Gift

Short thoughts today. It's the first full week of lent and I decided to start the morning doing a bit of listening. I grabbed a latte and Esquire. Ok...I know a Bible is the proper tool, but I had Esquire. I always enjoy a walk through this magazine. This issue is chock full of "bests" because it's award season. Page after page of good looking (and well styled) men and beautiful women and discussion of what makes them such. At the same time, there is a discussion at the table next to me about how "lucky" certain people are who can sing or play sports or other things while "the rest of us have to work"

Not, surprisingly, I disagree with popular opinion.

Clearly, then men and women in these pages are gifted with looks or talent or simply the resources to get their photo or story or opinion in the pages of an international men's magazine. But, in this writers humble opinion, it's not just luck. The men or women we become in our lives has to do with our gift, yes, but so much more to do with how we use our gift.

For fear of sounding arrogant, I've been gifted. I have a body, certain talents, a mind, and resources to use my life to add to the greater good. I, like anyone else, have a choice about how to spend what I've been given. I can squander them or use them to get bigger or go father or build higher. It's my pick. However, whatever I choose, I must also be aware that what I choose today gets whatever I get tomorrow. God, in his great mercy, gives me amazing things so that I can build on them.

I love the parable of the talents. Not your usual Lenten passage, I know. These three guys are given the resources of a king. They can do what they will. Two invested and became more. As a result, they were given more because they were worthy. The other, driven by fear and lack of ambition, did nothing. Buried it and lost it. He had it and he blew it by not being willing to lose.

The word for the first Monday in Lent then is simply this, work your gift. You have the opportunity to change the world. You can make a choice to let your gift go and spend the rest of your life in a starbucks explaining away other people's success in order to mask your own failure. Or, you can choose to risk. Get stronger, faster, and smarter. Challenge yourself. Risk something big. Love farther than you think you can. Do something amazing...and do it today.

I know the gifts Ive been given. They are many. There are physical resources that are will be cared for and made bett.. There are people who deserve the best version of me as I believe in them. There is my own spirit that deserves daily renewal and honor.

I'm just about halfway though this life and I'm just gathering steam.

Life is a great gift. Spend wisely.

Ash Wednesday

I'm sitting by a fire that I built on the property that I'll be calling home for the foreseeable future. My boys were a part of the building tonight...they found sticks for kindling and got, what I assume to be, their one-hundredth lesson on the concept of starting a fire.  (At least they will know.) Tonight's fire was more than just building a fire. There was much preparation. A season of neglect required that the collected dirt and debris be removed, leading to sweeping and organizing the entire stone patio on which the fire pit is built. We swept all of the leaves and sticks into a pile, put a couple of pieces of good seasoned logs on top, and made a pretty perfect fire. Fire is always captivating. We watched the large pile of wood slowly shrink into orange coals that became heat and light; leaving behind the ashes...the only unusable part of our fire. Before the next blaze, these ashes will be scooped up and placed in an out of the way pile where the earth can redeem them and start the cycle again.  It's Ash Wednesday.  I've grown to approach lent without the same kind of plan as many.  I don't give up chocolate or soda or tv or anything like that. I only resist doing that because for me it isn't much of a sacrifice...they don't rob me from my spiritual life (well...not so much anyway) For me, lent is always a journey where God has something specific to put in my life. It's always good...as His gifts always are...but I find they require me to give up things.  Lent has often been a season of loss for me...but loss so that my hands are open for the gift that the season will bring. As I sat by the fire tonight, I was wondering about the loss that might come and readying myself. I trust God. Everything that has gone in my life has been replaced with something better. Not easier (nothing truly good is completely easy) but always better. This has been a season of rebuilding and receiving.  This fire is in a brand new house...at least new to me...that is still in a bit of chaos from moving and rehabbing. I have often had the thought that I want to finish this house so that it can be filled with people to love.  Sitting by the fire on a clean patio, I got to teach the boys about a season of preparing. It dawned on me that it's my Lenten call.  I have to prepare my “house”...both real and spiritual...because God, as He does, has a gift for me. There are things that need to be organized, cleaned, and even set ablaze, so that I have the room. I want to make my house ready.  No spiritual journey is completely a solo one, but it's on me. There is a season of sweat ahead...but it's the right kind of sweat. I'm ready for the journey. 

