Sunday, December 25, 2011

the morning after


It's nearly 2 AM and I'm curled up in bed reflecting on another Christmas. Every Christmas is vastly different from the one before. This Christmas, when trying to come up with a word, was simply...good. I suppose what I mean is that everything that happened somehow, I'm believing, was the way it should be. It was a Christmas of limited resources, and one that marks the end of one chapter of my life and begins another. Tomorrow begins a week of much preparation.

I was listening to a radio show about how, in the midst of all of the celebrating, Christmas is a day with intrinsic dissapointment. It's a day where our hopes are set so high that it's impossible for the day to meet the challenge. In other words, it's a day we realize that we don't get everything we want.

I had to admit that it was true, I wasn't driving home with everything I wanted. There are a few things that I would like to be carrying with me. But I'm not sure I felt dissapointed. In fact, I'm satisfied. Sure, there are parts of my soul sipping a late night bourbon with Blue Christmas playing on the jukebox, but as I returned home and considered the day, I know it was a day well spent. I used the resources I had to tell people in different ways how they matter to me, got to celebrate with people I love from morning worship through the wee hours, was comforted by text exchanges from my children that they are well, and filled my belly with good food and wine.

No room for complaining there. Tomorrow

I'm going to get up and try all those things again.

In my final reflection, I think that might just be the point. I love Christmas because it's the beginning of the conversation of love and not merely an annual shout-out. Tomorrow I'm going to get up and I hope to spend time with people I care deeply for, spend my resources on making the world better for myself and them, interact with my boys, and end the day proud of how I lived. I'm guessing I'll end the day with a few items on my wish list, but if I'm given a whole other day I'll keep walking like I did today. I want to end each day proud of how I lived, how I gave, and how I loved. I don't want to waste a moment on dissapointment that I could be spending embracing the wonder of every season.

It's the day after...now let's get to living.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

I thought the restaurant was closed at first. The entire place was eerily empty.  I watched a small group stroll across the parking lot toward the door and I waited before parking my truck to see if they gained entrance.  As the door gave way to their efforts I pulled into the nearest space and walked in. I stood behind them to discover that they were a family visiting where a young man in the midst worked. They were quick to make note that I was a "real customer" and I made my order and sat down. I felt like I was in a movie scene. Christmas eve, a man in a suit sits all alone in an empty restaurant. 

I thought about it for a moment. 

Today was a day of good work. Last night I built a Christmas world for my boys that could only be described as grace. Good gifts...lots of them...flowed from the Christmas tree that my children would soon (and sooner than I expected) begin to enjoy. We spent the morning together and I sent them off with their mother to spend a week with their grandparents. I went to work on some last minute things for the people I have left to give to, took a shower, and went to get ready for the Christmas eve family service that I would be running that evening. 

It's now over.

Now I'm enjoying a salad and bowl of soup reflecting on what I was able to give. 

And I'm proud.

My feet hurt. I can feel the finish line behind me. It's been over a month of planning and saving and scrimping to make Christmas happen. There have been unexpected obstacles along the way, but it came anyway. Christmas has come and I made it here.

In this season, it's not possible or practical that I do anything but sit in a quiet moment tonight. Choices have been made and I spend the holiday alone. It's part of the deal. However, the love that has been given to me allows me to spend a great deal on the people I care about and to those I'm called to serve. 

For now, I'm spent.

For now, I simply celebrate the silent night.

In a moment, I'm going to get up and go to a family service with people I've grown to care deeply about. I've got more loving to do with them and then I'm going to send them off to where they need to be...hopefully with something I leave behind in them. I'll head home, maybe have some egg nog, and breathe a sigh of a season well done and say a prayer that the next year will be more than the last. 

I've been given a great grace tonight. Visible in the solitary silent night. 

To the child of grace who became the man of love who has lived in my shoes, I simply whisper "thank you."

Merry Christmas to all...and to all a good night.

Michael

Thursday, December 8, 2011

the gift of the magi...considered

The soles of my boots are falling off. They are a brand that is supposed to be guaranteed for life...but I'm thinking that they didn't expect a man to wear them every single day for the last 4 years. I suppose a little wear is acceptable. As I considered what glue might work, I noticed the game system I bought for Jack, the guitar I bought for Taylor, and the bag of other gifts, purchased for the ones I love. The money spent on those gifts would buy me a killer pair of boots. I could walk across the country in them. Instead, I bought gifts for my children.

What was I thinking?

Remember the story "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry? A man sells his prized possession, a pocket watch, to buy his wife hair combs, only do discover that she has cut her hair to buy him a watch fob.

(insert "awwww" here)

Yeah, pretty much the best Christmas ever.

Gift giving is one of those illogical things we do as humans. We give, often sacrificially, out of our limited resources. The goal, it seems, is merely to see another human smile.

What are we thinking?

Truly, it's in our DNA. In the season in which we celebrate God's love gift, we find ourselves acting a bit more like Him. I think that's why it's "the most wonderful time of the year"...because it's this season we act a bit more like we were designed to act. He gave and it filled Him with joy equal to the sacrifice.

That's a lot of joy...we seldom consider the joy of God.

So, I'm happy to wear my old boots, because in just a few weeks, my children and a handful of people who live in my heart will open something i picked out for them. It will be a great day.

I won't, for even a moment, think the sacrifice of this month wasn't worth it.

But, if you could recommend a good glue...I'd appreciate it.


Thursday, December 1, 2011

Santa...one year later


A year after writing the stories and reflections from Santaland, I found myself on I-95 driving toward Richmond, VA. Our plan for months was to go and visit Santa…our Santa…when he returned to the Bridgewater mall.  We would have him again for thanksgiving and take him out for dinner or a glass of White Zinfandel, Santa’s preferred wine, a few times in the season.
But, after nearly a decade at Bridgewater Mall, Santa, our Santa, had been assigned to a small mall in Richmond VA.
It would require an all-night drive, and a lot of coffee, but we would be there when Santa started his shift and have yet another cup of coffee with this man we have come to love.
It was a perfect sunny morning, wildly different than the grey rain that we left in NJ. Taking it as God’s grace, we parked outside the Macy’s and entered the last leg of our mission. We were on the top floor and knew that all we had to do was to look for the tree. Santa is always under the tree.  Sure enough, following star on the top of the mall tree like Magi led us to our intended target…
Santa.
We all agreed to position ourselves on the top railing and look down at the Santa photo set and do some spying. There was Santa, holding court with the people whose job it was to make kids smile, take pictures, and sell frames. There were no kids in line, it was early yet, and the economy had driven people from hitting the stores in this blue collar neighborhood. Santa looked up and gave us a very santa-like wave - regal, almost like queen elizabeth, - until he realized who it was that was spying on him.
It should be noted again that this man is Santa Claus. He believes he has been given a God-given call to bring belief into the world and he never cracks character…at least he hadn’t until this moment where recognition hit him and he threw his hands in the air and shouted as he leapt from his chair. We made our way down the escalator, and, after walking around the entire set trying to find our way in, was greeted with the warm and velour of a hug from Santa Claus.
Santa was in shock.
“I can’t believe you guys” he would say over and over…ironic considering that Santa should be believing in good things. Truth is, I know Santa, and I know his story. With all of the love that he gives and all the faith he dispenses every day, his life from January through October isn’t one of being surrounded by the joys of the season. His life, like many of ours, is rife with challenges and his life, like I began telling you in this book, hadn’t turned out the way he had planned.
When you are in the red suit it’s easy to believe in good things for others, but believing in good things for yourself is sometimes insurmountable. 
I get that.
Love is my job. I sell faith like James Brown. There isn’t an insincere moment in my sell. I really believe. I think the fact that I really believe makes me good at what I do. People have enough alternate agenda in their lives…a man who truly believes, and is honest about the perfectly imperfect nature of our journey, is a welcome change. I, like Santa, have no problem believing in good things for everyone else, but it has taken some time to believe in good things for me.
Santa’s shock tells me that he expects to be the giver…
…we made him a receiver. 
Breaking protocol, Santa took us for a walk, asking the helpers to alert him if children arrived. They didn’t have to, children found Santa. He paused with each of them. Some shared their wishes and others bashfully waved. And in-between the moments of his call he did was came natural to him…
…He asked our stories.
He was excited to discover how we had travelled farther and listened with compassion as we discussed the places we had yet to travel. It is amazing how easy it is to tell your story to someone you know is really listening. 
We walked back to the set, and got our picture taken with him…repeating our poses from last year. 
The woman behind the camera, I assume for the first time ever, had to tell Santa to smile. I looked and there was a tear forming in the eye of my friend. A couple of jokes and we turned back to the camera with joyful smiles and a received photo to treasure for the rest of our lives. 
We enjoyed some final exchanges of hugs and a gave a gift before saying goodbye.
Santa only said one word. With a detectable Georgia drawl he simply said
“Bye”
The quiver on his lip told me it was the only word he could get out and it was time to go. If we lingered any longer or if he said anything further, Santa would break character. He couldn’t do that. Santa was on a mission and there was a family in the giant snow globe waiting to believe…again.
It’s not often that you get to give to Santa. 
On the return trip the realization set in that we were returning to our moment in the journey. There were people to love and things to figure out. We were farther in the journey, but there was a lot more road to go. We wake up everyday and just love the best we can. The love we had in the moment was more than enough to sustain us another day.
Santa taught us that.
Jesus taught him that.
Here’s to waking up every day and believing…just one more time.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Jesus in my hip flask


