I went immediately into Arabia and later returned to Damascus.
I really like that Paul says specifically, "I did not consult any man." He didn't seek counsel or seek out answers slowly. With the word of God at his back, he pressed on quickly and "went immediately."
Granted, Paul's experience on the road to Damascus was extraordinary and maybe your word from God feels small and quiet. And maybe you need counsel right now more than you need anything else. But it could be that instead of waiting or consulting or being still, God has put something burning on your heart. And like Paul and thousands before him, you're not supposed to push the snooze button, you're just supposed to go.
Waiting on God is one of the biggest challenges we face I think. When there is something we believe we're supposed to do, but are not certain, we often push pause. We slow down and stop. We pray and seek counsel and allow the days on the calendar to stack up on top of each other.
I think this can be good. I am too impulsive. I jump into things too quickly sometimes and try to force God's hand. But at the same time, sometimes I miss God's call out of fear. I resist his adventure for concern I will mess it up. I don't get to take part in the story because I refuse to jump onto the page.
Paul's approach to this in Galatians is pretty interesting. Here is how he describes his ministry in Chapter 1: 15-17
But when God, who set me apart from birth and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not consult any man, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to see those who were apostles before I was, but I went immediately into Arabia and later returned to Damascus.
I really like that Paul says specifically, "I did not consult any man." He didn't seek counsel or seek out answers slowly. With the word of God at his back, he pressed on quickly and "went immediately."
Granted, Paul's experience on the road to Damascus was extraordinary and maybe your word from God feels small and quiet. And maybe you need counsel right now more than you need anything else. But it could be that instead of waiting or consulting or being still, God has put something burning on your heart. And like Paul and thousands before him, you're not supposed to push the snooze button, you're just supposed to go.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The rumors about me.
The rumors about me.
A few years ago someone approached me with an opportunity to make thousands of dollars. It was easy. It was simple. It was highly illegal.
The reason they approached me was that they, like anyone else in my world, knew that I didn't have high morals. They would not have labeled me Christian or even "honest" at the time. So they knew that they were not running a risk by trying to engage me in a scheme. They were simply sharing a shady idea between two shady people.
Fast forward to present day. A new woman at work recently scheduled a meeting with me. I sat down inside the conference room and asked her what was going on. Her response?
"Rumors say that you're a christian. I'm a christian too and since I'm new I wanted to meet you."
That might happen to you all the time. Your good name might be a neon beacon to all those around you, but sadly enough, that was the first time I have ever experienced something like that. Sure, I've had people say, "rumors say you're a cocky jerk" or "rumors say you're difficult to work with." But not until I was 32 did the rumors take on a positive feel.
I thought about this reality while reading Galations last night. In Chapter 1 Paul gives us his tagline, his version of Nike's "Just Do It" or GE's "We bring good things to life." This is the summation of his ministry. This in some ways is the very core of his life concentrated in a single sentence. This is who the rumors said Paul was:
"The man who formerly persecuted us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy."
I love the simplicity and power and beauty of that. I love that the sin of his former life amplifies the truth of his new life. Do you see that? That sentence is like a sin sandwich. It starts with him persecuting and ends with him trying to destroy. What he used to do is critical in creating a powerful context for what he is currently doing. Can you begin to feel what that means for the sin in your past? I love the hope that offers you and me.
You see, we all have sentences like that. Regardless of whether we are deliberate and do our best to write what people will say about us through our actions or simply float through life without giving it a second thought, we are all tagged with sentences like that.
My question to you is, what does your sentence say right now? If I asked you to write your "Just do it," the idea that summarized your entire life, what would you write? What are the people that know you saying about you?
I thought for a minute and I know what I would like people to say about me:
"Having returned from the dead, Jon cannot help but shout the joy of life."
I don't live everyday that way. It's a work in progress, but that's where I am headed. That is how I balance my time and make my decisions. I intentionally choose things that will bring me closer to that reality and deny things that will take me further from it. I succeed at this sometimes, I fail as this sometimes. But I am working on it.
What are you working on?
What do the rumors about you say?
A few years ago someone approached me with an opportunity to make thousands of dollars. It was easy. It was simple. It was highly illegal.
The reason they approached me was that they, like anyone else in my world, knew that I didn't have high morals. They would not have labeled me Christian or even "honest" at the time. So they knew that they were not running a risk by trying to engage me in a scheme. They were simply sharing a shady idea between two shady people.
Fast forward to present day. A new woman at work recently scheduled a meeting with me. I sat down inside the conference room and asked her what was going on. Her response?
"Rumors say that you're a christian. I'm a christian too and since I'm new I wanted to meet you."
That might happen to you all the time. Your good name might be a neon beacon to all those around you, but sadly enough, that was the first time I have ever experienced something like that. Sure, I've had people say, "rumors say you're a cocky jerk" or "rumors say you're difficult to work with." But not until I was 32 did the rumors take on a positive feel.
I thought about this reality while reading Galations last night. In Chapter 1 Paul gives us his tagline, his version of Nike's "Just Do It" or GE's "We bring good things to life." This is the summation of his ministry. This in some ways is the very core of his life concentrated in a single sentence. This is who the rumors said Paul was:
"The man who formerly persecuted us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy."
I love the simplicity and power and beauty of that. I love that the sin of his former life amplifies the truth of his new life. Do you see that? That sentence is like a sin sandwich. It starts with him persecuting and ends with him trying to destroy. What he used to do is critical in creating a powerful context for what he is currently doing. Can you begin to feel what that means for the sin in your past? I love the hope that offers you and me.
You see, we all have sentences like that. Regardless of whether we are deliberate and do our best to write what people will say about us through our actions or simply float through life without giving it a second thought, we are all tagged with sentences like that.
