honesty

Deadlifts & Public Speaking

This is a 2nd post this week, and I don’t always like to do that. Added to that, it’s loooong. (I’m so excited I can barely stand myself – my books arrive today!!!) And I’m in the middle of a personal stretching, the me that was is not the me that is, and not the me that is going to be. Maybe we all are, and a looooong post on Jesus, basketball, deadlifts, Morrissey, and transformation will connect us today. My good friend calls it, “perfectly imperfect,” and that’s what we are. We are here and we are moving, always with Him. Here we go…

My favorite physical activity is a deadlift, and yes, I have given speeches and spoken on a stage. (These are my answers to the last 2 days of site prompts)

When asked, people are more afraid of public speaking than death. This seems strange at first, but I lost my house and everything in it in a flood in 2011. Many of us did. Others had inches or feet in their basements and first floors. The ones who lost everything put all of our ruined things on the front yard for dump trucks to pick up and haul away, and the house was bulldozed a year later. We didn’t have to deal with too much of the physical clean-up. The psychological, emotional and spiritual clean-up was a different story. Home can (and should) represent safety and security, and that was drowned with the carpets and doorknobs. You can buy a new end table, no stores sell peace. And watching your possessions scooped up onto industrial equipment as garbage is not a picture that quickly fades.

Anyway, the others with less water had to hire restoration companies, mold remediators, they had to replace their things, carefully watch weather reports… Yes, of course, no one’s house goes underwater, except ours did, and it certainly doesn’t twice, but try to sleep with statistical improbability when you’ve woken up to impossibility. In lots of ways, they had to deal with the catastrophic disaster in a much more present manner. Like public speaking. If you are terrible, you have to look at those faces again and again, they may remember and feel embarrassment for years.

Dying, like our flood experience, is walking away into a new blank space. We remember where we came from and what happened to our home, who knows if dying is like that? But we won’t have to look into the audience’s eyes and watch them struggle for comforting words. It’s why you don’t write a poem for your special lady and read it to her. You hand it to her on your way out the door after dinner and a goodnight kiss.

Love poems and death aren’t exactly the same, but the analogy holds up, I think. The vulnerability can feel like dying, and that’s what we’re afraid of, probably. Opening ourselves up to another, waiting in agony to see if we will be accepted or rejected. Will they like our speech and it’s content? Or will they like us, our personality, our way?

I quite like it now. Not everyone likes me, not everyone has to. That’s a new development, that I don’t have to be everyone’s favorite song. Some don’t like me at all. An old man left before the closing prayer like his hair was on fire after one Sunday sermon. I have some sharp edges and disagreeable positions, but that’s also why I might someday be somebody’s favorite song. Nobody cares too much about white bread, it’s nobody’s favorite, nobody’s worst. It just is fine. Like McDonald’s. It’s fine, kind of gross, but not gross enough to really matter.

Walking is great. Bicep curls and lateral raises are good enough, but nobody hates them, so nobody loves them, either. Deadlifts and squats, on the other hand… Mention Leg Day to your gym buddies and you will hear one of 2 responses. “I LOVE Leg Day,” or “I HATE Leg Day.” You either wake up early or look for any excuse to miss.

My brother can’t stand the sound of Morrissey’s voice. Nobody hates Coldplay. We all say we do, but that’s just for show. Coldplay is white bread. We don’t send sandwiches back because they’re on white bread, we don’t turn the radio station when “Yellow” comes on.

I don’t know what the point is. Maybe that we could be deadlifts and public speaking, if that’s what we are, instead of Coldplay and Applebee’s, manufactured to be sterile, inoffensive, and reach the widest audience. We can be exactly who we are, flaws, faults and rough spots, and many will love you just like that. Of course, many will not, and some people will even tell you that they don’t and why.

Perhaps the point IS absolutely to be deadlifts and public speaking, to open our hearts and souls and show vulnerability as whole, realized human beings, because to pretend to be anything else is just too much work. And lots of work in a meaningless pursuit is just plain silly. We have other things to do.

(That’s where the first post ended, but now I realize it was unfinished.)

At a particularly tense high school basketball game last night, emotions (including mine) ran high. And I wrote this last week: “On the way home, I expressed to the Angel that I can’t continue to get so worked up, that that isn’t who I am. But the thing is, I immediately realized, it is exactly who I am. I am a fiery, passionate man who loves sports and competition. I get excited easily at everything, highs and lows and everything in between.