It was a Sunday afternoon as I poured remnants of the communion wine into the hip flask that my sons gave me three father’s days ago. In my world, there is nothing incongruent about any of those words together. So many unlikely elements have come together in my story of grace that consecrated fruit in my whiskey flask makes all the sense in the world. 
Now, before anyone writes me nasty letters (does anyone write letters anymore?) about respecting the elements of the Eucharist, I will gladly reveal that I was packaging up a portable communion to bring to a friend who had to work through this Sunday morning celebration. This was the reason I placed the blood of Christ in my satchel along with the broken body I had wrapped in a napkin. I know how much this matters…and how much it’s mattered to me.
Today, I had a recognition of the return of faith…though it’s no so much the word faith as it is the word belief that describes what has slowly been returning. Faith, I think, has been something I’ve had all along…at least I’ve exercised it with all the strength I’ve had left. In many moments of my journey, faith has seemed a fools errand…but I’ve never been able to lose it.
Today’s recognition really began on Sunday morning as I held the body of Christ in my hand next to my 10 year old son. It never passes my lips thoughtlessly. I love communion because it is tangible. When everything in your life is being shot to hell and your heart is stretched 5 inches beyond it’s capacity, the simple act of eating bread and drinking wine connects you to love when you barely have the strength to say “our Father”. There have been many months of carrying a small piece of bread and a plastic cup to my lips with a trembling hand and a matching heart. It is a constant reminder that every moment is an act of raw faith…the aching sweat of one more step.
When life isn’t going the way your original belief hoped, it requires faith to step in. Faith is that voice in your heart that won’t let you quit. It’s the still small voice that tells you there is a bigger future than the crumbling castles in your rearview mirror. Faith is that hand on your arm and around your heart that says “keep climbing…you thought that was the top…but there is so much more.”. Faith is seen in the blisters on your feet and the calluses on your hand as you keep moving. 
But then you start to see the sunlight through the clouds, you hear the sound of laughter and feel the warmth on your blood and tearstained face. You smell the banquet feast being prepared for you and the sound of music.
You have miles to go…and your body still aches…but you know that it isn’t far. 
It wasn’t until last night as I lay in bed and glanced up at the clock that I could feel the smile of God. 
It was 11:11. 
For those of you not into the practice of wishing during this magical minute of the day, let me tell you that wishing on the time 11:11 has been a practice for many in need of a bit of magic in their day. In this last season, it’s been a whisper from God. When I tell you how often I look at the clock in the last few months and saw the time 11:11. I’m not much of a “wisher”, figuring that so much of what I might wish for I could easily work for, it has occurred with such frequency that each time I took the minute to hear God’s voice say “I know your heart…I have a plan…keep going”. 
I know it sounds crazy, but…I should tell you what led me to last night.
Simply put…it’s been three years of hell. In those three years, I have lost a marriage, the man who raised me, many friendships, jobs, a lot of income, my reputation, and have worked overtime to keep my dignity and to keep my back strong for my children. I’ve felt the humiliation of need, the sting of loneliness and rejection, and have laid in an open field telling God that this career minister is not sure he any longer believes.
 However, no matter the pain coming from my chest, I’ve heart that same voice.
“Keep walking”
I’ve been amazed by the graces that have come in those years. I’ve gone from a tiny room and no job to a beautiful apartment on nine acres of land and a job in a local church that fits me like a glove. I’m sitting within site of a Burger King where I can remember scraping together enough change for a Whopper Jr. just to fill the ache in my belly. It’s been a long time since I’ve had empty cupboards. I’ve been blessed to live on a cadre of jobs that, while not allowing an early retirement to Bali, have allowed me to live, care for my children, and do a good lot of “extras” that have helped me feel like me again. I’ve grown close to a new band of friends and have learned what true love is all about.
It’s been a crazy ride…and I’m exhausted.
With each grace, it’s been clear there are still miles to go. As much as I am grateful for all my jobs…I long to focus on one church and pour into that community while I rebuild my business. My apartment’s great, but it’s a one bedroom and my three growing boys are filling the space like a middle school boy in last year’s pants. 
I never want to seem ungrateful, but I want a place my boys can be comfortable and return full force to my profession of helping people find love and grace in their lives. 
As of yesterday…I have that.
Not only do I have the house and the job, but I have enough furniture and supplies to move in due to another truly amazing gift of grace (you have to ask me to tell you that story).
My goodness, when I tell you what writing those words really means to me…
So, back to last night. I glanced up at the clock, it read 11:11. I looked around where I was and I was exactly where I wanted to be. Then a commercial came on for a new movie that was do come out - you guessed it - 11/11. There it was, 11:11 on the clock above the TV and 11/11 on the screen. I smiled there in the dark a satisfied smile.
I could hear God laugh. 
And I feel asleep…deeper than I have in a long time.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

dressing as me for Halloween

It's a day after Halloween...the first day I have the time (and the mental energy) to reflect on another All Hallows Eve gone by. The Great Pumpkin didn't rise out of the pumpkin patch, but the day is always filled with magic for me.

I know, Christian ministers are supposed to say something against the day. I'm supposed to re-infuse the day with more "sacred" ideals and rally against the human need to hide in costume.

But that would be insane.

I love Halloween because it's so perfectly human. We (yes, i say "we") spend time choosing an ideal costume and then find a party or go trick or treating or just hit the streets like I did in NYC. We over indulge in sweets or other consumables and then try and get back to work the next day.

Its awesome.

It's human.

This year, it was the costumes that struck me. Well, maybe I should say it's the process of choosing a costume that struck me. Halloween nay-sayers talk about the idea that we go out as something that we aren't on the day...a chance to step away from ourselves.

I, unsurprisingly, disagree.

Truth is, I think we say a deeper truth about ourselves with the costume (or non-costume) we choose. We tell a story about ourselves and who we are at the core of our soul. Sometimes it's a truth so deep that only the permission of a costume allows us to tell our story.

Ironically, I'm wondering if Halloween is the one holiday where we aren't afraid...

...at least those of us willing to put on a wig and makeup.

The story of redemption must be one that results in the human heart replacing fear with truth. We have to learn to trust the truth that we are beautiful or courageous or chivalrous or funny or sexy. Somewhere in our hearts we are all angels, rock stars, cowboys, superheroes, or celebrities. We are magical creatures that make people turn when we enter a room. Even those of us who decide to be a bit ghoulish choose creatures that are noticed...because in our hearts we know we are creatures who should be noticed.