My question to you is, what does your sentence say right now? If I asked you to write your "Just do it," the idea that summarized your entire life, what would you write? What are the people that know you saying about you?
I thought for a minute and I know what I would like people to say about me:
"Having returned from the dead, Jon cannot help but shout the joy of life."
I don't live everyday that way. It's a work in progress, but that's where I am headed. That is how I balance my time and make my decisions. I intentionally choose things that will bring me closer to that reality and deny things that will take me further from it. I succeed at this sometimes, I fail as this sometimes. But I am working on it.
What are you working on?
What do the rumors about you say?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The new site
The new site.
A few years ago I was asked to create a press release for a CEO of a company. My client wanted me to write something extolling how dedicated to being honest about sales results this particular CEO was. The only problem was that she wasn't.
She was known for being a bit blurry when it came to the reality of the sales the company was generating. The press, the stockholders, the employees, everyone that knew this lady was going to see right through my press release and instantly think, "No way am I listening to this lady. I know her past."
What I wanted to do, which was eventually rejected, was come out with the truth. I wanted to disarm the readers by opening up with a statement that said, "In the past, numbers have not been my greatest strength." If I said that, all the readers would have to pause before throwing a rock at us. In essence I would have removed the biggest objective they had to reading the rest of the press release.
The same thing happens with Christianity.
We do some things really well and we do some things less than really well. But when we pretend we're perfect, people see right through it and won't believe anything else we say. And that's the point of this project. I want to be honest and upfront and hopefully a little funny about the issues the church and Christians struggle with sometimes. I want to say, "Whoa, whoa, please don't judge me or God by Christian radio." I want to admit the times we've dropped the ball on issues or ideas that people called to love their neighbor should have knocked out of the park. I want to engage all my friends that aren't Christians that don't go to church in an honest, open conversation. I want to blow up misconceptions and preconceptions about what it means to be a Christian.
That's why I created, www.stuffchristianslike.net
The good thing is that doing something simple and small like this won't take away from my other two sites. The entries on the new one are about 100 words each and more importantly I hopefully won't be writing them all. For the first time in my blogging experiment, I want to open up the posts to other people. Got an idea about "Stuff Christians Like?" Email me or post a comment. If it fits the theme of the site I'll put it up and give you all the credit. And make no mistake, I took this concept directly from a wildly popular secular site that uses the same approach. Read "#1. Putting a God Spin on Popular Secular Ideas" to see what I'm talking about.
Or, read one of these things that I think are Stuff Christians Like:
#8. Singing "Friends are Friends" forever at the end of church events.
#5. Bootleg cookies.
#3. Reading "love is patient" at your wedding.
p.s. lots of folks are doing similar sites right now in response to the site that spawned this idea. Some might be worth checking out too.
A few years ago I was asked to create a press release for a CEO of a company. My client wanted me to write something extolling how dedicated to being honest about sales results this particular CEO was. The only problem was that she wasn't.
She was known for being a bit blurry when it came to the reality of the sales the company was generating. The press, the stockholders, the employees, everyone that knew this lady was going to see right through my press release and instantly think, "No way am I listening to this lady. I know her past."
What I wanted to do, which was eventually rejected, was come out with the truth. I wanted to disarm the readers by opening up with a statement that said, "In the past, numbers have not been my greatest strength." If I said that, all the readers would have to pause before throwing a rock at us. In essence I would have removed the biggest objective they had to reading the rest of the press release.
The same thing happens with Christianity.
We do some things really well and we do some things less than really well. But when we pretend we're perfect, people see right through it and won't believe anything else we say. And that's the point of this project. I want to be honest and upfront and hopefully a little funny about the issues the church and Christians struggle with sometimes. I want to say, "Whoa, whoa, please don't judge me or God by Christian radio." I want to admit the times we've dropped the ball on issues or ideas that people called to love their neighbor should have knocked out of the park. I want to engage all my friends that aren't Christians that don't go to church in an honest, open conversation. I want to blow up misconceptions and preconceptions about what it means to be a Christian.
That's why I created, www.stuffchristianslike.net
The good thing is that doing something simple and small like this won't take away from my other two sites. The entries on the new one are about 100 words each and more importantly I hopefully won't be writing them all. For the first time in my blogging experiment, I want to open up the posts to other people. Got an idea about "Stuff Christians Like?" Email me or post a comment. If it fits the theme of the site I'll put it up and give you all the credit. And make no mistake, I took this concept directly from a wildly popular secular site that uses the same approach. Read "#1. Putting a God Spin on Popular Secular Ideas" to see what I'm talking about.
Or, read one of these things that I think are Stuff Christians Like:
#8. Singing "Friends are Friends" forever at the end of church events.
#5. Bootleg cookies.
#3. Reading "love is patient" at your wedding.
p.s. lots of folks are doing similar sites right now in response to the site that spawned this idea. Some might be worth checking out too.
Friday, March 21, 2008
pomegranates, country television and 9 more random things
pomegranates, country television and 9 more random things
1. I hate when commercials for television shows tell me, "this is the episode you can't afford to miss ." Is that ever true? I've never been at work and heard someone talking about a show and thought to myself, "Dang, that was the episode I couldn't afford to miss." Unless they make a show called "How and when Jon Acuff will die," I can afford to miss any program.
2. The squirrels in the attic, who I just chased 5 minutes ago, are not getting fooled by the trap I put up there. So I'd like to put it in our yard every night and just see what kind of "varmints" we can catch. I told my wife that's what they call "country television." If you live so far out in the country you can't get cable then trapping animals is your entertainment. She, much like the squirrels, did not fall for it.
