Bible

Imagination

This series on love (based on the Love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13) is awfully uncomfortable. I’m not sure how something so disruptive could have ever made the leap from a wild animal into a soft, cuddly stuffed toy. How could a passage designed to crawl into our hearts, and expose our selfish instincts in such an aggressive way, ever be a sterile poem our grandma’s read at weddings to which no one pays any attention? How could “Love keeps no record of wrongs” not tear each of us to shreds when we so clearly do?

There are songs & artists I love that seem alien. Like what they do, what they are, is something far off that I have no category for outside of themselves. Their creativity is shocking. They keep me at a distance, standing on the sidelines or sitting in the cheap seats.

Others make me want to sing.

Some books make me want to never write again. Yet others drive me right to my notebook.

The basketball world changed when Steph Curry remade the game. We could never in a million years do what LeBron James and Michael Jordan can do, the game is far off, like superheroes and mythology. Steph makes us think we could do it, too. We bought basketballs and went to the local hoops and shot all day. Jordan left us in awe, Steph inspired us to play.

It really doesn’t have much to do with the quality. Steph is an unbelievable basketball player, and the truth is, we probably couldn’t do what he does. He’s one of the greats. High Fidelity is an A+ work of fiction, and makes me want to create an A+ work, and perhaps more importantly, makes me think I can. If Nick Hornby could do it, maybe I could.

What does this have to do with the Love chapter? What does Steph Curry have to do with Paul’s letter to the Corinthians?

The Bible wants us out of our seats, wants us to play. Sure, the ideals of “Love is patient and kind,” are high, maybe we can’t get there (certainly not all the time), but what the Bible does is tell us over and over who we are. We are not space aliens, we are made in the image of he Living God, and we have His power (the same power that raised Jesus from the dead!!!!) inside of us, and with that, all things are possible. If Paul does his job, and if we do ours, the vision is compelling, beautiful, and better yet, the kind that explodes our imaginations to where we actually participate as He changes our lives. This newly engaged imagination inspires us to be patient and kind, to not anger quite so easily, to think about throwing our records of rights/wrongs in the garbage where they belong. We begin to look for people and ways to love.

These words are tickets backstage, they’re invitations to sing. They’re tigers that have never been safe or comfortable, they weren’t supposed to be, but we are told that we are the artists of our lives. We are the songs. And what it means to be made in the image is that we are designed with the creativity to re-write the code of our own game into one where the players always hope, bear all things, and never fail. We simply have to start to shoot.

Letter to the Ephesians

For the last several weeks, we’ve focused on a specific kind of love. A love that doesn’t care if we want to, and acts anyway. We continue to talk about the importance of loving God and each other. Any time we study the Bible, the danger is that the emphasis is placed on us; what we think, say, and do. It seeps into this conversation easily, so we constantly have to be reminded of who we actually are.

The entire 1st 3 chapters of Ephesians (1/2 of the letter) are devoted to Jesus Christ and God’s “secret plan” to bring “all things” together. There is no mention of anything for us to do. The closest Paul comes is in 2:10, “…so that we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.”

There are prayers (1:15-23, 3:14-21), really really beautiful prayers, asking, hoping, that we see and understand this grace, kindness, and peace that have been shown, given to us. There is explanation and context to the world around us, and how it has been transformed. Every wall has come down. We have been reconciled.

It is only in 4:1, “I beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling…for you have been called by God,” that we get any indication that our lives will change now, in this new reality.

The order is vital, it has to be this way. Otherwise, we would start to believe that our actions & behavior are the things we use to get God to love us. We already have an idolatry problem. For us to continue in the delusion that we earn anything (ESPECIALLY our own salvation – “Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done” 2:9) only solidifies our ridiculous conviction to build higher and higher on this sand.

So Paul attacks that heresy for 3 chapters without a mention of response, without a mention of behavior. With very little mention of us at all, really, other than being the vessel God pours His love into, and the recipients of His grace, lavishly bestowed.

Our verbs in the 1st 3 chapters are “praise,” “receive,” “trust,” “come,” but the one used most often is “are,” as in “we are ____.” We are loved, forgiven, chosen. Next is “understand,” as in “may we understand” what has been done on our behalf.

The other verbs, and there are many, tell what He has done. The actions are by Him, He does, and we receive. We simply receive.

In chapter 4, and for the rest of the letter, Paul moves into what we can do – “be humble and gentle, patient with each other,” etc. Into what to do and not do, as children of God, worthy of our call. If we’re not clear on chapters 1-3, then 4-6 won’t make sense. It’ll be confusing and easily distorted. We’ll start to think the story is about us, and what we do.

