Jesus

3 Jobs For The Site Prompt

I write another blog, too, called lovewithacapitall.com. It’s a space where I talk about songs and movies and anything else that interests me. It’s sometimes not as specifically about Jesus as this one is, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t about Jesus at all. Everything is about Jesus.

This is the post I wrote last week. I wrote it here because it was sort of about my birthday, and if I had shared it then on the Bridge site, it was a little too much like fishing for Happy Birthday’s and expensive gifts. (I don’t personally know most of the people who read the love blog, so presents are unlikely.) I don’t want birthday presents anymore, I have already received all of the gifts I could ever want. But I do want to share this with you because we walk our paths together, and ostensibly, you care for me, so this is where & who I am, now at 48. Thank you for being here.

The site prompt is to list 3 jobs I’d pursue if money didn’t matter, which is a terrific door to enter, especially today. You see, it’s my birthday, and it’s interesting how things change over a lifetime.

When I was a younger man, birthdays were about celebrating me. (Now that I say it out loud, it seems like it should be a day to celebrate my mom – I was a 10lb baby – but maybe I was the best gift for her already, right? Ha. Anyway.) But now, pretty imperceptibly over the years, they have morphed into celebrating the people that are in my life. No longer celebrating me, but celebrating you for pouring into me in such wildly different and always beautiful ways. 

I try to be a pretty thoughtful person, authentic and self aware, which leads me into days and moments where I look backwards & forwards, but mostly, I look around. Where am I? Who am I, who have I become, and who am I becoming? A birthday, as my phone is busy with well wishes and funny gifs, is a good day for that sort of thing.

So, as for 3 jobs. 3. Lead singer in a rock band. I wish I could sing the songs I wish I could write. My sister and I are always grateful that we have been given the gift of feeling songs so deeply, we cry easily at chord changes and perfect lyrics. Given the choice, I would have written “I Can’t Help Myself,” by Gene or “Hey Jealousy,” by the Gin Blossoms, and been an awesome front man, doing high kicks like David Lee Roth and being cool, like Billy Idol.

2. Superhero. This kind of goes without saying, we’d all put superhero at #2. We’d rescue our love interests, catch bad guys, return purses, and just generally set things right. 

And at 1. Pastor of a local faith community, which, in a wonderful twist of fate, is the one I actually have. I used to say I have virtually no skills, certainly none with which I could ever make a living, but that turned out to be untrue. I’m not overflowing with cash or anything, but that never mattered too much to me. In every way that does mean anything, I am the wealthiest person I know. Falling in love with Jesus is the best thing that ever happened to me, for a million reasons. 

As I look at the 3, they’re very similar, aren’t they? I never connected that, until this very moment.

So. These 48 years that brought me here, with you, have been awesome – full of loss, pain, tears, heartbreak, laughter and unspeakable joy. I’m surrounded by the greatest people, doing the things I love to do; deadlifts, puzzles, watching dumb documentaries, listening, breathing, holding hands, kissing the Angel, loving God (and everybody else), and and and. That list could go on forever, I really love to do tons of things, but mostly I love to be here, now. So, how did I happen to get here? What did I do to deserve a life like this? Nothing. Nobody deserves a life like this. We just accept it, as the amazing grace that it is.

I am a very simple man, and I am overwhelmingly thankful. To paraphrase the best Dr. Seuss book, Horton Hatches The Egg: I am happy, 100 percent.

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?

Saturday Afternoons

Last week in this space, I wrote that I sometimes get the overwhelming privilege of officiating weddings. I’ve always liked weddings, because I have always really loved marriage. Even before I fell in love with Jesus, I found this particular gift of His deeply significant. I’m certain I wouldn’t have used the word sacred, but that’s exactly what I felt. In the best of situations, the space is thin, God stands with them as they make their promises before Him to each other. It’s impossible to understate the weight of this moment that will affect the rest of their lives.

Last Saturday, at a cool old barn in the country, I had the opportunity to do it again. I can be found on an app (a story too long to explain here, maybe another time), which means I don’t often know the couple as well as I’d like. These 2 were lovely, I knew that, and I liked them a lot, but at the time, as I arrived for the wedding, I didn’t know how extraordinary they were. (I could write forever, with great detail, but I’ll try to do my best not to. Try.)

The ceremony was outside on a perfect day, and as the guests filed in, they were dressed peculiarly. I didn’t know what was going on, except to say it was wonderful. I’d later ask and discover the style was called “steampunk.” As a very old man, I try to stay up on things, knew the word, had heard it before, but was unfamiliar with it in the wild. If you Google “steampunk” and choose images, you’ll see exactly what I saw.

Culturally, we are moving towards a blurry, undifferentiated everything. Nothing is set apart, nothing is special. People regularly show up late for everything, and that’s a shame, but we also show up late for weddings, and that is much worse than a shame. That is heartbreaking in its disrespect – for the couple, the commitment, and the institution, as well as for themselves. But we also now arrive dressed in t-shirts and shorts, as well. The lines defining common and sacred are erased, and in these cases, it doesn’t make everything sacred, it does the opposite.

These steampunks had prepared for weeks or months, and looked like all the money in the world. They cared so much for their friends and the day to set it aside, to make it different from all others. We should all have ‘family’ like them. Each one was absolutely stunning, fit for the first day of a new marriage.