Then, the next night, after committing to being even-keeled and calm, I pointed out that one boy was pushing another in the back with both hands over and over and over. It should have been helpful to the officials, because the 3 of them were obviously having a lot of trouble with the speed of the game and their responsibilities. It should also have been lost in the noise of the crowd, but everyone got dead quiet at that precise moment and my voice was the only one in the gym. So, I am that guy.

After the game, a family laughed at me – kindly, but still… And they wondered if I was like that on Sunday mornings. You have no idea. The answer is yes, of course.

A real problem (in every space, maybe especially the church) is hypocrisy, being different people in different spaces, pretending to be the image the situation wants. You can make a long list of my faults, but this is no longer one of them. I am just me. But like everything else, there’s no such thing as “just.” And like most everything else, the best thing about me is also the worst thing about me.

A wonderful development in my life is how I’m finally meeting the real, authentic me, and finding that I don’t hate that person at all. In fact, he’s alright. I just wish he’d calm down a little at high school games.”

Now, what you need to know is that I do not get confused; I am well aware that this is high school sports, and has no bearing on anyone’s worth or value, and has little consequence on a grander scale. Of course, that’s not to say they are meaningless. We could sing the praise of sports forever, detailing the endless positives we can all learn – about ourselves, others, gifts, teams, and our lives together.

So in these posts, the point was to be deadlifts & public speaking, and not hating ourselves because we’re not squats or scrapbooking.

BUT/AND…

After last night, I was gripped with what can only be called regret, very low level, but regret nonetheless. My mission is to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ, does this sort of behavior build walls or bridges? And the truth is, I’m not sure. Maybe for some, I’m a lunatic and this erects a thick wall, but for some, it might make me relatable and authentic and easier to approach. I am a lunatic in lots of ways, but an authentic, approachable, easy one. Those are all true. It’s the best and worst about me.

But the conviction quietly knocking, what about that?

I reached out to two trusted friends to ask, but didn’t need a response. The question was enough. We don’t ask what anyone thinks of drinking water or eating vegetables.

What if I’m not supposed to be a deadlift anymore. What if the Spirit is asking me to be a kettlebell swing? At least at basketball games, or home basketball games;) Should I continue to say, “I am a deadlift,” and isn’t that the opposite of humility and growth?

This is why a relationship with Jesus is so important, why true, working wisdom is vital to our lives. Maybe 2 weeks ago, the lesson was to love and accept me where I was, as a deadlift. But now, today, maybe the lesson is to not resign myself to always being a deadlift. I am a fiery, passionate man in the service of The King, not in the service of me, or “that’s just who I am.”

Lots of work in a meaningless pursuit is just plain silly, but which is the meaningless pursuit: change or acceptance? I can love the me God so lovingly created, and I can be transformed.

It’s almost New Years, a life of faith requires examination, what are the things to hold on to, and what are the things to leave behind? What is the work to do? I don’t need to be everyone’s favorite song, but the song I am must not be rooted in pride and rebellion.

Sports teaches a million lessons, this is just another one. I’m very thankful I have Jesus to guide me, and a community like you to walk alongside.

Be Very Careful

I finished my book, Be Very Careful Who You Marry, this week. As you can imagine, it’s a book about marriage. But it’s also a detailed look at the first 3 chapters of Genesis, as well as the Rupert Holmes song, “Escape (The Pine Colada song).”

It’s finished, but hasn’t been printed yet. First, before it goes to the printer, I sent it to several people to read. Just because I like it doesn’t mean anyone else will. There are those who lie and say, “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” Others actually mean it. I am neither. I care. This is not a vanity project. I didn’t sit in front of this computer typing and deleting away for years to satisfy my ravenous ego. The idea is that you would love it, that you would think it’s the best thing you’ve ever read and give it to everyone you know, but far more importantly, it is an invitation into a new depth in your own relationships, including your marriage (if you happen to be married. If you are not, it will still have much for you, it’s not only a marriage book.) As you already know, I believe loving each other is the way to repair the brokenness in this world. It’s a pyramid scheme that begins in our homes, then goes out to infect everybody else, which is only possible with the love of Jesus as The Engine that drives everything.

But this is not an advertisement. There will be one, but only when I have the book back in my hands and ready to hand out. This is another thing altogether, but the another thing altogether makes more sense if you know this is years in the making to arrive here.

So, I sent it out to finally allow eyes and hearts other than my own to see it, and that is an absolutely terrifying step to take.