I notice them all on Halloween.

What is more, is that I believe the heart of God notices us year round. We are seen for who we are, not the one who has to hide inside the expectations of others in order to have the things we believe we need to survive.

A few of us believe. We call them stars.

Then, like zombies, we consume their greatness when all the while missing our own.

So, my dearies, slip on the tights, dye your hair, wear all the adornments you can.

Just make sure it's really you.

Then go...don't be afraid.

Peace.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

the right boots

I work part-time as a shoe salesman at at high-end department store. I should mention it's women's shoes. It doesn't pay a ton, but it's nice to get a little something extra in my account every Friday and there are certain graces that
make it a worthy expenditure of time. Much of my shift is spent moving. I straighten shoes...a lot. But, of course, the obvious by-product of being out on the floor is that you get to sell some shoes and make money...and sometimes you get a story. Yesterday, one of my customers gave me a story.

The woman in question was still on the young side of her journey, though I've given up trying to guess ages in a world of cosmetic surgery. She was tall, nearly my height in the heels she was wearing, and dressed like a woman who goes shopping. Don't ask me to explain that...I just knew that I was going to be engaged for the next half hour or so. I enjoy these.

She had a couple of pumps in her hand...a paten-leather Michael Koors and a suede pair of Calvin Kliens. She is an 8 1/2. I went to the back to get her shoes while she went to the boot table. The boots are on the far-side of the department...more boots that look nearly identical than I have time to explain here. She saw me returning with the shoes that caught her eye earlier and we met in front of the Coach table when I heard the sound that salesman wait to hear:

oooooooooohhh!

She picked up a pair of Coach boots. Admittedly, a beautiful pair of boots. There are certain designers that can take a basic design, such as a black boot, and add just enough of their signature that you realize you are seeing a different kind of thing

She picked the boots and, what inevitably happens, turned them over to be stunned by the price.

"Why are these boots $400"

"They are Coach" was the only honest reply.

She began with, what I think would be the wise move, and put them down. The problem was simply that she kept looking at them. I brought out alternatives...but she had already seen the Coach. It's hard to un-see what you have seen.

There is a truth in life that once you have seen something you want...it's hard to stop wanting it or be satisfied with anything else.

Unless...

She kept glancing up at the boots till finally I said: "Listen, think of this as merely an opportunity to put them on. Shall I bring out an 8 1/2?

I brought out the boots.

Her eyes lit as I opened the vanilla colored box with the classic coach insignia in gold on the top. She held the boots in her hand, her eyes taking in the gold detailing and the classic Coach "c". She nervously pulled the boots on and walked over to the mirror.

They looked terrible.

Well, terrible might be strong. They just didn't look like her. On the shelf they were a work of art...but they didn't compliment her.

They didn't fit.

I was thinking today about my life. I'm at a place now where I've had to say goodbye to so much that I had and am having to embrace a whole new world. I considered how many of the things that I've lost we're things I fought so hard to keep. They were things I thought were fantastic. They were things that, regardless of how shiny, just didn't fit. I'm now in a place of sliding on new boots and finding what fits me, what makes sense

I remember when I bought the cowboy boots I now own. I had my eye on a different pair...one that my son actually ended up with. The ones I wanted were dusty looking, like something Clint Eastwood would wear.

They didn't fit.

I slid on this pair of brown boots...more stitching then I really wanted. A bit more Roy Rogers than Clint Eastwood. But, at the end of the day, they were the boots that fit.

I wear them a lot.

We can work hard trying to obtain the things that we think we want...and spend crazy amounts on it. Or, we can take the time, know ourselves, and find the life that fits; the life that makes our heart sing.

It might not be the one that first caught our eye...but it will be the right one.

And it will last forever.

And by the way...she bought a great pair of Ivanka Trumps that looked great and fit her like they were made for her.

Blessings

Sunday, October 16, 2011

i sing the mighty power of God

Yeah, I know you didn't make the mountains rise

(Something about plates and ice made Everest.)

Same with the seas...

It all happened...naturally

Skies are blue because of the way the light catches my eye

My eye sees it this way because of a string of events from there to my brain

The river flows past me because of gravity

The wind...well, I have no idea

The light isn't really dancing...

It's just reflecting.

But the fact that you are here.

With me.

Well that's enough of miracle.

For me.

To believe.

Thursday, October 6, 2011


Ok...let's talk. I have to admit that I'm affected by the passing of the legendary Steve Jobs. It's not because I'm a techie who believes that Apple create excellent products that are far superior to anything else out there simply because it does what it's supposed to do, but because Steve Jobs was a man who believed that we can be better than we are. He believed that mankind was great and that we can do great things. He believed that the world can change.

And he changed it.

10 years ago, Bono called the iPod the most important invention since the electric guitar. For those of you who do not understand the significance of the electric guitar, you won't understand why Steve Jobs changed everything. From the printing press to digital music, truly game changing innovations are all about freeing the human spirit. It's about giving to the people, things that were thought to be held by a select few institutions or corporations while the rest of us worked to buy the crumbs. Guittenburg believed we should all read and spawned democracy. Steve Jobs believed we should all be able to enjoy music and the soul of the world somehow got bigger. Technology became the property of the people and the world changed.

There is no way I can list the ramifications of his contribution. We are better because he believed we could be.

It's time for us to pick up the apple that is lying on the ground.

What do you believe?

Come with me.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Genealogy


So take these words and sing out loud
'cause everyone is forgiven now
'cause tonight's the night the world begins again

Tonight I'm teaching on one of the least inspiring passages in the New Testament. We usually skip over it...but not tonight. The first 16 verses of the Gospel of Matthew record the genealogy of Jesus. Snore...right?

Here's the deal...the genealogy of Jesus tells me something about God. God enters our history right were life has found us. 

I need to hear that tonight and I think kids do too.

I've walked a long way and found that He is has arrived.

Just like he said He would.

Speaking of arriving...kids are...so I got to go.


Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The middle chapters.

Timing is everything.

Let fear or arrogance stop you from being somewhere on time and you'll miss something.

Push too hard too fast and you build a building without the indented foundation.

Work with calculated patience and passion and you will find, when the time is right, that you are exactly where you need to be with that very thing that fits your heart.

Every good story begins with the end in mind. The author knows the main character's heart and the story is all about he or she getting to the end.

But there is a middle to every story.

The middle, the most crucial part of the story, is jam-packed with the main character's not getting what they want. There is conflict and disappointment and heartbreak and struggle. There are days where they don't feel like getting out of bed or are tempted by something that would just end the pain.

As we know, some stories end that way. The character loses hope, the journey being too difficult, and they quit.

But then, there are others. Often these are our favorite stories because "our hero" has endured and has found themselves with a smile, a deep breath, surrounded by the souvenirs of the road behind them.

That is our story.

Right now, as I write, I'm listening to iTunes as it is shuffling randomly through over 2000 of my songs. As I write, Jon Bon Jovi is singing that "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be". It seems that Providence is helping me write.

It's so easy to panic or get discouraged at certain parts of our story. We remember when things we good, when laughter came easier,  and look at our present surroundings and feel that our time is done.  The dragon seems to be winning and the prize is fading in the distance. We have a choice in those moments. We can throw in the towel and call it quits or we can pick ourselves up and keep walking into the hurricane.

Our heart's desire is on the other side.

I've written before about the struggle and I've written about waiting. I don't really like waiting and few of us welcome hard times, but when I look into my heart I realize that I wouldn't do anything differently. The part of my story where I find myself has put a few cuts and bruises on my body and there are chunks of my heart that will take some time to heal. I've been humbled in places and have had to remember my swagger, but I keep swinging because I believe.

I mentioned that Providence was helping me write...truth is, Providence helps me live. I find my day filled with clues on how to keep believing, keep loving, and keep walking. It doesn't change the passion of my heart...He simply guides me with the fire that burns in my chest. He has taught me to believe in the last chapters of the story but that there is a whole lot of middle.