Waking Dream

Today is Mardi Gras. All around the country, and very specifically in New Orleans, people will be celebrating the beginning of the lenten season with as much stuff that they percieve doesn't fit into the lenten season as possible. I'm not intending to write about the debauchery of Mardi Gras. Truth is, I love a good party and I think Jesus does to, but it does betray a bit of how we view God. I think we believe that somehow there is a huge seperation between the desires of our hearts and the life we are resigned to live. I wrote this piece last week and, while it doesn't match with the day specifically, I felt like it fit. Happy Fat Tuesday. There was a morning last week that I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t even really wake up. I was aware that I was asleep and that soon I would have to shake myself totally awake and start my day. It wasn’t that I was overtired or not looking forward to the day. I had had a great evening and I have a great life. It was a rare phenomenon that had me strapped to the bed this morning. It was a really good dream. I’m not the sort of person that remembers the events of my sub-conscious, so this was an unusual occurrence for me to be in a waking dream.  The details were clear and I was completely present. I was at a party. It wasn’t like a house party, but a party at a place. People were dressed well and there was dancing. I had a tux, but was alone at the party when in walked…her. I had been hoping she would come. She looked stunning as she entered the room. She walked over to me and I handed her a glass of champagne. That’s when we noticed the other woman wearing the same dress.  Now, I must admit that it’s odd that I had a “same dress crisis” in my dream, but I figured out why shortly after. See, she noticed her and felt the crisis. I don’t think it was embarrassment, it just means that something is being taken away from someone. I could see it in her face. That’s when I stepped into action.  “Come with me” She took my hand and we left the party…but didn’t get far. In the lobby of the…actually I don’t know where it was...let’s just say in the lobby, were some ruffians. It was classic and cartoony. There was a big guy in a grey suit surrounded by bigger guys in dark suits. They had a beef with me and had brought enough muscle to get their agenda accomplished. Or so they thought.  As I opened the proverbial can upon their derrières, I was able to subdue them, keep my tux intact, and exit with a 007-like dignity. I took the fair lady across to the dress shop where and enjoyed watching her try on new dresses. After buying her the one she chose, we exited the shop and opted for a table at the outdoor cafe (very Parisian), deciding that the party was far too boorish and our time would be much better spent enjoying each other’s company over lattes. It was. And my subconscious worked like James Brown to keep me in that world.  When I finally wrestled my way out of that space and out from undercover, I wondered about my mind’s reluctance to leave. I have a great life. Granted, there are few tux-worthy parties and I would be first working to talk my way out of a scrape (though I’d like to think I would at least give the guys a workout before getting my hind handed to me). I’ve enjoyed the company of the fair maiden and have been blessed with the resources to do good things. But in that moment, I was able to do all of those things, in concentrated form, and be the hero that lives in the soul of every man who listens to his DNA. I wondered about it because of what I mentioned before - I don’t tend to remember dreams. I wake with my mind ready to address the ball that is coming my way that day. That might be how I wake; my brain getting the day’s list out of the drawer and starting to read it to me. This day is was different. This morning my brain kept the list in the drawer because I needed to understand something about myself. The man in the dream was me. I think we, men in particular, love movies that look like my dream because there is a manhood that is too often unrealized. Why we ignore our call to be great and leave it to a rare few (or worse, a fictional few) is beyond me. Men have so dropped the ball on the centrality of their call that it makes me wonder why women take a chance with us to begin with. We aren’t that pretty. I’m the first one to admit - it’s hard being a man. It’s the best kind of hard. We get to daily reflect those attributes of God that are given to us by nature of our gender. I don’t buy in to the concepts of traditional male dominance, but what we have done is given up our soul. It’s not about who we control but about who we are in our heart. There are very few concepts I despise more than a man cave. When did it become OK for us to define our sex in terms of what we don’t do. We get a big easy chair so we can sit on our fat aft and watch other men do things on a big TV and fill our bodies with beverages that mar our ability to love and protect. We stuff our face with foods that stick to our immobile veins and ensure that our value will be lost to this world earlier than planned while gathering with other like minded souls to discuss the great acts of other men. It’s embarrassing. Let me bring you all into the huddle for a moment to tell you a secret. True men do great things, not spend their life watching other men do great things. I enjoyed my dream, and, instead of waking and wishing I could run back in and live in that world, I considered how I could act in the spirit of my soul today. My body needs some work so that I can have the physical ability to do whatever is needed of me. I’m going to get on that. I work daily on the practice and understanding of love so that the people I care about feel bigger. I read and listen so that my grasp of the world I move in becomes sharper with age and not in a steady flow toward dementia. I work to gain further strides in fiscal health so that not only I won’t have to depend on others nor the ones I love, but so I can pay forward the large debt of the investment that others paid into me.  In other words, I want to become everything that I was made to be. Our stories are meant to inspire, not give us an escape route from the dissatisfaction of our reality. I read and see the stories of others who go before me and it informs where I need to be going. It’s why Jesus told stories - it gave us a window into what we are made to be. My dream told me a bit more about my soul and told me the areas that still need focus. I have boys that need to see what a man can be. There is a fair maiden that, when she gets to walk next to a man who is fully realized, gets to feel better about believing. There is a world of people waiting to hear that they can be more if they just listened to the call that is screaming in their soul rather than believing it’s too hard or that the men who do it are “lucky”. I've got a long way to go, but I take each day as it comes and try and be just a bit more. I'm forming a team. I hope you will join me.