3. Speaking of television, have you ever seen the show, "International House Hunters?" It's one of those "hate your life" programs. While you sit at home with animals scurrying over your bedroom, a couple of rich people decide which vacation villa on the coast of Portugal to buy. If life feels too good right now, turn on that show and you'll be bummed out anew.
4. Is it me, or did pomegranates kind of come out nowhere? I feel like everywhere I look there's some product being infused with pomegranate. In addition to juice, there are lip balms, jelly beans, frozen yogurt and countless other products. Is it possible there is a secret fruit council thrusting odd fruits on us in some weird plot? Is it possible I should have better things to think about? (Want to know what the next "pomegranate" is going to be? Dragonfruit. Trust me on this one.)
5. Tonight while driving home listening to the radio show "Delilah" I heard some woman saying she had the best man in the world. (The only reason I had that horribly cheesy show on while driving alone is that I'm not cool.) Part of the caller's proof that her man is really great is that he cuts up old scarves and gives them to squirrels so that they can use the pieces for their nests to stay warm in the winter. Ladies, if doing that is one of the criteria for being "the best man in the world," then please know I will never own that title.
6. I think one of the reasons we get love so wrong is that we overuse the word. The other day I saw a billboard that said, "Finally, natural gas prices you can love!" Have you ever thought to yourself, "I like my water prices, but I LOVE my natural gas prices?" No, and you never will. So let's stop saying "love" so much and instead say "like." Let's bring like back.
7. When you're really bored, very little will change that. Case in point, the other day we took our 4 year old and 2 year old to the circus. They have about a 45 minute attention span. By minute 50, my oldest daughter was like, "11 rare white tigers dancing and jumping through hoops? Ugh, daddy can we go home?"
8. I really don't want to raise spoiled kids, but the very first thing my two year old said to me when the Veggies Tale movie started in the theater was, "Not this veggies dad." She was pretty sure she had the right to dictate what the other 100 people in the theater saw and that her dad had the power to make it happen.
9. The other night on American Idol, which I was watching because Delilah wasn't on, Ryan Seacrest announced all the special guests they'll have this season. In addition to Dolly Parton and Neil Diamond they're inviting Mariah Carey on the show. He read their names out loud and then said, all of these people are not just great performers, they are great songwriters. I googled some of her lyrics tonight and I promise you this is a direct cut and paste. I can't wait to hear her explain the emotion that helped create this musical tapestry:
ooh, ooh
Come on, come on
MC, MC
ooh, ooh
Nah nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah [Repeat twice]
10. How come Scientology gets Will Smith and we get Stephen Baldwin? No offense to Stephen Baldwin and although Will Smith's people are trying to keep it quiet about Smith's alleged love of Tom Cruise's religion, I just don't think it's fair. (Note, no official word on Smith, that's just what people in the streets are saying. Not my street cause it's a cul-de-sac but other streets) What famous person do you wish was a Christian? I'd like to see Kid Rock. Not that I love him, but I'd like to see him bring some of the grit and grime the disciples had back to our faith. But seriously, post what celebrity you think we should recruit.
11.When a girl tells me, "we're pregnant," in my head I think, "that's great, kids are awesome." When a guy tells me "we're pregnant," in my head I think, "You're wife's pregnant, not you. I'm sorry but we can no longer be friends."
1. I hate when commercials for television shows tell me, "this is the episode you can't afford to miss ." Is that ever true? I've never been at work and heard someone talking about a show and thought to myself, "Dang, that was the episode I couldn't afford to miss." Unless they make a show called "How and when Jon Acuff will die," I can afford to miss any program.
2. The squirrels in the attic, who I just chased 5 minutes ago, are not getting fooled by the trap I put up there. So I'd like to put it in our yard every night and just see what kind of "varmints" we can catch. I told my wife that's what they call "country television." If you live so far out in the country you can't get cable then trapping animals is your entertainment. She, much like the squirrels, did not fall for it.
3. Speaking of television, have you ever seen the show, "International House Hunters?" It's one of those "hate your life" programs. While you sit at home with animals scurrying over your bedroom, a couple of rich people decide which vacation villa on the coast of Portugal to buy. If life feels too good right now, turn on that show and you'll be bummed out anew.
4. Is it me, or did pomegranates kind of come out nowhere? I feel like everywhere I look there's some product being infused with pomegranate. In addition to juice, there are lip balms, jelly beans, frozen yogurt and countless other products. Is it possible there is a secret fruit council thrusting odd fruits on us in some weird plot? Is it possible I should have better things to think about? (Want to know what the next "pomegranate" is going to be? Dragonfruit. Trust me on this one.)
5. Tonight while driving home listening to the radio show "Delilah" I heard some woman saying she had the best man in the world. (The only reason I had that horribly cheesy show on while driving alone is that I'm not cool.) Part of the caller's proof that her man is really great is that he cuts up old scarves and gives them to squirrels so that they can use the pieces for their nests to stay warm in the winter. Ladies, if doing that is one of the criteria for being "the best man in the world," then please know I will never own that title.
6. I think one of the reasons we get love so wrong is that we overuse the word. The other day I saw a billboard that said, "Finally, natural gas prices you can love!" Have you ever thought to yourself, "I like my water prices, but I LOVE my natural gas prices?" No, and you never will. So let's stop saying "love" so much and instead say "like." Let's bring like back.
7. When you're really bored, very little will change that. Case in point, the other day we took our 4 year old and 2 year old to the circus. They have about a 45 minute attention span. By minute 50, my oldest daughter was like, "11 rare white tigers dancing and jumping through hoops? Ugh, daddy can we go home?"