There are foundations to build now. I might not get exactly what I want, but I as I follow His heart and focus in on the call I hear, I will have exactly what I need.

But for now...I'm still somewhere in the middle...and walking.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

hardcore

So, tonight I'm thinking about those things that are at the core of who we are. It feels appropriate tonight sitting by the Hudson River, my new(ish) truck parked on the street behind me, and my heart filled with thoughts of loves not here. There is a lot of me present tonight.

But, for fear of digression, back to the core.

Our core is that part of us that all the rest hinges on. It's what gets us out of bed and gets us through the day. The strength of our core is what allows us (or hinders us) from doing extraordinary things.

You find out what is at your core when you take a hit.

Now, I have a few things I would consider at my core. There are people and places and things that make up the interior of me. I have found over the years that those things can shift and change.

The changes can cause tremors...

However, I have had to ask myself again recently, what causes me to keep going...what do I do and who am I at the very center of me? What is the lowest common denominator that makes it so I don't collapse in the storms or fall down like an off balance house of cards?

In so much of my communication I try to be subtle. I like to use word pictures to convey ideas and hope that your own spirit does what it needs to do with them. When we talk about something so critical as what holds us up, I feel like I want to show you all of my cards. We need something unchangeable...something so strong that it helps us be strong when everything around us is falling.

So what is my core?

Since I was a child, I've always had a sense of a foundation. My life has endured many changes from losing my dad early to divorce to heartbreak to financial challenges to moving to unfamiliar places. But through it all there was this presence. A belief, if you will. At times I've questioned and at times full-on doubted, but it never went away.

Through life, love, cities, children, jobs, and lots of walking, I've had a single core.

My core (admittedly though at times He and I have had words) has always been Jesus.

I am a man who follows Jesus.

I don't really know how to explain it...but when I've lost everything, I can still feel Him in me somehow telling me to take another step. When I fail He tells me to get up. When I hurt, He teaches me how to stand up tall, be a man, and love with all my heart.

Because it's in the walking and loving that we find what He has given to us.

Every good gift I've ever gotten is because I got up and walked in my core. I've taken many hits...but got up and walked. I wish I could take the credit...tell you I'm some kind of badass dude who is made of rock.

I'm not.

At the core of me is a heart that has been able to stay soft only because it's a heart that is held by a badass dude who has been my rock.

He is the reason I am who I am...at least the parts of me that are alive.

If you have enjoyed being loved by me...it's Him.

If you've been inspired from something I've said...I've been with Him.

If you see me tomorrow...

...thank Him

God knows I do.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Eggshells and Shoe leather


Today, a friend of mine is going to college. I don’t really like goodbyes...at least goodbyes of people who I’ve come to love and whose company I enjoy. But there is joy in this goodbye because she is about to go change the world and come back a 25-foot tall giant. I write for her this morning because few people I know exhibit the qualities of the words that follow. Her determination in the face of pain or hardship or challenge is what will make her great. Thank you, Sophia, for what you teach. This is for you.
So, I’ve got an issue with Humpty Dumpty. 
Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be on the wall. Maybe he was pushed. Maybe he had a little too much celebration with the other eggheads the night before (and why do we picture Humpty Dumpty as an egg anyway?). None of those things matter to me and they aren’t my issue with Mr. Dumpty. It’s the final line...
“...all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again”. 
I understand broken. I understand falling. I’ve done both. What I don’t understand is lying there waiting for someone else to fix it. 
I don’t understand not getting up...or at least not putting in some effort. 
Now, before I sound like I have a hollow, heartless chest, let me say again that I get broken too. We all get broken and hurt deeply in our lives...especially those who aren’t satisfied with simply staying on the safe side of their lives and ascend what lies between them and the rest of the world...even if they know they might fall. Scaling walls makes people move from mediocrity to greatness. Falling is inevitable. Help is often welcome. 
Quitting is never ok.
Hard times is an opportunity to see what stuff is underneath the shell of each of us. I think about each person who has climbed the ladder of greatness and inspired the world to take one more step. Each of them had to go through the fire. Each of them had to endure hardship. Each of them had to take their turn in the desert. 
Sometimes the key battle isn’t the one everyone sees, but the one that is fought in the times that aren’t so glorious. It’s the discipline of moving forward when everything hurts because you know that you will be better. 
I’ve often heard faith misread as waiting for God to fix everything. I do believe in God’s ability to fix what is broken in my life and I don’t ascend to the belief that the weight of the world rests on my shoulders. I believe that He wants to move quickly and doesn’t want me to hurt anymore that I have to. 
I also believe he lets me hurt so that I can figure out how to get better...and stronger.
There have been many moments this season of my life that I’ve looked quizzically at the heavens wondering why key things in my life just seem to not be functioning. There are things I depend on to get me where I need to be. I don’t like being dependent on others, I like carrying my own weight and love to add what I can to the greater good of the community in which I run. I think being in love is great and have scaled that wall a time or two in my life. I enjoy hard work and have enjoyed being successful in my field. 
As I look around, most of those things lie in broken pieces on the ground. In some ways, it could look like failure, that God has abandoned me or that I don’t have the ambition that it takes to get back up. 
That would be a mistake.
What most people don’t see is that the the kings men aren’t standing around shaking their heads while I lie, motionless, praying for help. There is one man, hand scarred with the memory of his own broken, handing me some of the pieces I can’t reach and standing to the side when there is one that I need to stretch to reach myself. He knows it’s a muscle I will need for the next part of my open road. 
We do live a life filled with bootstraps and angel wings. God has promised to direct our paths as we keep moving. Let me say again...as we keep moving. In the desert of our healing we gain wisdom, perspective, and blessing if we walk in the light we are given and not succumb to our own fear of falling off another wall. The next time we climb we will find that we are stronger, our balance is better, and our shell a bit thicker. 
Beyond all of that...our love grows bigger because we gain the confidence that scaling walls and seeing bigger worlds outside and inside our hearts is where we belong. We know that even if we fall that we will be better. We will call from the top of the wall to other young eggs who think that this is all there is and we will reach down our own scarred hand to help them up. 
Humpty Dumpty couldn't be put back together because he was an empty shell. You fall off a wall, you break, you start the painful and painstaking process of putting each part back together again. It’s not the job of any king’s horses or king’s men. But they are there...dispatched from the King...to hand you another piece.
But don’t just lie there.
Climb.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

rain

the lazy river

disturbed

reflections playing across the surface

like the paintings I remembered as a child

distorted

beautiful

there is thunder in the distance

rumbling on the breeze that is blowing through my grey t-shirt

the sound fills the air like a jazz singer humming before she sings a song that she knows will change

your life

her heart's been broken

yours is about to break

there will be no running for shelter tonight.

I will pull off my shirt

I will feel it all.

let the wet collide with my skin

my jeans heavy with their cold collection.

I will be your shelter tonight.

the rain will fall on my back as I arch

over you

rest your weary heart and bruised body

I will kiss you

you will sleep.

dry.

I want to feel the wind causing my skin to prickle.

it's alive

I'm alive

sometimes all you need to heal is to be reminded.





Monday, August 8, 2011

Lost on the beach

It's August and I've finally made it to the ocean. Summer has been full...too full to take any of my traditional day trips to find peace at the sea. I'm a terrible beach planner. I had this idea of driving to the shore after a day of trying to solve problems and after a week on a construction site and so I just left. Now I'm sitting in the sand with soggy Levis, a pair of Chuck Taylor's next to me, and my shirt folded on top of them. 

I'm happy as the clams once were that I plan to consume later with a strong beverage. 

As the waves kicked up on my legs (accounting for the soggy Levis) I thought about the last time I was here. It was a late night and I drove here, to this beach, with a mind and heart heavy with the issues in front of me. I took out my journal and wrote "I've walked as far as a man can without assistance". Standing on the edge of the world, I knew I had done everything I could do. 

As I sat in the sand watching a father play in the surf with his girls, I looked around and noticed that the problems I left here last year simply aren't here anymore. 