When we ask questions, we give all of the power to the other person. They can say “no.” Or they can say “I hate your book. It’s a giant mess that makes no sense.” When we ask, we have to be prepared for all of the answers. When I proposed to The Angel in the peace garden at LVC, there was the distinct possibility that she would have broken my heart.

I did send it to my mom, so I was reasonably sure to have at least one big fan. She read the entire thing in one sitting and loved it, but she already thinks I’m the greatest. I wouldn’t have been prepared for all of the answers with her. But in my life, moms are the exception.

I hit send to share it, and paced around my house for an hour. I’m still sitting in that space of hope and anxiety, in TOTAL vulnerability. I am wide open.

And that is the point. Why would I do this? Why would any of us open ourselves up to be shattered – which, as we all are very well aware, happens? Why would we take shots if we might miss and become “the one who missed the last second shot?” And I am an awfully sensitive man, so I recognize the position into which I’ve put these people. Can you imagine if they do hate it? Now, they have to either lie to me, or worse, tell me the truth. Why why why???

We do this because we have been called into community and connection, neither of which is possible without an insane amount of vulnerability. Loving another person opens us up to unspeakable heartache. Giving carries the chance that the receiver will throw your gift straight into the trash can. But instead of giving some sweater you bought at Target, we’re giving ourselves. I’ve given years of work, and my heart on a platter.

It’s a risk-reward game where the reward doesn’t matter too much, honestly. The reward isn’t even what we think it is. We might never see them wear our sweater. We might never see them read our book and take one beautiful step towards their partner. And none of that matters, because everything matters. We give because Jesus gave, Jesus gives, and asks us to do the same. We forgive, serve, love because Jesus does and asks us to do the same.

So we do our version of “hitting send” over and over and over, we open ourselves, and in return, we get love or we get…well, not love. But we’re different afterwards, closer to Jesus and closer to who He’s created us to be.

We listen, participate, and offer it (whatever our IT is), and from there, it’s His. We follow, and of course it’s scary, but we haven’t ever been promised safety and comfort. In fact, we’re promised mostly the opposite. I guess in that sense, it really doesn’t matter what anyone thinks – there’s only really One sitting in the audience, and the gift is mostly what He cares about.

I still hope everybody likes it, anyway.

WAR

A very good friend asked me yesterday why we did not pray for Israel on Sunday morning. She thought it was something we should (and would) do, and she’s right. My embarrassing answer is that I simply did not know, had not heard. I read news email letters and blogs, but had not for days, and when I stood up to speak about the needs of the Church in Jerusalem in the early A.D.s, I did not know about the needs of the Jewish people in the early 2023.

The Church, and all local churches, have a duty to speak openly about everything – we can’t hide our heads from the intense glare of any subject, no matter how controversial or uncomfortable it makes us. This includes money, sex, homosexuality, politics, and on and on. This also includes war.

I prayerfully considered what to say, how to react to this heartbreaking reality. Last night I read a post on Instagram from a church in California called Mosaic, and it’s pastor Erwin McManus. Sometimes, the words of another capture our own perfectly. This is the post:

“We stand with Israel. We are all aware the conflict between Israel and Palestine is violent, tragic, and complicated. In war, innocent people die on both sides. However, the slaughter of innocent civilians including women, children and the elderly is not complicated. It is evil. Over 260 innocent Jewish people were killed by Hamas at a music festival. In comparison to the US population, it is the equivalent of murdering 9,000 citizens.

The actions of Hamas are not only tragic for the Jewish people, but they bring an inevitable escalation of violence that will result in the deaths of countless innocent Palestinians as well.

We extend empathy to the people in Palestine while condemning the actions of the Hamas terrorists who claim to act on their behalf.

We grieve with those who have lost loved ones and the comfort of feeling safe in their own homes. We stand with Israel and their right to not just exist, but to defend themselves.

We cannot believe the lie that peace between Israel and Palestine is impossible.

We stand in the gap with prayer. We pray for Israel. We pray for Palestine. We pray for peace. We pray for healing. We pray for the miraculous.”

We do stand with Israel. We stand with humanity. We stand against the horrors of violence, terror, and war. Period, full stop.

And now 2 things for us, thousands of miles away, to think about.

First, are our prayers enough? When someone is shivering outside on a cold January morning, do we walk by and say, “thoughts and prayers,” as we so often do? The Jewish people (and the innocent Palestinians, who are not part of Hamas) are shivering, freezing to death, what now? Is there anything for us to do, individually, corporately? Maybe. Maybe prayer is much, much more than enough.