It’s not.

This is a story about love and grace. Our response is just that, a response. We have been rescued, and we are now free to act from a place of profound thanksgiving. We simply can’t begin in chapter 4. The movie doesn’t make sense if we come in an hour late, and neither do our lives.

Yes, it’s a big deal that we love, always, in all ways. But our acts of love are the result of our salvation and transformation, we love in response to the overwhelming divine grace, never ever the other way around. So who we actually are is His. We are loved beyond reason or limit, completely and unconditionally. And that is very Good News.

Living Letters

You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. (2 Corinthians 3:2-3)

Yesterday, I casually repeated the saying that ‘we are the only Bible some people will ever read,” and it elicited a stunned comment on the livestream. I see that I was wrong to toss it around like that, it is anything but casual. This phrase is heavy with significance and conviction. Sometimes, we can hear something enough that it becomes familiar, and in that familiarity, loses much (if not all) of it’s impact.

We’re about to talk about the love chapter (1 Cor 13), and it has been very much sanded down through thoughtless use. It has become nothing more than a pretty quote for a greeting card. Pretty, and innocuous. Those verses are lots of things, but innocuous isn’t one of them. They aren’t soft or inoffensive, they are seismic in their effect. It’s simply impossible to remain unchanged once we actually hear them, as they are. But that is for another time.

You’re the Bible people will read to see the Living God, to see His love and kindness, His grace, forgiveness, His work in a human life. Paul writes in the Bible’s 2nd letter to the Corinthians, that we are a letter from Christ, written by the Spirit. What does that mean?? What does that mean in the grocery store, the stadium bleachers, on the road?? What does it mean to our in-laws? For that matter, what does it mean for our spouse? Would those closest to us see our lives as Divine love letters? Or are we more letters of petty disagreements, cutting remarks, and rage?

It’s a shocking passage – The God of the Universe chooses to use us to communicate to a hurting world, to be His masterpiece, His letters. We know we are made in His image, we’ve read that since the beginning, but the Truth of that, too, has faded. If we knew we were made in His image, would we say the things we do to ourselves, would we be so mean in our own heads? If we knew our wives, husbands, children were made in His image, would we still use the same words, or the same sharp tones?

Usually, we can see this in others. Think of how you came to faith… It was a living letter (a parent, neighbor, teacher, etc), wasn’t it? Someone showed you grace, spoke a fresh word, shined light in darkness, and we caught a glimpse of the face of Jesus. It’s much more difficult to see ourselves as that someone. We can often see ourselves as “just” something or other, “just” a whatever, but mostly “just” me. There’s no “just” about you, about us. There’s no “just” a letter from Christ, never “just” written by the Spirit.

There’s responsibility in this, of course, but there is also honor, and dignity, and gift. And the question, as always, is: What will we do with this grace? What will we do today? This very moment?

Meaningless?

I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes the past 2 days. I’ve said it’s one of my favorite books in the Bible, but I’m not exactly sure why anymore. That’s not to say it’s without value or beauty, it certainly isn’t. The 12 chapters are overflowing with wisdom and application, but the refrain of “everything is meaningless” is honestly pretty depressing and sounds/feels hopeless.

I’m here at my dining room table reading, because I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. That’s an unusual thing to say, but here’s what I mean: I carefully place guardrails along the road we’re walking, so when I get lazy or distracted or overly rebellious, I can bump into them and remember why I put them there. More specifically, I am reminded who I am. This has been a topic before. We discover who God says we are, decide (with the guidance of the Spirit) who we are becoming and going to be, what we value, what weighs more, so that in times of stress and trial, we’ve already answered those important question regarding our identity. This helps to eliminate overreaction or inconsistency, and decreases the time we are forced to spend reconciling our behavior and our beliefs.

Now, with these guardrails, when I begin to sway or follow the directional signs not meant for me, I can pull the wheel back onto the path. Lately, this has been the case for me. I have wavered in my commitment and focus, making unhealthy, unhelpful choices. For instance, I haven’t read my Bible in some weeks (gasp!). I mean, my work requires study of the Scriptures. But it’s like this, I date the Angel because I like to and I like her in addition to the daily tasks and routines involved in creating a functional home together. In other words, I like to read my Bible for pleasure, because I like to and I love God and He reallly loves me.