The sea took them away. 

 I'm scarred up a bit, but no longer broken. I still have fights to fight...but I've made it to the shore to say to the ocean "I've made it back again". It reminds me that I'll be back again as well to tell more stories. 

Ive come today filled with more desire than need. I've been feeling passions returning. I want all that can be lived in this life and to do love right. I want to keep feeling the sun on my back as I explore the depths of what it means to be human. 

And each year, I'll come back to this ocean to tell her what I've found.

And to say thank you. 

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Mission

I'm on a Habitat for Humanity trip in the mountains of West Virginia. We are building affordable, efficient housing for families who simply cannot afford adequate living for their family. The area has an unemployment rate of 35%, and, as is the case with their inner city counterparts, the lack of educational opportunities and skill training leaves many of these residents trapped in their situation.

This is where we come in.

The houses we build not only provide a much improved dwelling for a deserving family...a la "Extreme Makeover" but the homes are energy efficent which means that families save hundreds of dollars a month in utilities bills, allowing them to move themselves and their family forward and establishes a caring community that wants to help them succeed.

In addition, I get to bare my arms, swing a hammer, run power-tools, and generally lift stuff in the hot sun as well as get to know some great kids and leaders in the church I serve. I'm all about it.

It's not a bad deal.

However, I'm not home. The families I serve are not mine. I will not move my boys into the home I am building. The people by whom I am surrounded, while I am growing to love them and they me, are not the ones who share the most intimate parts of my soul...

...because I'm on a mission.

Mission is what makes the world happen. Mission is when you take time out of the rhythm of a normal life, sacrifice comfort, relationships, finances, and maybe even personal progress for a season so that you can help make the world better for someone else. It's not an experience where you set out to gain, but an experience where you set out to give freely of the resources and training and heart that beats inside of you. There is always risk and you find yourself missing the ones you love, but you have a job to do and will stay until it's done. At the end of the day, mission is what makes heroes.

There are beautiful graces, of course, as you work. As I mentioned before, I will have deep relationships with people with whom I only knew by sight before Sunday. I have a deep sense of satisfaction at the end of a day from good sweaty honest work and my body is tan and more defined. I wake daily with a quiet sit on a porch watching hummingbirds and listening to the sounds of mountain daybreak. But there is no place like home.

So, I start another day. My pin-up picture in my bunk and notes from home squirreled away in my gear. All beautiful reminders of what I will see when my tour is done...but I'm not stopping until I've finished by job here. It's an honor to have my job.

I'm on a mission from God.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Keep On Truckin

My truck got sick.

Really sick.

For those of you who do not know (and welcome, stranger) I have a unique, and possibly unhealthy, affection for my truck. In a season of my life where I've lost so many things that I used to help identify myself, my truck has been the one consistent material possession that always somehow made me feel a bit more like myself. It helped me get places I wanted to go, with the stuff that I wanted to have there, and did it, I might add, with style.

It's a great looking truck.

It has AC.

My boys fit.

It's carried people I love.

It's allowed me opportunities to help.

I think it's looking at me through the window of the coffee shop as I write this...I think.

Anyway, the point is, my truck, which I love, got sick.

I thought at first it was bad gas. I know, that sounds like I'm making a joke, but things started acting up after I opted for some discount fuel. I hoped that a good refill would get it back to normal, but things just seemed to get worse. It was coughing and misfiring something terrible. I thought it might be a clog in the fuel line from the aforementioned bad gas, but it happened irregularly. I did all of the things I knew how to do. Just the basics: new plugs, wires, and a new distributor. All needed to be changed and I hoped for the best. The engine ran great...but still had the same issue.  All that I could do was to take it to a friend who owed a shop who gave me the exciting news that my o2 censor had gone bad. Yes, that's good news considering what it could be. He changed out the o2 censor and all the wiring leading to the engine's computer.

It was still sick.

I drove it to work with all of the potential options in my brain of what to do next. A lot of money has been spent. There is very little left to work with.

I should pause here to make note of something. I am a man of faith and totally believe that God is present and able to do amazing things. But I also believe that I am responsible and have been given great tools to do things I need to do. For most of my decisions in life I have by hands firmly grasped around my own bootstraps.

This time, and there have been many times like this, my bootstraps are just out of my reach.

I got in my truck after my shift was done, knowing there was a long ride back and considered what this journey might entail when I felt my heart say: "Ask God to heal your truck."

Is this worth another pause? Maybe, just so you don't think I'm crazy. Is God in the business of healing machines? I know he heals bodies and hearts and minds and souls, but Dodge Dakotas? I can't really tell you how healing works to say for sure, but it seemed more foolish to not ask.

The truck worked.

All the way home.

And all night long.

I considered the concept of God faith healing my truck and the concept of faith in general.

Asking for things takes an extraordinary amount of faith...or use trust to make it less religious sounding. The sheer act of asking requires that I believe that I think someone is both able and willing to walk into my need.

Faith is the act of believing that once you have asked, your healing is coming.

I'm suspicions of faith healers and anyone that seems to treat God like some kind of butler. They give God their praise based on his performance. I've always felt like God is Who He Is regardless of His participation in the mess I've made of things.

But I digress.

I think God healed my truck.

Now, ask me if there has been any coughs of sputters.

Go ahead...ask.

Yes.

It still made me think about faith. I'm driving as if God has answered my prayer. The coughs are less frequent and the ride is stronger.  Maybe healing is coming slowly.

Healing is like that.

I have a friend recovering from knee surgery.  Surgery is done.  The knee is fixed.  However, look at the walking and you question the healing.

Maybe broken trucks are like that.

Maybe broken hearts are too.

All I know is, that I have a promise that as I walk, or drive, that I will have what I need to continue down the road. I'll get to my destination. I've got a truck full of broken bootstraps and angel feathers to prove that He heals.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Trust Fall

Have you ever done a trust fall? I did about 70 of them yesterday. I'm the "storyteller" at a church Vacation Bible School this week, meaning that I am the one responsible to tell the story of Jesus that is being reinforced by crafts, games, skits, and music all week long. It seems to me that I've always been a story teller for Him. I love to tell His story and, over the course of my years, people have told me that I do it in a way that helps them connect to the man who lives as the cornerstone of my life. Yesterday, the story was intended to project the theme of trust. "Why can I trust Jesus" was the question of the day and a story of a man who trusted Jesus to heal his son was used as the evidence of an affirmative answer.

I used trust falls to illustrate it.

Kids falling backwards into the arms of a teacher or helper.

Someone bigger

Someone they think they can trust.

Trust.

Hmmm.

It's quite a thing to turn around, spread your arms wide, close your eyes, and just fall backward...trusting that there are arms to catch you.  Trust requires that two truths work in concert at the same moment in time: Love and Power.

See...love alone (crazy as this sounds) simply isn't enough for me to put my trust in someone. Love is not all I need (with apologies) when it comes to where I let myself fall. Love alone doesn't carry with it any sort of ability or strength. Love is an orientation toward the good of another...and is key, but not solitary.

Power can often be mistaken as well. Power is attractive because it communicates ability. Fast cars, fit frame, an extraordinary skill, or visible financial strength certainly communicates a power to move through the world at a different pace, but as love alone doesn't provide a safe place, neither does power alone. A malevolent dictator has all the power possible, but cannot be trusted any more than a kind King who lacks the courage to protect his people is worthy of his title.

When Power and Love live in the same heart - now you've got something, mister.

I'll admit it...or at least I'm starting to admit it...I struggle with Trust. I would describe myself as an "up by my bootstraps" kind of guy. In many ways, my fiercely independent spirit has served me well. I've gained an ability to navigate my world and build things that simply was not there before I arrived.  However, I am also aware that this independence also has protection within it's DNA. I've been injured. Trust, or faith, as a result, is not something that comes easy for me. This past season has seen that ability driven further and further below the surface of this man as I am working to heal from trusts that have been broken. I find myself cautious in relationships that I truly love, simply because I'm afraid to rest in them. I'm a man who has been hurt...and I don't want to fall again.