Do we believe in the power of prayer to affect situations, in our lives, communities, or in conflicts halfway across the world? Do we really believe this?

That’s the 2nd – What exactly do we believe? Jesus says, “love your enemies,” what does that mean today? What does it look like to turn the other cheek, or to give them your cloak when they take your tunic? Jesus tells Peter to put his sword away, after he severs the ear of one of the Roman soldiers who had come to arrest Jesus, and ultimately lead Him to the cross. That is righteous violence, maybe the most righteous cause anyone has ever fought for, and Jesus tells him no, and then heals the soldier, who was actively participating in killing Him.

When McManus says, “the right…to defend themselves,” what does that mean? Of course, we are called to stand, to protect, to defend, but what do those words mean?

As long as we’re on the subject of words, what do forgiveness and grace mean? Do they apply? Who are we supposed to forgive “70 x 7 times?” Do we love? What does love look like in spaces like this? Does our forgiveness, grace, and love include Hamas?

They are still children of God, whether they know it, or whether they care, or whether they act like it – now what does that mean? What would Jesus do?

Is our theology realistic here, now, in 2023?

I might know what I think. I might know what I want to think. I might acknowledge that they are sometimes different. These are incredibly complex questions, with no easy answers, but it’s absolutely vital that we keep asking them.

We stand in the gap with prayer. We pray for Israel. We pray for Palestine. We pray for peace. We pray for healing. We pray for the miraculous.

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.” (Rev. 22:20-21)

Influence

The Halloween season is here again, and there is almost nothing I like about it. I don’t like giant spiders and killer clowns, hate being scared, and generally don’t appreciate the pall of darkness. The last horror movie I saw was Saw the week Samuel was born, who is now 18 years old. I can’t imagine the circumstances where I’ll ever see another – I turn the channel or look away when trailers come on tv.

I don’t hate handing out ever-shrinking sizes of candy to cute neighborhood children dressed like Woody & Buzz walking with their parents. But sometimes they’re vampires or clowns, and the fun of Halloween is gone.

Now, if you know me at all, just because I’m not a Halloween person doesn’t mean you can’t be. I don’t want to make clown masks or scary yard cobwebs and skeletons illegal. Enjoy. Perhaps you don’t love everything I love, either. It’s the differences that add texture and color to our lives.

There is a family who lives in my town who, every Halloween season, creates a horrific hellscape of death in front of their house, complete with life-size bodies hanging by their necks from a gallows along main street. Again, I’m not suggesting the township legislate just how creepy or disturbing anybody’s house can be, but it does have me thinking about the verse in 1st Corinthians 15, “bad company corrupts good habits,” and the many ways we’re influenced.

When my boys were very young, the Angel and I noticed a peculiar causation. When they would watch extended periods of Tom & Jerry, they would become increasingly aggressive and violent. We would put Kipper or the Backyardigans (NEVER Caillou!!!!!!) on instead, and the peaceful sweetness would immediately return.

The things we put into our ears, eyes, heads and hearts matter, they have the power to subtly (or not so subtly) change us.

I know, I know, we are not the type to be swayed. We are the exceptions. We’re “mighty,” like Thor (in Age of Ultron), unable to be manipulated, right up until the point where he is manipulated. There is a reason bazillions of dollars are spent on advertising & marketing. So, even though we are very mighty, it’s still very important that we pay close attention to what, and to whom, we are giving our time and attention.

Spend time with The Complainers at work, and see if we don’t begin seeing half-empty glasses all over the place.

We can think our marriages are boring and broken because the carefully curated marriages we see for hours scrolling through Facebook are soooooo wonderful, everybody’s perfect and totally fulfilled. Except they’re usually not.

If we watched tons of pornography, we might start to think it’s real, that sex is actually like that, or that we are actually like that.

It matters what food we put into our bodies. If we ate nothing but candy bars, that would have an effect on how we feel, how we think, what we do, right? Why are the songs we listen to or books we read any different? Or the people we follow, on TikTok or in real life?

They’re not.

The good news is that it works both ways. There are people who bring out the best in us, movies that inspire us, Instagram feeds that engage & push us forward. I think Paul probably had in mind this family in my town and their Halloween decorations when he wrote (in Philippians 4:8), “Finally, brothers and sisters, 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.”