8. I really don't want to raise spoiled kids, but the very first thing my two year old said to me when the Veggies Tale movie started in the theater was, "Not this veggies dad." She was pretty sure she had the right to dictate what the other 100 people in the theater saw and that her dad had the power to make it happen.
9. The other night on American Idol, which I was watching because Delilah wasn't on, Ryan Seacrest announced all the special guests they'll have this season. In addition to Dolly Parton and Neil Diamond they're inviting Mariah Carey on the show. He read their names out loud and then said, all of these people are not just great performers, they are great songwriters. I googled some of her lyrics tonight and I promise you this is a direct cut and paste. I can't wait to hear her explain the emotion that helped create this musical tapestry:
ooh, ooh
Come on, come on
MC, MC
ooh, ooh
Nah nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah [Repeat twice]
10. How come Scientology gets Will Smith and we get Stephen Baldwin? No offense to Stephen Baldwin and although Will Smith's people are trying to keep it quiet about Smith's alleged love of Tom Cruise's religion, I just don't think it's fair. (Note, no official word on Smith, that's just what people in the streets are saying. Not my street cause it's a cul-de-sac but other streets) What famous person do you wish was a Christian? I'd like to see Kid Rock. Not that I love him, but I'd like to see him bring some of the grit and grime the disciples had back to our faith. But seriously, post what celebrity you think we should recruit.
11.When a girl tells me, "we're pregnant," in my head I think, "that's great, kids are awesome." When a guy tells me "we're pregnant," in my head I think, "You're wife's pregnant, not you. I'm sorry but we can no longer be friends."
when robots attack
when robots attack
So my new site was flagged by the robots that patrol google as being a fake site. I assured them that it was real, actually that it was the real deal, but it might take a full week to get back up.
In the meantime, tonight I'm writing something on prodigal jon called "I am the wild places."
So my new site was flagged by the robots that patrol google as being a fake site. I assured them that it was real, actually that it was the real deal, but it might take a full week to get back up.
In the meantime, tonight I'm writing something on prodigal jon called "I am the wild places."
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Let's retire the phrase "unspoken prayer request."
Let's retire the phrase "unspoken prayer request."
New stuff on 97secondswithgod.com.
Check it out if you get a chance.
New stuff on 97secondswithgod.com.
Check it out if you get a chance.
new site - commence with the hate mail
new site - commence with the hate mail
So, I've got a new site I'm going to launch that's different from either of my other sites and bound to increase the number of people that hate me, which at current count is two.
Before I tell the 66 countries reading this site what the name of the new one is I want to share it with a few people. (by the way, cool to see Ireland checking in and Argentina)
If you're interested, shoot me an email at theacuffs@yahoo.com and I will give you the link for a sneak preview.
Thanks for reading.
So, I've got a new site I'm going to launch that's different from either of my other sites and bound to increase the number of people that hate me, which at current count is two.
Before I tell the 66 countries reading this site what the name of the new one is I want to share it with a few people. (by the way, cool to see Ireland checking in and Argentina)
If you're interested, shoot me an email at theacuffs@yahoo.com and I will give you the link for a sneak preview.
Thanks for reading.
the new definition
the new definition
Couples that are dating often have what they call a "define the relationship" conversation. If you've never experienced this, a DTR as it were, is when you discuss where the relationship is going. Are we casually dating? Is this a serious relationship? Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Would you use the word "exclusive" to describe us? It's a fairly exhausting exercise that hopefully results in you having a clear definition of your relationship.
A friend of mine had one of those a few years ago and I can still remember his response to his girlfriend when she pressed him for a more detailed definition of where they were headed:
"Boyfriend, girlfriend, exclusive, those are just words, what do they even really mean?"
That's an admittedly discouraging response, but it does reveal a truth. On some level, we all live our lives safe in the comfort of flexible definitions. We spurn the concept of having a concrete definition for something and instead twist and pull the definitions that guide us until they are malleable and easily manipulated.
Case in point, a friend recently asked me if what he had looked at would be considered pornography. What he was asking was, "did I do something wrong?" And he wanted the definition of the word pornography to determine that for him.
That was an honest question, but I don't think you can define a word without really knowing it's context. That's why in spelling competitions the contestants always ask for origin and to hear the word they are trying to spell in a sentence. They need context.
For this friend, the context of pornography drastically altered the definition he needed to use in his own life. See for him, that word had dominated most of his life. It had consumed decades in its wide, broken-toothed mouth. So while the world might think that word only means materials that are rated XXX, for him, that word is a lot bigger. It means not watching some reality television shows. It means not looking at gossip magazines or doing a whole host of things that on the surface have very little to do with pornography. And he's not alone. I have friends that can't get money out of an ATM because any time they have cash that their support network of friends doesn't know about, they buy alcohol.
For them, just the act of getting money secretly out of an ATM is part of "acting out." They've studied themselves to know that part of their ritual when it comes to getting black out drunk is getting cash. So their definition of being safe had to stretch and grow to include things that most people would think are pretty normal and ordinary.
My question to you today is simply this: What definitions are you actively shaping and what definitions are letting shape your life?
Have you stretched the definition of love so that you can say, "I know the bible is against that, but we're in love so it's OK."
Is your definition of sin the only thing that helps you sleep at night because, "It's not so bad what I did, I mean I didn't _____, that's really what it means to sin."
Are you waiting to do something important, because you've said, "I'll follow my dreams in the future" and you've defined the future as a long way away?
I ask this, not because I know the answer to the problem of definitions. I ask because ultimately, on some level, I think the things you define end up defining you.
Couples that are dating often have what they call a "define the relationship" conversation. If you've never experienced this, a DTR as it were, is when you discuss where the relationship is going. Are we casually dating? Is this a serious relationship? Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Would you use the word "exclusive" to describe us? It's a fairly exhausting exercise that hopefully results in you having a clear definition of your relationship.