Of course, during our trust fall experiment, there were kids who could fall, many who would stumble backwards and fall with caution, and a few who were too afraid to try. I suppose that is a lot like who we are as a species. I know that at this point in my life there will be no falling without fear. I can do brave, but fearless is simply unwise. My heart longs for love and community too much to simply not try. I've hit the floor many times, but somewhere in my heart I know that being human is allowing yourself to be caught.

No kid fell blindly. Every kid made their choice with the evidence that was in front of them. They knew enough about the people doing the catching that freed them to risk. That's all we can do.  Like a breadcrumb trail leading us home, are path is one of walking through the dark and scary forest because we know that love is on the other side. We listen as we walk, picking up clues to find those worthy arms.

We look for Power...but not just

We look for Love...but not just.

We look for hearts that have demonstrated their ability to catch us time an time again. We might stumble into the fall...but letting ourselves be caught is the only way we will truly know what it means to be human.

My arms are out...I'm closing my eyes...I'm ready to fall again.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Plan B

When I began this week, I had a plan and that plan included a green 1999 Dodge Dakota. On Tuesday afternoon, that plan changed as I heard the snapping of my transmission and had to coast to the side of the road 1/4 mile from my home. 1/4 mile that was walkable, but still required a $75 tow (money that I had budgeted for another plan). My truck is in the transmission shop now, I'm grounded and dependent on rides, and not sure I will have the money I thought I would to get the repairs done.

Time for plan B

I've been thinking about the concept of plan B since a friend brought it to me a couple weeks ago. In the circles in which I run (I'm a pastor by trade) there is always talk of ideals. The world should be more loving, kind, and just because that is what God intended. No one would argue that the world has some jumping to do to get over the bar, but our fights come when our concept of ideal starts to stretch out to how people live their lives. Issues of divorce, remarriage, sexuality, etc enter into the dialogue; causing division in our own Christian faith and in the culture in which we live.

John Lennon said "life is what happens to you when are busy making other plans". I feel this phrase reflects the heart of God. Any good parent has a picture of what is desired for a child. One works hard at creating a world where those plans can be nurtured and grow. I would add that any good parent also gives room for a child to make decisions...or even mistakes. Sometimes those choices set the child on a course that the original plan just doesn't fit.

Time for plan B

Plan B isn't a lesser plan, it's just a different plan. Maybe Plan A was less complicated or easier, but it didn't work. See, life isn't about what the plan looks like, it's the goal. Are we getting where we want to go? Are we loving? Are we moving toward justice?

Plan A was tried. It didn't fit. It didn't reflect our heart. It didn't honor who we were made to be.

Plan B is all about it.

Jesus is a Plan B. No one needs a savior if Plan A is working.

I'm all about Plan B.

I'll let you know what happens to the truck.



Saturday, June 11, 2011

thoughts on forever

It's seldom that I sit down to write and stare at a blank screen. Today my mind is filled with thoughts that I do not know how to begin. The morning was spent finalizing thoughts that it is my privilege to give to a couple who is starting a new life together. I'm the sort of man who will be writing and rewriting these thoughts until the moment we begin...then I give my thoughts and mouth to God. I'm not missing the grace given to a man who has had the kind of road I have had. I get to be involved in the consecration of love...me, who by the observation of many, has failed dramatically at it.

Truth is, I do still believe. All along the edges of this broken and battered heart, I believe.

I've come to this weekend alone with many thoughts running through my head. I've been tired lately...a tired I can't seem to shake. There is a recognition in me, along with some gentle rebuke from those who see me, that my fire isn't blazing as it once did. Maybe I can chalk it up to heartbreak or disappointment or losses, but I have had to admit that I've retracted my heart...and the world has lost some of me as a result.

We are people of passions. This is the essence of who we are. People made in the image of a God of passions, of Whom St. John could only describe as Love. When one has been injured, the overwhelming temptation is to retreat and contribute on a minimal level or accept less than what your heart cries for. We don't want to get hurt again. We don't want to lose again.

I was reminded from a very unlikely source this week, that I am the sort of man who plays life "all in". I give 100% of myself to those things I have chosen to love. I do it, not for return per se, but because of the joy of being. It's the passion of love that has always driven me. These days, I've backed up, and found myself leaning on a wall trying to catch a breath and debating if I have enough to get back out on the dance floor.

I don't. He does.

I've learned in my life that passion is what we do...not just what we talk about or prescribe. Passion is jumping off a cliff when we are terrified. It's getting on the dance floor because you love to dance, even if you don't know the steps. It's doing the steps over and over until you learn. Passion means going into the garden and pulling weeds all by yourself, hoping that someone will join you, but still working for beauty even if they don't. Passion means putting your feet on the floor even if you wake up every morning terrified. Passion means putting your heart back out there, because that is how your heart lives.

Today, I say to Gregg and Kate, passion is about standing before all your family and friends and saying "I'm going all in..." knowing full well that the safe bet is to just spend the day with friends drinking by the river.

It's not human to play it safe. Smart, yes...safe, no.

We have no idea what the future holds...but we at the party and I say we dance with the reckless abandon of fools and people in love. We know who brought us...and love says dance as long as we can.  Let's work it...sweat needs to form on our brow from something other than fear.

Each step is one toward forever.

We will probably hurt again. Life filled with passion is seldom without scars. But we will have lived. And, at the end of the day, those we loved will be better because we did.

Blessings Gregg and Kate...go all in.

Monday, May 23, 2011

From There to There

Today I sat in my usual haunt at the Starbucks down the street from my house. There are only two tables with outlets and I try to get the one near the back. If I don't, I've only got about 90 min of computer life. If I get to sit here (yes, I'm here right now actually) then I get to enjoy this hard chair and multiple cups of coffee.

This, my dear reader, inspires these caffeine-fueled rants that I hope get you from where you are to where you are going...or, at least, a step or two closer.

Which is actually the topic of today's reflection; helping each other get from there to there.

As I sat with my open laptop and a pile of papers that will, hopefully, turn into life, someone I hadn't seen in years walked in. A lot of life has passed since I last saw her, but her enthusiasm upon seeing me planted at my post made an invitation to sit the natural, and welcome, consequence.

We spoke of the usual suspects when two people are catching up on their lives. Kids, jobs, and mutual acquaintances all spent their due being spoken over the steam rising from our coffee cups. We would have spent the 15 min she had before picking up her daughter staying here if not for the topic of transitions.

It seems to be a theme right now. Everyone seems to be in a hallway of change. For her, it was considering a career-change. For me, it's trying to figure out a new rhythm of life as a solo act. Last night I celebrated a dear friend who has "retired" from 10 years in professional ministry and is now in the wide-open expanse of possibility. There were tears of celebration and tears of loss as everyone is quite aware that it will never be the same again.

It can't be. That's what transitions are all about.

Change is the one constant of life.

I've been reflecting on our job of getting people from there to there. I've become aware of a simple human truth...

...it's all of our job.

Every single human on the planet is in the transportation business. We are people-movers. I'm a pastor, it's a job that gets clearly identified as one that moves people from there to there. I help people understand themselves and their faith in a very complex world. They are somewhere and want to get somewhere else. I help them find their way by getting them in the right vehicle with the right luggage...the luggage that fits them. My quarter-hour coffee companion is a physical therapist; helping people's bodies get from a position of non-movement to movement. There to there.

We spoke (as all people in our position find themselves doing at some point) of how tempting it would be to work at the coffee shop in which we sat. A "simple" job that ends when we push through the glass door at the end of a shift. We would be the best employees this company has ever seen, making better every detail of the environment in which we are given responsibility.

But our job wouldn't change.

We will still be in the people-moving business.

People would come from there (wherever "there" is) and our job is to get them there (a whole new "there") with something good for their time with us.

They don't stay long.

No one really stays long.

But we can make them better for having been here.

We can act as good guides

Love well

Leave good behind

Help them as they travel through our lives

Because they are also in the same business.