Valentines Day Indeed.

The sun inched it’s way over the trees and crept between my eyelids as it does every morning. Soon, I would convince myself to get out from underneath the blanket, go down and start the coffee brewing, take a shower, get dressed, retrieve the aforementioned coffee, and sit in the chair by the window and think about love.  I'm sure it's due to the fact that it's the day after Valentine's Day, but I woke thinking about love…a potentially dangerous pursuit for a man waking alone to be sure…but I knew it would be the topic of my morning meditation. 

I rose to meet my Maker.

Actually, that sounds awfully dramatic…but you know what I mean.

This month, love is stretched. It’s very definitions suspect. From celebrity breakups to church members who have lost their companion, to those very dear who are hurting, to my own feelings of loss and struggle; believing in love doesn’t come easy these days. As I watch magazines report one breakup after another, one wonders if love is real. As I carried a woman’s husband’s ashes to the front of the church, one wonders if the loss is worth it. As I see the pain in one I hold dear, one feels helpless. As I watch my heart packing to go, one doesn’t even know what to feel. 

It makes one wonder if love is worth it.

I’ll confess to being a trembling romantic.

I guess I’ve come to one reality in the season. Love has to be bigger than the potential results of loving. Yes, it’s true, love has the potential for big pain. I know I’ve given much to the act of love and, it can be argued, experienced a fair amount of suffering in exchange. I’m at a season of my life where I’m asking the question of worth. I wake everyday with just my own self. As the sun rises over the ridge outside my window I’ve often thought about someone else seeing this with me, but I have also learned to just enjoy the moment I’m in. When I turn the key at the end of a long day and there is silence instead of a voice of welcome or one who I, in turn, can welcome home, I wonder about love but again find that I am learning to exist in the quietness with my own spirit. I am finding that, at the end of the suffering and lack of having things “my way”, I am left with me and the heart I have.

And that heart is in love.

I would never be so arrogant to compare myself to God in any shape or fashion, except to say that I think I’m learning something about how He loves. So often our love is conditional - dependent on results. People please us and we give them love. They displease us and we withhold our love or take it away completely leaving broken hearts in our wake. God loves because that is who He is - it comes from the strength of his heart. I think He is perfectly happy all in Himself and didn’t create us because He was lonely. However, perfect love requires an object of celebration…something worthy of a perfect love. God chose the object of His deepest love and He is locked and loaded. His love is aggressive but never pushy, consistent without being pathetic, and committed without being naive. He doesn’t beg and keeps the door open because He loves. As St. John says: He is Love.