I’ve decided this is an integral part of who I am (or who I have been created and called to be, and who I will become), and when I slide away from this lovely, loving practice, I feel incomplete. I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. See? Everything isn’t meaningless. This is meaningful.

Of course, this isn’t what Solomon meant, that everything is meaningless. The things we spend so much time chasing, thinking will fill us, satisfy us, are temporary. And compared with the eternal, temporary is sort of meaningless. But we don’t compare, and these things, to us, aren’t meaningless at all. This day, this breath, this table, this song, Samuel, board games, laughter, pulled pork sandwiches, are all gifts from God, blessed by God. I imagine He makes pineapples and thinks about how great they’ll taste, and how much you’ll love them. “God has made everything beautiful for its own time.” (Eccl. 3:11)

So what are we supposed to do with these wonderful lives of ours, given that everything is temporary, vapor, meaningless (in a manner of speaking)? Well, “Enjoy every minute of it! Take it all in.” (Eccl. 11:9) “Enjoy what you have!” (Eccl. 6:9) “Live happily with the woman (or man) you love through all the days of of life that God has given you in this world.” (Eccl. 9:9)

I wonder if we miss those people we love or the things we have thinking/wishing for things we don’t have? Maybe we’re not enjoying them. Maybe we’ve been given those delicious pineapples and we’re disappointed they aren’t blueberries. Maybe we can’t tear our eyes off of the ‘meaningless,’ taking the gift for granted.

SO, the invitation/confrontation of Ecclesiastes that I’m seeing today is that we dive into these messy, beautiful lives of ours, love the people around us well, and eat all of the pineapple we can, and we do it all with an overwhelming gratitude. Now I’m starting to see why I like Ecclesiastes so much – it’s not depressing or hopeless, it’s here and now, it’s the same wisdom of my dad from Bull Elephant Day, it’s presence, and it is, above all, loving engagement with the God that made it all.

Hands

Last night I gave a talk for a big room full of students who will graduate in 2 weeks and their families. It’s still shocking to me to find myself in these spaces, standing in front of people, talking, yet there we were.

Events like this (singular significant moments, like weddings, funerals, etc) can be particularly heavy, where the usual Sunday morning butterflies become birds and I find myself nervous. I’d tell you that’s a good thing, those disruptive birds mean you’re alive and that it matters. I’d say the problem would be if you didn’t feel anything, if you were indifferent to the gift you’ve been given. And now it makes perfect sense that you want to punch me in the mouth when I say those things, whether they’re right or not.

The birds aren’t nearly as big as they were years ago, when all of this began, but seconds before I was scheduled to go up onto the stage, they were certainly active.

The students plan this Baccalaureate service. I have no idea what this word means or how/why this has become a tradition. I’ve never been to one and had no idea what to expect. And I guess they have to plan it without teachers direction because church and state are separate and must remain that way. So, they plan it and I got to attend their meeting. They chose hymns, Scripture passages and readers, and ordered them. Mostly, I kept in quiet deference to their leadership, but I did suggest that one Joshua (1:1-9) passage might fit perfectly right before the message. That passage ended:

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

How many times can you command someone to “be strong and courageous?” I suppose until it takes, right? “Don’t be afraid…for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Sometimes moments are so noisy, it’s hard to hear God’s voice. In those spaces, it’s awfully helpful if He repeats it.

What is remarkable is the extent of the care God gives freely to us. We often think of God’s presence in one moment, comforting us, giving us peace, deliverance here and now. But this was proof that His hands had been working all along, even into this seemingly insignificant detail that meant the world to me. If His hands were holding me weeks earlier in the meeting, they were there months earlier as I was writing it, and they’d be there on the stage, behind a truly enormous pulpit.

And they were, the entire service was really beautiful, and I got to tell everyone in that room how much that same God loved them and would be with them wherever they go. I’m not right about everything, but I’m absolutely 100% spot on about that.

Un/Aware

In Genesis, chapter 28, verses 10-22: 10 Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Harran. 11 When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. 12 He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. 13 There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. 14 Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. 15 I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

16 When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” 17 He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

18 Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel, though the city used to be called Luz.

20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear 21 so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God 22 and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”

I know you’ve heard this story. I know you’ve heard me tell you why it’s so important. But it doesn’t hurt to hear it again. Some of us are moving to new homes in new towns. Some of us are welcoming new grandchildren. Some of us are struggling through transitions, celebrating transitions, probably struggling and celebrating at the same time. Some of us are graduating, and some of us are the parents of those graduating.