Here’s what’s interesting: maybe Halloween is “lovely” and “excellent” to you. Maybe this nightmare-ish scene inspires you and helps you to see the boundless creativity that God gave to all of us. Maybe you see Jesus as she plays her version of the Gospel song. Just because I don’t understand that doesn’t make it impossible. Tom & Jerry didn’t make me want to punch anyone. But we need to ask the questions for ourselves, with the guidance of The Spirit, we need to step back and look at what is going into our souls, what all of that input is doing once it gets inside, and if the effect is really a positive one.

We’ll just stay away from Caillou and clowns, though, ok?

Questions…

“…as we contemplate how we spend our time and money, it’s important that we realize that being a healthy member of a healthy church will have a direct impact on those issues as well. There’s nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church.

I’ve seen evidence of this firsthand as I’ve had conversation after conversation with fathers and mothers who are committed to family discipleship, but who are struggling tremendously as they either attend an unhealthy church or no church at all. These families don’t testify of overwhelming joy and fulfillment because “family is enough.” On the contrary, they testify to struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair.

Family discipleship is absolutely critical, but there’s no substitute for healthy membership in a healthy local church.”

Voddie Baucham Jr wrote that in a book called Family Shepherds. It’s the perfect kind of book; it’s convicting, challenging, an absolute call up to me (and, honestly, probably all of us), but it is also a book with which I don’t always agree. These parts engage me, invite me to dive a bit more deeply into what I say I believe, what I truly believe, if they are the same, and why I believe those things. Then I am satisfied because I still disagree (based on solid teaching, learning, understanding, and/or practice) or, in a very uncomfortable twist, I am left untethered to my own ideas (either because they come from a faulty theology, a cultural hijacking of my spirituality, or from nowhere at all, simply because I’ve never examined them) and have a decision to make. Do I let go of the known past and step into the unknown abyss? Or do I continue to cling to old, wrong, misguided baggage?

You already know which I’d prefer to choose. You also know which I actually choose.

This is not why I included the earlier quote, it’s just why I care about the book, and why I like it so much.

I included the passage because it confronts all of us, on some level or another. Do we belong to a local church? Should we? Do we take it seriously? What exactly is family discipleship? What do we testify to, in our own lives and families? Is it joy and fulfillment? Or is our story one of struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair? What does it mean to have a “healthy” membership? What is a “healthy” local church? Is the Bridge one of those?

3 small-ish paragraphs that beg soooo many questions. Are we asking them or just turning the page? Are we wrestling with these concepts or falling asleep as we try to finish the chapter?

Is there really “nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church?” It feels like a conflict of interest for me to ask these questions, because I happen to know of a local church that would love to have you. But if I take my job seriously, my purpose isn’t to increase Sunday morning attendance (well, I suppose it is a purpose, or part of a purpose, but it’s nowhere close to THE main purpose, which is to share the Gospel, point everybody to Jesus, tell & show them He loves us here and now, loving in the way I do all along the way). My professional and my personal missions happen to be the same, so my call is to ask questions that will lead us to who we really are, which will always, always lead us to Him.

Maybe there isn’t a clever last line to this post. I usually like to do that;) But maybe we’re just asking questions and figuring out if we’ll answer them honestly, and then, if we’ll move based on those answers. Who knows? I just love that we can find out together.

A Short Post On Perspective

All 4 of us who live in this house eat dinner together nearly every night, and I dream it’s the best part of each of our days. It certainly is, for me. I am very grateful. So last night, the boys shared a cool story of 2 local brothers making music on SoundCloud (a music sharing website). I can’t tell you how much I love the idea of everyone having the opportunity and space to share their God-given creativity.

The internet has so many dangers and vicious traps, but it also overflows with beauty and connection. It is a place of possibility.

The boys who made the songs are what I would kindly label, or what we would’ve labeled when I was young, “at risk.” They are often in trouble, of various kinds and of various severity. I have a small relationship with one who comes into the weight room, (the other not so much), and have real concerns about both. Different, but equally serious, concerns for each.

But this SoundCloud situation elated me. I didn’t imagine the songs would be particularly good, not something I’d ‘like,’ but that’s hardly the point, is it? They were expressing themselves in a positive fashion and not in any one of the million negative ways that are open to them. Knowing them fairly well, we laughed at the prospect of what they would consider art. Art is subjective, but let’s be honest, not all is awesome. We found their page and clicked on the first track.

What was funny and wonderful turned on the first word. Smiles immediately disappeared, as our hearts wept together.

One of the best things about artistic expression is that we can learn the things we’d never say out loud. I knew these boys were broken, but had no idea how deeply.