A friend of mine had one of those a few years ago and I can still remember his response to his girlfriend when she pressed him for a more detailed definition of where they were headed:
"Boyfriend, girlfriend, exclusive, those are just words, what do they even really mean?"
That's an admittedly discouraging response, but it does reveal a truth. On some level, we all live our lives safe in the comfort of flexible definitions. We spurn the concept of having a concrete definition for something and instead twist and pull the definitions that guide us until they are malleable and easily manipulated.
Case in point, a friend recently asked me if what he had looked at would be considered pornography. What he was asking was, "did I do something wrong?" And he wanted the definition of the word pornography to determine that for him.
That was an honest question, but I don't think you can define a word without really knowing it's context. That's why in spelling competitions the contestants always ask for origin and to hear the word they are trying to spell in a sentence. They need context.
For this friend, the context of pornography drastically altered the definition he needed to use in his own life. See for him, that word had dominated most of his life. It had consumed decades in its wide, broken-toothed mouth. So while the world might think that word only means materials that are rated XXX, for him, that word is a lot bigger. It means not watching some reality television shows. It means not looking at gossip magazines or doing a whole host of things that on the surface have very little to do with pornography. And he's not alone. I have friends that can't get money out of an ATM because any time they have cash that their support network of friends doesn't know about, they buy alcohol.
For them, just the act of getting money secretly out of an ATM is part of "acting out." They've studied themselves to know that part of their ritual when it comes to getting black out drunk is getting cash. So their definition of being safe had to stretch and grow to include things that most people would think are pretty normal and ordinary.
My question to you today is simply this: What definitions are you actively shaping and what definitions are letting shape your life?
Have you stretched the definition of love so that you can say, "I know the bible is against that, but we're in love so it's OK."
Is your definition of sin the only thing that helps you sleep at night because, "It's not so bad what I did, I mean I didn't _____, that's really what it means to sin."
Are you waiting to do something important, because you've said, "I'll follow my dreams in the future" and you've defined the future as a long way away?
I ask this, not because I know the answer to the problem of definitions. I ask because ultimately, on some level, I think the things you define end up defining you.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Audio Part 2 - Word up Wednesday
Audio Part 2 - Word up Wednesday
When I publish a book and become a Christian Thousandaire I will have a tech guy named Smithfield who will handle all my computer silliness. Until then, it's on me. So if you have any issues getting today's audio over there on the right, which is the conclusion of last week's clip, I have a link for you. Click here if the link on the right doesn't work.
Quick Disclaimer: In the beginning of the clip, an older man in the audience says something really loudly to a friend, which forces me to make fun of the elderly.
And don't miss the conclusion of SWORD, let's dance, which is right below this.
When I publish a book and become a Christian Thousandaire I will have a tech guy named Smithfield who will handle all my computer silliness. Until then, it's on me. So if you have any issues getting today's audio over there on the right, which is the conclusion of last week's clip, I have a link for you. Click here if the link on the right doesn't work.
Quick Disclaimer: In the beginning of the clip, an older man in the audience says something really loudly to a friend, which forces me to make fun of the elderly.
And don't miss the conclusion of SWORD, let's dance, which is right below this.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Let's dance! SWORD - PART 6
Let's dance! SWORD - PART 6
A few weeks ago I ran a half marathon. Well, I ran 10.5 miles and then walked 1 and then ran the last 1.6. All in all it was 13.1 miles of borderline torture.
As I was crossing the finish line, the second place marathon runner was finishing. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. He was relaxed, calm and really not that sweaty. And he had just run 26.2 miles in the time it took me to run 13.1.
I didn't train before the race. I realized after it was over that I had only run about 6 times in 2008 by the time the race came around. I was supposed to train for maybe 8 weeks but felt like I could probably gut it out.
I mention this story because when I write about how the D in my SWORD* concept is Dance, I realize that it's going to be easy to say, "Ugh, exercise, I hate running." Or maybe, "The gym is just full of people that are trying to hook up." Or "I don't have the money or time to workout."
And those are all pretty good excuses. It used to kill me when I'd see girls putting on makeup for the gym or guys texting on the treadmill. And gyms can be expensive and running, sucks. Hard.
But the biggest excuse to justify not working out, the one that most of us secretly believe, is that God doesn't have much to do with our bodies.
Sure, he doesn't want us doing drugs or cutting ourselves or things like that, but he can't be interested in my diet or how often I push myself physically. He's not like that, right?
I don't know. I'm not so sure anymore. What if we took the bible the wrong way? What if, all along we believed it was meant for our soul, but it's really meant for our life? That is, the soul was part of it, but it's bigger and broader than that. Maybe it's full of wisdom for our mental life, our emotional life and even, our physical life? What if the bible was about every inch of your life?
It's an interesting thing to think about and as I did, it was easy to find examples of God's physical focus within the pages of the bible:
1. David trains for Goliath.
When Saul doubts that David can defeat Goliath, here's how David responds:
I have been taking care of my father’s sheep and goats,” he said. “When a lion or a bear comes to steal a lamb from the flock, I go after it with a club and rescue the lamb from its mouth. If the animal turns on me, I catch it by the jaw and club it to death. I have done this to both lions and bears, and I’ll do it to this pagan Philistine, too because he has defied the armies of the living God. The LORD who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine."
It was like he told Saul, "Come on, I can run this half marathon. I used to run 20 miles all the time when I was a kid."
And note, even though ultimately this scene is about trusting in the God almighty, the example David gives is definitely more in the physical realm than the spiritual realm. He doesn't say, "It's cool, when I was younger I prayed a ton and should be able to do this." No, instead he says, "I beat up bears, I can take this dude."