There is a joy in growth, but there is also a pain in the growing as well. We have been conditioned to eliminate (and if we can’t, ignore) that pain, but that pain is just as much a part of the growth as the joy. Most experiences, if we are engaged and authentic, are bittersweet, equally heartbreaking and euphoric. It’s the 2 hands theology; we hold everything with 2 hands. One hand is for the loss that is present in every change, the other is for the hope and wonder of those changes. In both hands is presence, beauty, depth, in both hands is boundless love.

It’s a short one today. Lean in, see that the LORD is surely in this place, shout “How awesome is this place!!!” And really live these amazing gifts He given of here, now, grace, peace, breath, this season, this day, and each other.

Friction

We’re working through a particularly challenging passage in 1 Corinthians (11:3), but why is it so challenging? It’s about headship, head coverings, and hairstyles. Aren’t there other passages that invite us into this kind of struggle? Probably Love your neighbor’ should be a major sticking point, or “Love your enemies” even more. What about the rich young ruler who is told to sell all of his stuff? Blessed are the poor in spirit?!? Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness? Why don’t these give me butterflies the size of birds, like this verse in Corinthians?

Maybe it’s because we’ve heard them so many times, we’re sort of numbed to the weight of what has actually been said. I’ve heard “Let It Be” 1,000 times, and it doesn’t break my heart anymore. So maybe that’s it, but I also wonder if it’s because we don’t take them quite as seriously as we could. This is a conversation worth having with ourselves, with each other, and especially with God, but it’s one we’re not going to have today.

This principle of headship is in our laps, what are we going to do with it? In fact, what do we do with any and all challenging, perhaps disagreeable, controversial, polarizing ideas and circumstances in our lives? What if your co-worker thinks very differently than you do? What if your sister voted for the “wrong” candidate? What if the person next to you in church holds a different interpretation or understanding of a parable of Jesus? What if she thinks a man is the head of a woman, or what if he doesn’t? What do we do with these treacherous areas between us in all relationships?

I know the Bible is teaching us about these principles – now, learning what, exactly, they’re teaching us is why we read and study, and probably changes over time, as we do. We don’t read the same book or step in the same river twice. These aphorisms, I suppose, are misused in this case. The book and the river remain the same, we do the changing. It’s a different Chad that reads that same book, a different foot that steps in the same river. Either way, you understand.

But the Bible is also teaching us how to handle the material, and how to handle the material in community. Do you think for a second all of the people at the church in Corinth were in lock step on every point? Actually, I bet Paul and Timothy (his apprentice) had conflicting ideas. We know the disciples did, they saw different behaviors, took different meanings from the words of Jesus. What do we do then? What if they disagreed with Paul, like we sometimes do?

The thing that drives us apart isn’t a divisive issue, it’s usually how tightly we hold those issues. We grip them so pridefully, tying our identity and worth to our right-ness.

What if we’re wrong? Does that exclude us from the love of Jesus? Certainly not. And what if they are wrong? They are still children of the Loving God. According to the 8th chapter of Romans, nothing at all can separate us from His love.

Of course theology is important, but as Paul is teaching us about what we believe, he is also giving lessons about how we believe. In the next chapter, he’ll tell us that the specific tenets of our faith, if they aren’t held in love, are just noise. Headship, homosexuality, abortion, war, money, materialism, authority, submission, sex, the list just goes on and on, we’re bound to hold different perspectives. I’m convinced the issues don’t divide, it’s us, when we stop talking and refuse to sit down together as family.

I’ve seen a new dynamic at the Bridge, one that allows us to walk right into these topics without hesitation. It’s why my mood is one of excitement instead of fear or trepidation. What we get to see on a weekly basis is how it can be, where the people are more significant than our fragile egos. It’s a beautiful picture of a Gospel identity, where hands are held, and the only name that matters is Jesus.

The Grass-Eating Ox We’ve Chosen

Psalm 106:20 says, “They traded their glorious God for a statue of a grass-eating ox!” I totally recognize we discussed this verse yesterday, but it’s so good, I wanted to share it again.

The Israelites, the chosen people of the Living God, who had just been rescued from slavery, at the first opportunity, coerce (really, it didn’t take too much coercion, they mostly just asked) Aaron to make them a statue of a golden calf to worship, which he does. They are the people He’s chosen. This is the lump of melted bling they’ve chosen.