The point is this. The one I know is mostly quiet and lonely, which can come across as surly and disrespectful. The other is surly and disrespectful. Neither is particularly likable, they can be quite nasty and stand-offish. And that can drive us all away. After all, we don’t seek out people who are distant and mean to us.

But these kids are severely broken. We know the ones who appear to like others the least like themselves least of all. And it’s not even close. As followers of the Living Christ, we are called to love everybody, so what does that look like, in this circumstance? It surely won’t look the same for each of us, but the first step is shifting our perspective. They aren’t punk kids, or freaks, or anything else.

They’re our kids, and they’re hurting. Now what?

Teleological

“Don, all relationships are teleological.”

I asked him what the word teleological means.

“It means they’re going somewhere,” Al said. “All relationships are living and alive and moving and becoming something. My question to you,” Al said seriously, “is, where is the relationship you’ve started with this woman going?”

This is a passage from a book called Scary Close, by Donald Miller (who wrote Blue Like Jazz, which happens to be the very first spiritual book I ever read.) It’s about plans and visions. He later writes, “I would never walk into my office without a plan. As the leader of my company, my team depends on me to know where we are going and how important each of them are to the journey. I can’t believe I almost went into my marriage, which is infinitely more important than my business, without a plan.”

He’s writing about a romantic relationship, and his point is deeply convicting to me. It’s making me consider where my marriage is going, and if it’s actually where we think it is, and if it encompasses the values we both hold. Sometimes, we can start with a plan (loosely held, of course – God has a way of changing the plans written in pen) and over time, for whatever reason (busyness, distraction, laziness, success, career, taking the other for granted, and on and on), we lose or ignore our initial vision. Then we’re just moving mindlessly, hoping to end somewhere good.

But that’s not exactly what I want to talk about here, together in this space. The word teleological is used here to describe relationships, and that might be the only proper usage, but I haven’t really cared about proper usage before, so I’m not going to start now. Our own interior lives – physically, emotionally, intellectually, and I would suggest most importantly, spiritually – are teleological, too. We are going somewhere, and to pretend that we’re not, or that we can move in a certain direction without a plan, is itself a plan, but it’s a dangerous one that will lead nowhere.

We have 5 year strategic plans at work, but none for our greatest work of art; our lives.

It is confusing (and sort of maddening, if I’m honest) that we would be so resistant to change, if we choose to be intentional with our lives. We notice there’s food between our teeth, so we decide to floss (and then floss). That sounds reasonably obvious. But when we notice red lights on our dashboard or food between the metaphorical teeth of our soul, we completely ignore it, and we justify that, in ourselves and others, as being our fear of change.

We’re going somewhere. So, where is it? Are we leaning into a new future, holding on to the past, or just sitting down in the aisle like I used to do in the toy section of the Hills department store, hoping eventually to get what I want.

A plan doesn’t mean it’ll be easy or smooth, it simply means we get to choose our pain. Will the inevitable pain be meaningful, as we are on the road to becoming who we have been created to be? Or will it be random and chaotic, just turbulence on the dark road where we happen to find ourselves, with no purpose or significance?

But it does require examination, honesty, vulnerability, and courage; 4 characteristics that have been phased out by comfort, immediate gratification, and convenience. It’s really time to take them back, to take us back. We are Resurrection people, who desperately need to engage our imaginations, invite them back into our lives and dream again about where this could all go, if we would only show up.

How It Was Supposed To Go

Sunday’s sermon was supposed to look a different way, supposed to feel a different way. Usually, I create inside of a narrative (sometimes stated, but more often in my head giving directions). There is a thread that runs through everything, each point, connecting the verses we study like a puzzle.

Last week’s message in my notebook/iPad was not unusual in this regard. It was entitled “Loving?” and followed this framework. The transitions were in place, the pieces formed a single cohesive talk. This was how it was supposed to go, as if we were walking a smoothly paved path – even if we didn’t know quite where it would lead.

Of course, it wasn’t smooth and it wasn’t cohesive. I was pretty surprised to discover that it was much more of a series of bullet points, rather than a story. And, added to that, the natural conflict & dissonance contained in the topic (boundaries) was more pronounced than expected. Instead of a smooth path, it was a trail that was poorly marked with uncertain footing.

I didn’t like the feeling. I felt exposed and vulnerable. This was not how it was supposed to go at all. I prepare well, write and write, edit, soak in the teaching before trying to convey it; I am very careful and aware of potential turbulence or danger zones.