2. Daniel will kick Jared's butt.
I'm kind of done with that Jared guy from Subway. I've just had enough Jared for the rest of my life. But long before he was the face of healthy living, Daniel was the man on the billboards. Here's what he says to one of his master's servants when he's living in captivity and doesn't want to eat the food served him:
"Please test your servants for ten days: Give us nothing but vegetables to eat and water to drink. Then compare our appearance with that of the young men who eat the royal food, and treat your servants in accordance with what you see." So he agreed to this and tested them for ten days.
3. Harder, better, faster, stronger.
Look through some of the key sections of the bible and show me someone that does something amazing for God that didn't involve them using their bodies in some fashion. Jonathan had to do some mountain climbing against the Philistines before God rocked his world. David used a sling to strike his enemy down. Joshua and his crew walked for days before God knocked the walls down. Several of the disciples were fisherman with callused hands and the kind of forearms people that don't work in cubicles have. Paul compared faith to a race. The Exodus, you can go on and on.
I guess my point, is that there was never a "bed disciple." Someone that stayed home and didn't do anything physical. You never hear about "Bill, the lazy disciple." And one of the gifts Christ kept giving people was the use of their bodies. When he healed people he might have been aiming for their heart, but they also got the gift of their legs back and their arms back and their bodies back.
Maybe he wants to give you yours back today. Maybe in addition to your soul, he cares about your body. Maybe a few minutes a day is going to change the way you live and unlock some things that are hidden. Maybe it's easier than you think and even more important, holier than you think.
Let's dance.
This post goes well with:
1. The day I took back the day.
2. The day of the sword. Part 1
3. A tale of convicts and candy. SWORD - Part 2
4. Ugh. Christian Radio. SWORD - Part 3
5. I got fired from the carnival. SWORD - Part 4
6. Karoshi will not have me. SWORD - Part 5
*SWORD is my way to focus on a few things that I want to do every day: Serve, Worship, Order, Rest and Dance. I try to do each one at least 12 minutes a day, for a solid hour of focused living.
A few weeks ago I ran a half marathon. Well, I ran 10.5 miles and then walked 1 and then ran the last 1.6. All in all it was 13.1 miles of borderline torture.
As I was crossing the finish line, the second place marathon runner was finishing. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. He was relaxed, calm and really not that sweaty. And he had just run 26.2 miles in the time it took me to run 13.1.
I didn't train before the race. I realized after it was over that I had only run about 6 times in 2008 by the time the race came around. I was supposed to train for maybe 8 weeks but felt like I could probably gut it out.
I mention this story because when I write about how the D in my SWORD* concept is Dance, I realize that it's going to be easy to say, "Ugh, exercise, I hate running." Or maybe, "The gym is just full of people that are trying to hook up." Or "I don't have the money or time to workout."
And those are all pretty good excuses. It used to kill me when I'd see girls putting on makeup for the gym or guys texting on the treadmill. And gyms can be expensive and running, sucks. Hard.
But the biggest excuse to justify not working out, the one that most of us secretly believe, is that God doesn't have much to do with our bodies.
Sure, he doesn't want us doing drugs or cutting ourselves or things like that, but he can't be interested in my diet or how often I push myself physically. He's not like that, right?
I don't know. I'm not so sure anymore. What if we took the bible the wrong way? What if, all along we believed it was meant for our soul, but it's really meant for our life? That is, the soul was part of it, but it's bigger and broader than that. Maybe it's full of wisdom for our mental life, our emotional life and even, our physical life? What if the bible was about every inch of your life?
It's an interesting thing to think about and as I did, it was easy to find examples of God's physical focus within the pages of the bible:
1. David trains for Goliath.
When Saul doubts that David can defeat Goliath, here's how David responds:
I have been taking care of my father’s sheep and goats,” he said. “When a lion or a bear comes to steal a lamb from the flock, I go after it with a club and rescue the lamb from its mouth. If the animal turns on me, I catch it by the jaw and club it to death. I have done this to both lions and bears, and I’ll do it to this pagan Philistine, too because he has defied the armies of the living God. The LORD who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine."
It was like he told Saul, "Come on, I can run this half marathon. I used to run 20 miles all the time when I was a kid."
And note, even though ultimately this scene is about trusting in the God almighty, the example David gives is definitely more in the physical realm than the spiritual realm. He doesn't say, "It's cool, when I was younger I prayed a ton and should be able to do this." No, instead he says, "I beat up bears, I can take this dude."
2. Daniel will kick Jared's butt.
I'm kind of done with that Jared guy from Subway. I've just had enough Jared for the rest of my life. But long before he was the face of healthy living, Daniel was the man on the billboards. Here's what he says to one of his master's servants when he's living in captivity and doesn't want to eat the food served him:
"Please test your servants for ten days: Give us nothing but vegetables to eat and water to drink. Then compare our appearance with that of the young men who eat the royal food, and treat your servants in accordance with what you see." So he agreed to this and tested them for ten days.
At the end of the ten days they looked healthier and better nourished than any of the young men who ate the royal food. So the guard took away their choice food and the wine they were to drink and gave them vegetables instead.
On the surface that's a cool story and if I was a vegetarian I would probably use those verses to be kind of a jerk about why God loves people that eat vegetables. But it only gets cooler, because here is the next verse, God's response:
To these four young men God gave knowledge and understanding of all kinds of literature and learning. And Daniel could understand visions and dreams of all kinds.
Was God OK with Daniel putting some focus on what he put into his body? Did he tell Daniel, "Whoa there broccoli guy, I care only about the soul." No, he gifts them knowledge and understanding.3. Harder, better, faster, stronger.