I don’t imagine we have many golden calves in our homes, not too many statues we kneel in front of. This story is factual history, the golden calf was a real thing, but it’s also a metaphor. We are Israelites. We are afraid. We are asking where God is, will He come back, are we safe, what are we supposed to do now??? We still have golden calves, even if they’re not golden calves. So, the questions yesterday were, “What is our grass-eating ox? Where have we traded our glorious God for something much much less? Where have we set our hearts?”

Today, the question is, where has our fear deteriorated our faith, broken our state of love & trust, and led us to replace the True God with junk, just as the Israelites did in the wilderness thousands of years ago?

Maybe not junk, but certainly junk in comparison. Our work isn’t junk. Our children aren’t junk. Our spouses aren’t junk. But they don’t provide salvation, they don’t save. They don’t instill us with worth, they don’t give us the answer for the vital question we’re all asking, “Who am I?” They fade. They let us down. Statues break.

In the fish tank in front of me as I write, my son has a statue of a mechanical panther that is as awesome as any fish tank decoration you’ll ever see. I always had a No Fishing sign in my aquariums (aquaria? aquarii?) as a boy, and that was pretty awesome. This is even better. The fish swim through it, some lay along the base, the plecostomus (plecostomi?) suck on the legs, they really enjoy it. It gives texture, detail, pleasure. If it was gone, we’d all miss it a lot. When it wasn’t in there, I thought I could see longing in the gourami’s eyes. But if I reached into the water, took it out right now, and dropped on the kitchen floor, it would break. Our No Fishing signs broke from time to time. And that dumb golden calf at the foot of Mount Sinai broke, too. So I ask those questions only to say, it doesn’t matter. Abraham destroyed his dad’s idols and Moses ground the calf into powder. That’s the other thing about statues (idols), they can be removed. We can throw them out with the trash – symbolically, of course. We don’t need to actually throw our kids away, leave our spouses, or quit our jobs. They make the tanks we swim in so much cooler. We simply have to throw away their position at the top of our lives. We have to strip their ability to push the buttons or dictate our value.

(I make that sound easier than it is. It’s simple, but certainly not easy.)

We can decide today, each moment, over and over or for the first time, to set them on SomeOne Who doesn’t fade, change, break, or fail. SomeOne Who can tell us who we are, and why. We can let Him love us into a new reality, where statues can be relieved of the pressure of completing us. A new reality, where our missing pieces are found and we can stop looking for them in empty holes and hollow spaces. A new reality, where we will be free.

Trust Falls

As I’m working, studying, preparing, it’s very hard to focus on the small verses because today I’m preoccupied with the macro-view. The entire finished puzzle is obscuring the individual pieces. And that’s ok. But here’s where I am:

Last week, 1 Corinthians, chapter 10 began a historical account of Israel during the Exodus. That was strange, random, but we talked about why (a reminder as well as a warning) and that’s probably right, but now I think there’s another reason.

Earlier in this letter, Paul had been walking us through a way of life where we can subject our wants, desires, rights, our selves, in the service of another. That we should either eat or not eat idol-sacrificed meat, either accept or not accept payment for our ministry work. We have these rights, but the story doesn’t end with what we have, it’s only the beginning. What will we do with these rights of ours? And sometimes, what we are called to do is to not exercise them.

And that is overwhelming to even consider. The point is no longer to win, and we love to win. It’s not to be right, and we get so much of our value from our right-ness. It’s not to get anything. Seminal 80’s band Depeche Mode sings, “The grabbing hands grab all they can. All for themselves, after all. It’s a competitive world.” What are we grabbing?? What are we competing for??? In a culture that measures our worth in status, money, and power, how does a 2,000 year-old letter play that asks us to give those things away willingly? Not well. It’s not hard to see why the Scriptures are more and more marginalized, even inside the church. The theology of the prosperity gospel has so much more in common with the American Dream than the Sermon on the Mount and almost nothing in common with chapters 8 & 9 of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians.

If our worth isn’t measured in wins and losses, or net worth, or square feet, then how is it measured? How do I prove myself?

Paul answers that with a history. He acknowledges our fragile insecurities and desperate need to win with stories of clouds, seas, and communion. Whaaat?

The big ask is that we put ourselves second or third or last on purpose. It’s a trust fall, right? What if we do that, what if we lose, give up our right, release our white-knuckled grip on image-making and control? What if we stop running and everyone passes us, and Paul was wrong???? What if there isn’t enough, if we aren’t enough, and we are stripped bare and empty? What if we close our eyes, fall backwards and there’s no one to catch us?