Each week, I say to the Angel afterwards, “did everything make sense?” Sunday I didn’t. Never ask a question if you’re not prepared for all answers, right?

Immediately following the message, in the narthex during the final worship song, it clicked in my head, the path and the connections clearly emerged. It would have been very nice to see a few hours earlier, but we don’t always get to choose.

And after a full day reflecting on the morning, that’s probably the point. We don’t always get to choose. When I say, “how it was supposed to be,” how else could my posture be but arrogant? As if I know! How is it supposed to be? Who knows? Why couldn’t God have spoon fed me that realization hours earlier? Maybe to illustrate my futile attempts to control Him…

This, obviously, doesn’t discount my preparation. I know the message backwards and forwards, so that I can be sensitive to The Spirit and to the hearts of the listeners. We control what we can, and then we release the rest. Except when we fall into the lie that all is “what we can” control and try not to release anything. Except when we decide “how it is supposed to be.” I think I know, and again and again, I am faced with the harsh truth that His ways are higher than mine.

This message, the one that felt disjointed and awkward, left the room dead quiet as we all (me too, the disruption opened me up in new ways to these truths) wrestled with, first, the fact that boundaries are just an extension of our too-narrow definition of love. Then, then: Love (agape) without action might not be (and most likely isn’t) love at all.

No story of mine, no amount of craft or artistry could clarify those lessons. In fact, perhaps craft and artistry could’ve unintentionally obstructed their impact. Maybe they needed the unsettling atmosphere to tear down our tightly constructed walls of comfort.

I sure wasn’t comfortable, my walls were certainly exposed to those wrecking balls (and many others) and agape doesn’t care. Agape doesn’t care how I think it’s “supposed to go,” and couldn’t possibly care less about my control. I don’t know that I would’ve chosen this new route. But it’s best that He leads this, and every, journey, because when we can finally let go and stop trying to strangle each second with our white-knuckled expectations, we get to experience some very sacred moments together. Like Sunday.

Last Night

This is what I just wrote for my personal blog (lovewithacapitall.com). I’m posting it here, for you, a little because baseball has taken so much of my time. But mostly because you care for me so much and so well, and I think you’d like to know what happened…

With this blank screen in front of me, I know what I want to say, I just don’t know how to say it. Or even if I should, Our words should be used to build, and that is usually what I try to do in this space, but sometimes the point is in our bad behavior, hidden in our our most regrettable moments. And writing anything is about honesty, especially in a non-fiction blog situation. If we feel like the writer is curating an image, what on earth is the point? Anybody can wear a mask and lie. The only way to find connection is through a mutual authenticity, and sometimes that is ugly on the outside.

Last night the baseball season ended. The first day, I sat the boys down and said something like, teenage boys are awful a lot of the time. But that’s only because they usually deal in Lord of the Flies type social dynamics. They’re mean, sarcastic, cutting. They mock and tease, try to shrink others to make themselves appear taller. This is ridiculous and rooted, as everyone knows, in fear and a raging insecurity. They wear masks to try to hide the overwhelming inadequacy in their hearts. 

Of course, this is not just teenage boys. It’s just as much women at your office or men at the grocery store. We act out of our perceived lack, and that makes us nasty and awfully dangerous.

So I tell them we will not do that here, we will operate from a different reality. You don’t have to be insecure here, you don’t have to be afraid. We’ll stand up straight, support and love each other. And that’s largely what happened. Errors and mistakes were easily forgotten, lots and lots of encouragement was poured out like water, and we won everything there was to win.

A side note: It’s not often enough that the best people are the best performers. The kindest, gentlest, most caring people don’t always win. When they do, as was the case this season, it must be acknowledged and savored. As written in the masterpiece Horton Hatches The Egg, “and it should be, it should be, it should be like that!”

Last night was the league celebration, where they got the trophies they had earned through hard work and commitment – to themselves, their gifts, the game, and each other. The second place team in the year end tournament was also there to collect theirs, as well. 

Then the coach was invited to give the medals to the players, and he (clad in sunglasses and a skull t-shirt instead of a team/sponsor/uniform shirt), wearing an uninterested disguise, walked to the front, using foul language and disrespect as weapons.

Another side note: I don’t mind foul language, not much is offensive to me, but there is a time and a place. A youth sports event, in front of the league administration, players and parents, is not the place (whether they’ve all ‘heard it before’ or not.)

He handed his medals to the players without regard for them and their work. Then as we got ours, he made a derisive comment and they all refused to acknowledge any of us, as we collected tournament and league championships, and our players received their all-tournament & MVP awards. 