Look through some of the key sections of the bible and show me someone that does something amazing for God that didn't involve them using their bodies in some fashion. Jonathan had to do some mountain climbing against the Philistines before God rocked his world. David used a sling to strike his enemy down. Joshua and his crew walked for days before God knocked the walls down. Several of the disciples were fisherman with callused hands and the kind of forearms people that don't work in cubicles have. Paul compared faith to a race. The Exodus, you can go on and on.
I guess my point, is that there was never a "bed disciple." Someone that stayed home and didn't do anything physical. You never hear about "Bill, the lazy disciple." And one of the gifts Christ kept giving people was the use of their bodies. When he healed people he might have been aiming for their heart, but they also got the gift of their legs back and their arms back and their bodies back.
Maybe he wants to give you yours back today. Maybe in addition to your soul, he cares about your body. Maybe a few minutes a day is going to change the way you live and unlock some things that are hidden. Maybe it's easier than you think and even more important, holier than you think.
Let's dance.
This post goes well with:
1. The day I took back the day.
2. The day of the sword. Part 1
3. A tale of convicts and candy. SWORD - Part 2
4. Ugh. Christian Radio. SWORD - Part 3
5. I got fired from the carnival. SWORD - Part 4
6. Karoshi will not have me. SWORD - Part 5
*SWORD is my way to focus on a few things that I want to do every day: Serve, Worship, Order, Rest and Dance. I try to do each one at least 12 minutes a day, for a solid hour of focused living.
Monday, March 17, 2008
let's make the worst of it.
let's make the worst of it.A few months ago I went online to find a coupon for my oil change. While on the Texaco site I saw that they offered a delightful coloring book for children. The title was "Lubie and the Lovable Looney Lubettes." I am not making this up.
In the online coloring book, a friendly gang of oil goes camping with a family. The whole thing was ridiculous, but my favorite scene was when the oil went for a canoe ride. I love the oil that is snorkeling. He looks so smug and cocky. And the family can't get in the water because, well there's oil in the lake. But perhaps the funniest part is how mad the eagle looks in the upper left corner. It's hard to see in this image, but I promise you he's really angry at that oil.
This, is such a perfect example of trying to make the best out of a bad situation. It's been a rough year for oil. Gas prices are through the roof, the war has raised lots of tough questions and going green is super popular. So some wily copywriter or graphic designer convinced Texaco that it would be good to tell kids how cuddly and fun oil is. They are sugarcoating a bad situation with the hope that if they pretend everything is alright, then it will magically become alright.
Sometimes I think it's easy to fall into a similar trap with our faith. When faced with difficult situations we feel like admitting distress is going to be seen as failure by other people. So instead of being honest and admitting something hurts, we pretend everything is OK. We become plastic fantastics.
We smile and shine and use the Christian F word when people ask us questions:
"How's my marriage? Fine."
"How's my job? Fine."
"How's my family? Fine."
I'm not sure why this happens. It might be that secretly, on some levels, even really tiny ones we feel that God loves good people. Or maybe he just loves them more. So when good things happen we think that tells people that we're being good and God is just responding to that goodness. And when bad things happen it must mean we're doing something bad and God is just paying that back.
So we hide behind words like "fine" and "OK," but that's not what the Bible says. There are a million verses about this, but my favorite is probably Matthew 5:4
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
That's enough for me. If you want comfort, you have to admit you've been hurt. If you want comfort, you have to mourn. If you want comfort you have to retire the word fine and fake.
So let's not make oil go camping or sugarcoat our problems.
Let's make the worst of it.
This post goes well with:
1. Be sick.
This week, on Prodigal Jon
This week, on Prodigal Jon
Monday Night - Let's make the worst of it.
Tuesday - The rumors about me.
Wednesday - Audio message, part 2.
Thursday - Dance, last part of SWORD
Friday - 11 Random Things
Saturday - We are blind & a Record Review
Sunday - Giving props to memories.
Thanks for reading.
Monday Night - Let's make the worst of it.
Tuesday - The rumors about me.
Wednesday - Audio message, part 2.
Thursday - Dance, last part of SWORD
Friday - 11 Random Things
Saturday - We are blind & a Record Review
Sunday - Giving props to memories.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
squirrels in my attic, a hole in my bedroom and God.
squirrels in my attic, a hole in my bedroom and God.
I must warn you, this story contains just about all the key components of a good story:
love lost
a weapon from Kenya
desperate animals
a tornado
and a discount haircut
But that might not be enough for you, so here is where I am headed:
"You can't fix you with you."
That is the going to be the conclusion of this piece, the moral of the story so to speak. So if you've got a busy Saturday planned and can't read the whole thing, there it is.
But if you want to hear what happened last night at about midnight at my house, sit back, relax and be glad you're not married to me.
the story
We have squirrels in our attic. This is worse than having birds in your attic but better than having say cobras in your attic. I saw one the other night when I went up there and of all his character traits, it was his arrogance that bothered me most. When I shined the flashlight on him he just kind of looked at me like, "what are you doing in my attic?" There was no fear, no trembling little tail or cute animal anxiety. It was like I was interrupting a teenager trying to text message his friends. After a few seconds he crawled into the insulation and disappeared.
Our friend Todd came and nailed the hole in our roof shut at a point in the day we believed the squirrels were out running some errands. Here, by the way, are two sentences you never want to hear from a handyman that is standing on your roof:
1. "Jon, I don't know why I'm able to stick my foot all the way through this hole."
2. "Your roof is just like wet cardboard up here."