Everyone we guide will go from us and help another traveller. Our hope is that everyone guides with love and carries other humans well.

Though we know that they do not always do so.

Bad information, broken hearts, failure, rejection, disappointments, and outright abuse can make it hard to carry each other well. In those times we rely on healers to help us get better so that we can get back to the business of being part of this human family.

No man is an island.

Yes, it can be a lonely business, but every so often someone stops on our stretch of road and shares the space with us. The best ones are when it's unexpected; when we are simply doing the best work we can do and someone notices, puts their hand in ours, and works our spot with us. Those moments are blessings from God and should not be taken for granted.  Mistreating these rare moments or making it all about them will cause us to lose them.

Jesus' words come to mind as I consider these ideas: "Look for the Kingdom of God first...then all the rest comes naturally".  Some have taken these words and made them into a call to be detached in our religious life. Truth is, I think Jesus is simply saying the same thing; namely, our job is to work to create the kind of world where we carry each other well. As we carry well, we find that what our heart needs is carried to us.

So, my fellow bus drivers, engineers, pilots, and piggyback ride-givers...ours is a noble and high calling. It's the call of humanity.

Hop in...I'll do my best to get you a little farther down the road.

Amen.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Listening for Love

I’ve been in youth ministry for over 20 years. It’s really all I’ve ever done. I’ve studied it, practiced it, and taught it.  A friend recently described it as “my heart”. I couldn’t argue. We all have something that drives us. In christian circles its often called our “calling”, or more simply put, that thing inside of us that keeps us doing that thing we do. Or, putting it another way, youth ministry is how I set out to change the world.
I am convinced that greatness lives inside of all of us. There is a unique calling on our lives…a place where we know we are exactly where we are supposed to be; with a head at peace with who we are. We all want to leave a legacy, to have walked this planet and left behind a footprint deep enough for the generation behind us to follow. If I were an architect, I’d build a building where people could feel safe, creative, and where good things happen. I might even name it after you. If I were a musician, I’d right you a song that would make you feel like the centerpiece of creation and that lovers could use for generations (not to mention look really good in some rocker clothes). If I were a writer, my books would inspire my readers to new heights of love and wonder. If I were a firefighter, I’d come home smelling of ash, but knowing I made a difference because I saved a life. As a police officer, I’d know that you were safe tonight because I was awake. As a programmer, I’d giddily design software that would make the world better and support those I hold most dear. 
I’m a pastor…a pastor of the next generation. It’s my calling. It’s the voice I hear in my soul. 
Recently, I’ve been asking myself about my calling. It’s not been an easy road. Quite frankly, it’s been one hell of a tough one. There is not a lot of glamour in the job. No one is making prime-time dramas or blockbuster movies about guys like me. There are many sacrifices and a ton of questions.
But, you see, none of that really matters…if I’m listening to the right voice.
If I’m honest about what drives me in my calling, it’s the Voice. I work hard every day to clear enough real estate in my chaotic soul to hear that Voice and if I’m asked to define what I do in this job I have elected to pursue, it’s to help others know how to hear that Voice in their own lives.
Life is noisy and voices are many. I watch as the people I serve are tossed all around by the information they are taking in. There is a non-stop assault of input about how one should look or live or believe about themselves. I see too many beautiful hearts crushed under the weight of bad information and I feel like I’ve been given the job of clearing away the piles so that all of us can hear the Voice of Love more clearly.
Not to say I’m immune. I want the same things that every one else wants. I want to be loved, I want to feel attractive and witty. The thought of financial security is quite appealing.  Every guy wants to be a rock star-firefighter-cowboy-pirate and I’m no different. I have also found myself, at times in my journey, believing bad information about myself and, at times, even adjusting who I am made to be in order to get love or security or a few dollars. 
Every time I do I find that I’m not who I want to be and am missing the things I set out to obtain in the first place. Instead of running free in the sunshine, I’m clinging to fences afraid to step out into the good gifts that are within my reach.
In other words, I stop listening.
Jesus has often been called “The Good Shepherd”. He uses that term for Himself in John chapter 10. His point is that when it comes to sheep, not everyone has their best interest. There are thieves in the temple, as it were. They are so committed to the use and abuse of the sheep that they are climbing walls. They go the cheap and easy route because if they went through the gate, they would have a much larger problem:
The Shepherd.
According to Jesus, Shepherd’s aren’t about walls, they are about gates. Walls aren’t about keeping sheep in, walls are about keeping pain out so that sheep can get some rest so that when the day comes, they can run in the warmth of the sun. 
Those who would do harm can only use walls because they aren’t about freedom, they are about control. Walls that trap make a robber feel powerful, and they use them to make sheep run scared.  
It happens all the time. Lies that tell us we are only good for one thing or that we simply aren’t that good at all keep us clinging to those things that limit us. We hear the voices that say if we only do this or that then we will be valuable…so we stop at a fence and go with a thief. Words that people have said to us play over and over in our head and change what’s true…causing us to stay in a corner and making it hard to hear the other Voice coming over the night air:
“Come, this way, run toward my voice…”
It seems illogical. Leave the safety of the fence? If we run out into the field we are sitting ducks! 
Little to we understand that if we follow the right voice, the wrong ones aren’t strong enough to contend with His.
He says it right here. “The Good Shepherd lays His life on the line for the sheep”.
It’s His calling. 
He is the one who tells us who we are. He is the one who lays Himself in the gate…not to keep us penned in, but to keep the unworthy out. 
We are safe if we stay close to Him during the darkness of the night.
We can rest if we listen for Him.
You and I aren’t people designed for fences. Fences are about fear. Our shepherd is all about love. We can lie close because we know that when we are near Him, thieves wouldn’t dare risk it. All of their shouting at the wall simply doesn’t matter.
See…we know something better than what they are telling us. We know that when the dark night passes we will open our eyes and He will be standing there, smiling. He will guide us to green pastures so we can get what we need. We will know the warmth of the summer and the taste of cool water. We get to run because we chose to listen to the voice of the One who loves us.
“Ready to go play, little sheep?”

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

first things first

"More than to be understood or be known is our undeniable need for forgiveness" - Charlie Peacock

The novelist we were reading as a group painted a striking picture. The main character was on a walk with God to the place where, he believed, his prayers of being able to bury the body of his murdered daughter were to be answered. As they got to a desolate place, the travelers sat on the large stones that characterized this lonely place. This is where the most difficult task imaginable was revealed. Before he would be able to retrieve the body of his little girl, he would have to forgive her killer.

I asked our group if that was an unreasonable request of our fictional God to make, especially if it reflects the heart of the real deal. What we concluded is that forgiveness is not so much about the object of my forgiveness getting off Scott-free, but of me releasing my self-assumed right to be the executioner and letting go of the past.

It was discovered that our inability to experience joy or to love well or to progress is rooted in our inability to forgive. Whether it's by holding a grudge, or wanting something to be the way it "was", or by us not being able to forgive ourselves, we regularly give up large chunks of our soul's real estate to our injuries. Those with the inability to forgive cannot be themselves, cannot enjoy others, and end up more isolated as more ground is given to pain.

When we let go of our own hurt and forgive another person, we release ourselves from the prison of our pain and find that love can flow.

It's no different with God. He could hold a grudge and be all wrath-filled and pour out righteous judgment on all mankind. He would be considered righteous, but God would be righteously lonely. He would be alone with his justice. He would have no one to love.

But that's not how He rolls either.

Forgiveness means I come to grips with the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I will never have a different past. Forgiveness means I pick up the pieces of my broken heart instead of waiting for the one who broke it to do it for me. Forgiveness means I take a step forward into new grace and stop picking at the scabs of wounds overdue for healing. Forgiveness means I decide to live here, now. Forgiveness means I'm willing to love again.

I choose forgiveness


Sunday, April 24, 2011

good morning

As I write, I'm standing alone on a beach preparing to give a sunrise service. Of course, it's not really sunrise. It's nearly 7 o'clock. The sun has risen, but it's hard to get people to come earlier. Sunrise comes too early. We like to sleep.