It was so so sad. It might have been something, anything else if the behavior wasn’t so hollow and obvious. My heart broke out loud, I wanted to cry and give him a hug.

My question was, why? Why would anyone want to discount or diminish an achievement, any achievement, of another? But I already know. The desperate quest for proving your worth, and the accompanying terror of not knowing if you’ll ever find it, is very powerful and has crushed far more than just him.

I don’t know if my team made the connection. When we were alone, I reiterated the importance of living free of the inadequacy/insecurity that weighs down so many of our moments – I wonder if they recognized that they were given a perfect illustration of the result of a lifetime under the vicious boot of unworthiness, like the ghost of Christmas future.

As for the boys I coached, I told them they were beautiful, that I was so proud of them (championship or not), and that they were loved. I told them every minute we spent together was an honor for which I could never adequately express. Then we said goodbye for the last time this season.

As for that guy, I wish he hadn’t embarrassed himself so thoroughly. But more, I wish and pray that he finds some sort of peace in who he is and feels the familiar arms of a loving God around him, whispering in his ear that he is, and has always been, loved.

And as for me, (to again borrow from Horton and his egg), they sent me home happy, one hundred percent.

A Choice

We’re moving through a section in Scripture on the Spiritual Gifts in Paul’s 1st letter to the Corinthians (chapter 12). In the message yesterday, while discussing the gift called “the Discerning of Spirits,” I revealed the Angel has this supernatural gift. She knows things about people immediately upon meeting, and I don’t. I naively just like/trust/believe everyone, so I ask her to tell me if I should, and then behave accordingly. Or as accordingly as I am able.

It all sounds so easy and neat, like it doesn’t hurt to submit to her giftedness, or hasn’t taken years and years. It’s not, it does (or, it did), and it has.

Spoken while explaining several of the gifts, this sort of submission was implied in all of them.

Some people have wisdom and the ability to counsel from this platform. At that point, we face a pretty rough choice. Will we listen? Will we follow the advise? Will we submit to the wisdom of another? And will we submit when it contrasts with our ideas or actions? That’s the trick, and the answer is usually no, in a landslide.

When the Angel began to share this gift with me, I never ever listened. After all, I knew better – because I always knew/know better. I liked them, they were funny and cool, and her lovely scrunched up eyebrows were needlessly suspicious and cynical. I was forgiving and un-judgmental. And then she was proven right. And then she was again. And again. And again and again and again. I didn’t know better, after all, and that is a bitter pill to swallow. Now, when people want me to meet someone special to see what I think, I say, “that’s fine, I’d love to meet them (because I love to meet everyone), but what about Angel? When will they meet her???” She wasn’t ever judgmental, and I wasn’t more forgiving, she was very wise in these circumstances, and I wasn’t. I still am not. I didn’t love people more than her, she loves everybody, too, just in what may look like a different way than me.

Note: this doesn’t happen too often. People, by and large, are awesome, trustworthy, and beautiful.

I work in a weight room and am involved in training some young people. I share what I’ve learned, and nearly every one discounts it in favor of what their little buddies say or heard on TikTok or what they’re already doing. We’re all mostly the same, our stubborn pride isn’t a characteristic that fades with age or maturity. It only dims with attention, awareness, and the humility to remind ourselves that it’s possible that we might not know every single thing. There is a chance, however slight, that someone could know more or have insight to which we might be blind.

Entire MASSIVE industries are built upon defending our prideful arrogance. The loop of “you’re right, smart, and in…they’re wrong, dumb, and out.” We won’t be “judged.” It’s our opinion that matters – “trust yourself, follow your truth.” And we will fiercely protect where and who we are right now. We will not be anything so antiquated as “wrong” or “mistaken.” The lifestyle might be unhealthy, but it is mine, mine, mine.

I’m wise in other areas. I have lots of other gifts, and so do you. As far as my instinctual (sometimes misguided) enjoyment of everybody, I now like that part of me, and so do you, right? I’m ok being wrong. Wrong isn’t so bad, anyway. It means we are dynamic beings, we change and our opinions evolve with knowledge and experience. It’s what’s called a growth mindset in the local elementary school. It’s also what Jesus calls us into, to lay that arrogance down and wrap our arms around Him instead. As long as we’re living these loops, building walls to protect the altars to ourselves, we can’t grow, and if we stay tied to who we are now, we can’t become all that He’s created us to be.