My message is usually about the kind of love called agape, which is a love that doesn’t care if we want to. We see love not as selfish, temporary feelings and emotions, but as vital decisions made every minute of every day. This couple chose a film quotation to be read, and that passage, with lines like, “when [love as a feeling] subsides, you have to make a decision…love is not breathlessness…not excitement…not eternal passion…love is what’s left over…an art.” This “left over” love are “roots that grow towards each other.”

Then, then!!! The vows they wrote for, and read to, each other left all of us awestruck. He is not an overly gushy, public orator, but he was eloquent and soft, kind, awake to the gift he had been given. She began and spoke of love as noun, how he made her want to believe in it, but she still did not. She believes in the noun as verb, as a choice. In the most gorgeous poetry you’d ever hear, she detailed a list of “I will choose you’s.” I will choose you when we do this. I will choose you when we do that, when we feel this, when we don’t feel that, over and over, each one more impactful than the last.

When she finished, this professional officiant had no words. The right words were “please put the ring on her finger and repeat after me,” words I had said a hundred times, words I could utter in my sleep, and words I started no less than 3 times before realizing I could not say them at that particular moment.

We had not planned anything together, didn’t share messages with each other, this was solely the work of the God that was there, then, celebrating in that moment, and is also here, now, present in this moment. He moved in each of us, in our solitude, in our individual preparation (which was obviously never individual at all), to craft a masterpiece of divine love and revelation. Of course, I was speechless, how could I be anything else?

This matters today, because there are many things I don’t understand and cannot fix, that are emotionally exacting a great toll. Just one specific example of too many is the local school district, which is in ruins, crumbling around our heads as we whistle through the debris. I ask why? What is happening? What good could possibly come from this wreckage? What now? Doesn’t anyone see?

And as I ask/scream those questions, I am reminded of Saturday afternoon. I am reminded of the many previous “Saturday afternoons,” where God spectacularly revealed the Hands we were in, and were always in. If He was there, He might be here, too. Maybe instead of crumbling down, instead of falling apart, maybe these things are falling into place. Maybe to build His new masterpiece, He (or we) have to tear down the old. I’m not sure, I don’t have any evidence of any of it, but that’s what trust is, right? To have faith that the same God who brought Rachel & Brandon together and has been creating their wedding day for who knows how many years is also working in the schools, relationships and offices we think are broken beyond repair. Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe if we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts that work, He’s going to take our breath away, like He has a million times before.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Youth Sports, pt ???: Fathers & Sons

I think I said I was finished writing posts on youth sports. Apparently not…

As my son Samuel’s final high school baseball season comes to a close, and Elisha’s final summer baseball season begins, I’m doing quite a lot of reflecting on fathers and sons, baseball, sports, and just how deeply all of it has shaped me.

I grew up with a dad who was a ball player. He was very very good, played professionally, and cast a wide shadow. I was never nearly as good as he was – as much as I asked, nobody ever paid me to play – and never stopped to consider if I even wanted to play. I simply did; I was a ball player raised by a ball player. He coached me for many years, we connected on fields and in dugouts and on our back porch reliving each inning of each game. It was really the best. And it’s what we do here, too. Maybe these boys value it as much as I did or as much as I do (probably not, we have a different kind of relationship), but when we coach, play, watch, and rehash every pitch and at-bat, it’s like there are 4 of us in that room instead of the 3 we can see and touch. I wonder if my dad would make the same decisions I do – he would almost certainly not. But mostly, I think about how much he’d love to meet and watch my boys play, or do anything, how much he’d love to see them live their lives and become the men they’re becoming. I miss him more than I can tell you, especially in baseball season.

I’m sappy and sentimental because it was our first game last night (I coach Elisha’s 16u team). He pitched, the boys were terrific and we won comfortably. I am not too great as a head coach (we’ll get to that in a minute), but the players on this team are as talented as they are beautiful souls, so that means they make me look ok.

As a player, I looked for my value in wins and losses, just as my dad always did. We were competitive – it made him great and it made him awful. It just made me moody, with a fragile identity that hung solely on performance.

So I’m a coach that isn’t awesome. In fact, I’m so not awesome that last year the president of the league walked up and down the line of both sides of spectating parents and spectators (including THE ANGEL!!!!!) detailing my many faults as a coach. He’s right. I have 3 great friends (Paul, Bryan, and Justin, not to name anyone) who coach circles around me, I’ve ridden their coattails to several championships. But how awesome (or not) doesn’t matter at all to me anymore. I’m a different sort of coach.

My dad taught me to be a ball player, and then in my 30’s, my Father taught me to be a human being, taught me to be a man. As that New Father (always there, present, always holding His arms open) loved me, as me, regardless of performance, separate from wins, losses, hits, or strikeouts, He re-wrote my identity. Of course, this process is taking years and years, but I notice it’s effect.

Sometimes I notice it more than others. Like game day. I want these kids to know I love them. They’ll make errors, sometimes soooo many errors, and I’ll yell at them, but they will know they are loved and that they have a group of men who would do anything for them. I want them to understand that baseball is like life in so many ways, that how they show up here is how they’ll show up everywhere. I want them to know they have a Father, too, whose love is bigger, deeper, wider, than all of us put together could ever dream of.

This Father gave me my dad, my boys, the lovely Angel, those friends, this team, every day, every moment, and you, and I am very full and very thankful. But today, I’m mostly thinking about how He opened my heart and gave me me.