Faith is not simply faith in anything. If I put my faith in my bunny, there’s a great chance she won’t come through in crisis. It matters absolutely in what (or Whom) we put that faith. So as Paul details manna, water, provision, rescue and salvation, he’s making the argument for faith in Jesus Christ. To follow Paul’s utterly terrifying counter-cultural invitation, there has to be someOne trustworthy to catch us. Is there?

So, yes, Paul, through the Exodus, reminds us to stay awake to the blessings and privileges crackling all around, warns us of the obstacles that we refuse to give up, AND also continues to frame all of human history as a series of glorious illustrations of God’s faithfulness. Our eyes are closed, we’re only waiting for the courage to fall into His arms and start living.

Tapioca Pudding

Sunday morning, as I was giving the message, I had a thought: “You have got to pull yourself together.” This sort of inner dialogue is not unusual. In fact, it’s not even that unusual to have them during the service. I prepare the way I do so that I can be sensitive to any promptings, instead of hyper-focusing on what I’ve said and what I have to say next. But this week, the “dialogue” was more like a scolding. And the voice in my head was absolutely right. I was apart, my heart felt muddy, confused, a little restless, distracted, and needed to be pulled back together.

Now, my history is one where I get moving down a path like this that inevitably leads to a deep freezing pool of self-loathing, telling myself I’m a mess, totally undisciplined, and I’ll never become anything other than who and what I am right now. So I overreact wildly. To address a perceived lack of time in the Scriptures, I’ll commit to an hour every morning, than an hour every afternoon, followed by a hour or 2 of meditation on what I’ve read. Or if I feel rotten, puffy, lethargic, and the number on the scale keeps climbing (which is, incidentally, what is happening the last few weeks), then I’ll decide to completely cut out all sugar, desserts, eliminate all snacks and maybe a meal, then increase my workout times from an hour to 3. And on and on.

For a few weeks, there has been one emergency after another dictating my schedule and attention. Instead of sheep, I’m counting phone calls and to-do items, and not surprisingly wake with a headache. Then, when people do and say the things that people say and do – we are the best, and we are the worst, right? – I feel a certain type of way, and all of that easily spills over into Sunday mornings until the Spirit chastises me and tells me to get it together, man. So naturally, I have the automatic reactive overdrive and decide all of the things I need to do to “get it together.”

I really love the creamed pearl tapioca pudding at Laudermilch’s, and this insanity got so bad that part of all the new me silliness was a life without creamed pearl tapioca. Insanity.

Like I said, this has been my history. And Jesus has already began the New Me transformation and will see it through (it says that in Philippians, and I believe it), so the first thing I do now is to turn my phone off and sit down to pray with my Bible. Where to start to get a word that would make sense of any of this, my fuzzy spinning head and heart, and bring the world outside into some semblance of focus? Just continue, is what we did. I’m working through the Psalms, so my reading began with Psalm 70 and, in verse 4, “But may all who search for You be filled with love and gladness.” I’m searching and would really appreciate being filled, that’s a good beginning.

Then I got to 74 and will spare you the pages and pages of journaling, but 74 is about getting off track, wrapped up in other circumstances, other people, unimportant questions, distracted wonderings, and self-pity. In other words, apparently I wrote it. It says somebody named Asaph did, but I’m not too sure. (Incidentally, there aren’t enough Asaph’s in the world anymore.)

(V.21-23) “Then I realized how bitter I had become..I was so foolish and ignorant…I must have seemed like a senseless animal…” Can we relate to those words or what?

But then, “Yet I still belong to You, You are holding my right hand. You will keep on guiding me, leading me…”

See, we create our lives, holding His hand, intentionally. Sometimes the decisions we make are bad ones, but other times, they’re not, and we simply need to be patient, take a breath and chill out for a minute. Getting it together doesn’t have to mean a wrecking ball – maybe it does – but it might just mean counting to 10. A knee-jerk reaction is rarely helpful or wise.

But this all hinges on the intentionality of creation. If we choose to be blown about by home repairs, unexpected bills and interpersonal friction, then we are prisoners of The Here and Now and The Here and Now gets the keys to who we are and will be.

It’s entirely possible that this post is messy and hard to follow, and that’s ok. I am messy and so are you, probably. And this beautiful process is messy and often hard to follow, with lots of stops and starts. The point is that we engage with us (our hearts, relationships, everything that matters) and figure out the weight of things, before we get stressed by the inevitable tension of living great, authentic lives. Then we don’t have to overreact, set unrealistic demands on ourselves, or even consider giving up that fantastic tapioca ever again