We're getting that fixed soon. That's what happens when you become an adult, you have to spend your money on adult things. For instance, last Christmas our in-laws gave us a dryer. It's a nice dryer I'm sure, but those are the kind of no fun, all seriousness kind of things you spend your money on as an adult. I digress.
Apparently we have lazy squirrels because instead of being outside gathering nuts when we nailed the hole shut, they were inside our attic. Which means that for the last five days, they've been locked up in there without any water. I'm sure they stored some food but I have to believe that at this point they're getting a little desperate. Which is why last night we could hear them frantically trying to chew and claw their way through the wood in our roof.
That's why, on what would otherwise have been a sleepy Friday night, I decided to invite my two friends, Roscoe and Hucklebuck over to help me catch the squirrels. Those are not their real names but given the events to follow I felt it was wise to subtly disguise their true identities.
Things started out well. Roscoe is a missionary kid and was thrilled that I had a Masai warrior club from Kenya. He believed it would help us knock out the squirrels so that we could give them to a nice family out in the country with a farm so that they had plenty of land to run around on. You know the place, it's where your parents sent your dog to live after it bit the paperboy.
At around 11 at night we went into the thickly-insulated attic searching for the squirrels. They must have gone ninja quiet because for 20 minutes we didn't see or hear them. Suddenly though I saw a furry tail and an arrogant tail poking up over a clump of yellow insulation.
Roscoe dove in between the boards supporting the roof and began to swing the club. The squirrel got away prompting Roscoe to declare, "We have to sweep this entire area, cell by cell." I asked, "what's a cell?" He responded, "These little blocks of insulation between the boards. Lets call them 'cells,' it sounds better."
Meanwhile, Hucklebuck was anxiously texting a girl he wishes was in love with him. She's a cool girl with cool tattoos and one of those haircuts that looks bad on 99.99% of people but looks cool on her. She loves God, but not Hucklebuck. Suddenly I heard a loud ripping sound and Hucklebuck exclaimed, "Oh no." I looked down and could see into my bedroom.
As I did not previously remember being able to see directly into the attic from my bedroom I realized something was amiss. Hucklebuck's leg had slipped through. In a moment of distraction, brought on in part by an unrequited love, he had stepped right through my bedroom ceiling.
My wife did not see the humor in the moment.
We left the attic quickly, quietly announcing the squirrel as the champion of the evening. Well played squirrel, well played indeed. And downstairs in the kitchen, my frustrated wife stood against the sink with her arms crossed. I apologized and told her I would get my haircut.
What?
At last once a year I think I should grow my hair long. I guess I believe it will make me look cool or smart or interesting or something. So for the last few months I have not gotten a haircut and my wife has started to barter with me. "Hey, don't you want some new Puma shoes? Why don't you get a haircut and buy those?" But I've held strong. Only last night, I knew I had to concede something. It's not like I could say, "Fine, I'll pay for it." Her money is my money is our money. So I did what I could and agreed to get a haircut. At Sports Clips, which costs about a nickel and feels good enough for my simple head. Meanwhile, my mom was in a tornado.
What?
She was at a dental convention in downtown Atlanta, insert your own dentist joke here, and got caught up in a tornado. She was in the Omni Hotel and had to wait for hours inside while 130mph winds tore up the streets. I mention this because having her involved in the tornado helped take some of the heat off the "foot ceiling" incident which gave me enough time to realize where the whole night had gone wrong. Where, I had bought into one of the biggest lives of all time.
The lie is that, "I can fix me with me."
This is essentially the lie that tells you, you got into this mess, you get yourself out of it. You made your bed now sleep in it. It's the idea that when we cause a problem we are in charge of coming up with a solution.
And I don't think it's by nature a bad idea. I mean it's easy to see how the idea of being accountable and responsible for your actions and facing the consequences could get twisted into this idea. I believe all those things are good, but I believe we corrupt those ideas with our desire to be in control. To steer our own cars so to be. We really like that. That's part of the reason if you search "self help" on Amazon you'll get 151, 679 books. We dig the idea of fixing ourselves, of having a Rocky training in the snow with logs on our backs as we run alone and get in shape. We like to reinvent ourselves.
The challenge though, is that when we go it alone, when we try to fix ourselves with ourselves, we fail. Always. The problem is that we're standing too close to the painting of our lives to really see what it is. We need someone objective and honest that can really help us identify the things that need our attention and our effort. That's why when you get out of a bad relationship you'll say, "I didn't realize how bad things were" and your friends might say, "we did." They could see what was wrong. They weren't wrapped up tight in the middle of the drama and the emotion, they were off to the side, able to realistically look at what was going on.
And, we never do this in other areas of our life. You never get in a serious car accident and tell the ambulance driver, "Just take me home, not to the hospital. I got myself into this mess, I need to get myself out." No, you go to the doctor, you go to the emergency room. You ask for help from people that can help you.
That's what I did wrong with the squirrels. Our friend Todd is coming to do some work on our house and has animal traps. In about a week he could have caught the squirrels. But I couldn't wait. They had gotten in the attic because I let a small hole turn into a large hole. So I wanted to fix it. I wanted to be in control. I wanted to fix me with me.
But the biggest issue of all, is that ultimately, without God, I don't think long term change is possible. I don't mean you can't lose weight for the rest of your life or quit smoking or anything like that. Those are "this life" changes. I'm talking about eternal changes. Changes that extend further than just the 70 plus years the average American gets on the planet. I'm not talking about bandaging wounds, I'm talking about healing. I'm not talking about reinventing yourself, I'm talking about dying to self and living again as someone new and fresh and so clean.
I have a duct tape covered hole in the corner of my bedroom to remind me that I can't fix me with me. I hope it won't take a friend's foot and a gang of cocky squirrels to help you remember this simple truth.
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