I was considering sunrise as I read the text for today. The account reads that the women came to the tomb early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark, and found that He was already gone. This was no sunrise service either, but Jesus didn't wait for the sun. Sabbath ended at sundown, and He got up well before the morning.

The thought that Jesus got up with little fanfare, somehow makes it more meaningful to me. I can picture His father entering the tomb to wake His son. I've got boys of my own, i can relate to His excitement. It was just father and son for hours. The angel, so the story goes, didn't come until daybreak, so they had some time. Soon people would be coming, and the world would connect the sunrise with the resurrection, but God isn't about to waste any time getting His son.

Sabbath had ended at sundown.

It was time to get up.

Jesus doesn't waste any time. He's awake.

Ready.

He is risen indeed.


Saturday, April 23, 2011

a day without me

It's burial Saturday. I know, it's not the official name, but I feel like it should have a name. Today is a day, as a wise pastor put it eloquently, we sit shiva for Jesus. it's raining. It's a day of quiet and mourning.

It's a day without Him.

Life in a post-Easter world means we don't ever have a day without Him. He is with us "always, even to the end of the world." But today, the disciples, for the first time, are alone.

Sometimes you don't realize what someone meant to you until you don't have their presence anymore. The important people in our lives are easy to take for granted, especially the ones we are used to always being there and supporting us. Then they go and we have to stand on our feet and feel the wobble in our knees.

I live in the belief that everything Jesus did was very intentional. In other words, He could have died on a Tuesday. giving His life on Tuesday means He could have risen on Wednesday before coffee. Jesus' friends wouldn't hurt for very long until they got to experience the joys of Easter morning.

But Jesus chose to allow some space.

The space allowed these people to consider themselves. They were alone. They always counted on Jesus to clean up and fill in the gaps. They never thought He would go; thus feeling the freedom to abandon Him in His darkest hour.

Today, they spend the day leaving the childhood of dependence and move into love.

They find, locked in the upper room, that they miss their friend. They don't miss Him because of the free lunches or the notoriety of being one of His disciples. They just miss Him. That's why they gather. At least in each others' faces they can still see Him

One of the great gifts that He ever gave the ones He loves is a day without Him.

I wonder if during some of the times that I feel God just isn't listening or that He has left that He is teaching me some of the same things. I find that in a day without Him that I can stand on these legs that He told me were strong or that I can love with this heart His spirit has healed. I can move forward in the way He has shown me and live the way He has shown me.

And, as I move, I find that I become a man who loves the one who loved him first. I find that, at the end of the day, I just want to know Him.

Today I give thanks for the lessons learned when the heavens are silent.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Lenten Walk Pt 2 - Marks

Today, I went for a walk through the woods in back of my home. It was my first solitary walk, and the farthest I had explored since I moved in last month. Until last week, much of the property had been underwater; the result of spring rains melting the record snowfalls of our harsh winter. It was frustrating to look out across the field that led to the woods that were mine to explore and have to wait to lose myself in them.
Today was my opportunity.
As I walked through the woods to the river bank, I could still feel the ground squishing beneath my feet, leaving perfect imprints of my boots in the softest parts. However, I was committed to this trek. I wanted to see how far this trail would take me. I paused to watch the sunlight dance on the flowing river that marks the end of my property. The setting sun was at just the right angle to make the water seem electric. I was tacitly aware of the sound of birds around me, eventually noticing that I was surrounded by a flock of robins. I’ve never seen more than one or two robins, much less a flock, but there were at least six, all singing together a song announcing the end to a winter that was far too long. I was grateful for their companionship along the trail. It is on these walks that I reflect on my life and spend some time in prayer. I’m not so good at formal prayers. Well, that’s really not true. I’m quite good at formal praying, offering weekly prayers in my role as a pastor. People are often led closer to their own spiritual voice when I pray in public, but these are not the prayers I pray when I’m alone.
Alone, I begin a dialog with God. There are conversations that offer thanksgiving, confessions, questions, and requests for the strength and wisdom to do the things that are in the path in front of me. Today was no different. Only today my thoughts flowed, like the river in front of me, to where I was going.
I thought about how far my “trail” has already taken me. Setting out on a journey is always filled with anticipation as to what one will find on the road, especially if one knows their destination. All I’ve ever known is that I have my sights set on living and breathing in such a way that, as Thoreau said,  I would not, “when I came to die, discover that I had not truly lived.”  Along this journey I have learned a great deal about myself, God, love, and what it means to walk. I have also lost a great deal along this road. Behind me are relationships and comforts that simply could not come with me, not if I am to achieve the goal for which I set out in the first place.

As I walked, I considered the path in front of me; endless options of how to live. In many ways, like most of us, I’m a mosaic of a man. I’m a pastor, writer, lover, father, friend, handyman, speaker, listener, and child. I have a heart that looks less like an ocean and more like a delta, a maze of tributaries that all flow together to make up the soul that lives in my skin. Some of the parts of me don’t seem to fit with some of the other parts, and I’m still working on reconciling those things, but every man has to have a core and on this walk I began to ask questions about my own. I wanted to discover my illusive bottom line.
As the sun set, I made my way back through the forest, making sure to note the parts of the ground that were more than just a little squishy. I noticed that the place where the water had been only weeks before could only be described as: wrinkled. I know it’s odd to describe the earth as wrinkled, but it looked like a child’s fingertips after soaking in a warm bath. I understood that what I was seeing were little creek beds, ruts in the earth that the water had cut in order to return to where it belonged. The flood had altered the landscape and I considered my life.
This lenten season, I feel I have been led on a spiritual journey of discovering the “essential facts of life”, if I may borrow again from Thoreau. My life had, in the past, become filled with many things that were simply not life. In the losses of my journey there has been extraordinary simplification as I have spent many days (and nights) without the creature comforts to which I had become so accustomed. I have found myself on a fast that was not of my choosing, but from which I could begin to see my own soul.
As I considered the marks in the landscape, I thought about what I am trying to accomplish in my life. There is a greatness locked inside all of us that is begging not to be muted by the mundane. I’ve often translated that greatness in what I could accomplish or build or experience or obtain.  We all want to leave a mark, a legacy, the question is how. This river didn’t build or plan to make a dent on my property. This river did what rivers do; the river flowed. The river took what it was receiving and carried it along, working to get all the water where it needed to be, and changing the world as it went.
I want to do that.
I considered the journey of Jesus. The most extraordinary acts of this great man were done in relative obscurity. He never built a church, founded a hospital, overthrew a government, or even travelled outside the borders of His tiny home country. He never wrote a book or recorded a song. In fact, there is so little record of His life that there are thinking people who argue that Jesus of Nazareth never existed. The man on whom the world’s largest religion was founded had three years of active ministry that began strong, but slowly dwindled down to a handful of adherents. Before His execution, performed as a trade for a political dissident, he had, by all estimations, accomplished nothing.
Except, He left a mark.
Jesus did what came natural to Him. He taught about the things He had discovered in His own life journey, He healed people, and He performed certain acts that were evidence to the people who observed them that He represented God. But He was not the only miracle-working teacher who had walked the roads of this country. The acts themselves were not what was extraordinary. It was the love He left behind that altered the landscape. 
His capacity to love is what changed the world.

He was a man who lived, truly lived.

As I traced along those ruts with my boot, I asked God for the grace to walk as Jesus walked. I want to, when I come to the end of my journey, to be known as a man with a great capacity for love. I want to live in such a way that I leave a mark. I don’t need my mark to be a building or organization with my name on it. I don’t need to be on television or have my name in lights. In fact, if it’s only a handful who even remember my name, it’s okay by me. I just want the world to be better when I go. I want people to have known what it is to be loved, truly loved, because I was there, and know what it means to love others as a result. Doing this might mean I find all of those marks of fame and success as well…but they won’t be my legacy.
I’m praying you are.