If we are made in His image, then our love can be like that. Clearly, He has much love that doesn’t ever get to be realized. At least that’s how I understand it to be. Love, realized, is one that is enjoyed between the lover and the loved - both exchanging roles and seeing the seeds of love grow more every day. It is love in it’s completion. It is love that is world changing. It’s love that can show up in various forms (friendship, partnership, familial, erotic, etc) but love behaves in much the same way. Love without exchange remains unrealized and may change form in order that the lover can maintain the good of their soul without injury, but if love comes from who I am, it doesn’t go away.

There are people in my life that, because of their responses to my love or my person, I have had to adjust how my love shows up in their life. There are people for whom I had great affection that, quite frankly, I struggle with having even a basic sense of humanity because of injury I received. It makes one question one’s ability to do it again. However, I have found that God gives grace to grow and that I am learning more about true love these days than I ever have before. I’ve learned that I have a capacity to feel quite strong in myself, but keep a space open for the object of my deepest affection. The love that is returned to me helps form how I love in a particular circumstance or with a particular person, but my love is just that…my love.

I’m grateful that, after having done it wrong for so many years, I’m learning to do it right. I may wake up every day and experience the sunrise solo and crawl into bed at night with little more than a book and the satisfaction of a day well done, but it will not change my love. My love comes from me and I hope that I get a little better at it with each sunrise. Do I wish for a particular someone who wants to be there watching the sunrise with me? Of course, I open to a relentless hope. There might not be someone who wants to be there with me this morning, but as I slip on my robe and go down to make coffee, I know I am wrapped in good love. I don’t miss that. And I also know that my heart loves the way it loves and who it loves. I can find peace in the fact that I loved well and gave all I had. There is a joy in that as well as I head down the road today and keep my eyes open to new graces.

So, I guess, at the end of the day, I still believe. I don’t think that some of what calls itself love out there really is - including some of the ways I’ve approached it in the past. However, I also know what it is to be loved without condition by a Person who loves the right way. He has sweat a ton, I’m sure, in His commitment to loving me and hasn’t always gotten the best of this deal. But I’m glad He loves me the way He does. Every once in a while I come to my senses and remember Him. He doesn’t seem to get bored of me. He is the kind of man I wish to be. His is the kind of love I wish to have. His is the kind of love that changes the world.

I don’t love without fear, but I love with courage. I’ve learned from the best. 

I was reminded as I ended this piece of the scene from The Princess Bride where Inigo Montoya has finally found the six fingered man. The man, seemingly has bested him with a knife to the stomach. Inigo, finds strength in his commitment to something bigger than the pain in his gut. Watching Inigo struggling to rise, the six-fingered man says:

"Good heavens! Are you still trying to win?"

Yea, I am. There is too much good in front to get stopped just shy of the goal. I have a course to finish...

And maybe I might be asked to be the next Dread Pirate Roberts.

You never know.

Stop it...

Just stop it.

Please...just stop.

Stop letting candidates with hateful views win primaries. Just stop. It is beneath us. We have come farther than that.

Stop creating stuff like "OneMillionMoms" because you are afraid of Ellen DeGeneres. It's embarrassing - especially when you only have 40,000 moms on board. But even that makes me crazy.

You are embarrassing yourself and any of us that hold, at least in name, to the same faith you profess...but even worse is the truth that you are actually doing damage.

Let me be clear. The gays are not gonna get you. Them choosing to marry or hold hands is not going to make your kid gay. It MIGHT make it easier for your gay kid to be who they are and not get beat up every day. Unless, of course, you are hoping that the jocks - especially the ones who are too afraid of becoming a social outcast to admit their own preferences - might beat the gay out of your kid since you haven't been able to.

Just stop it.

We all win when we love. If thousands of years of greed and pain and violence and loss haven't taught us that pushing one's agenda only results in darkness and loss, we are done. Keep in mind, that when the church had free reign to push whatever agenda they wished, it was called the Dark Ages. It required a bloody revolution against the church to usher in an age of art, music, democracy, and literature - not to mention reformed theology.

So quit it...I'm serious.

Let me be clear. Stop fighting your fear and give in to the terrifyingly big love of the One who loves who you hate. Jesus had an agenda of love - not of political change. It's why they killed him. The people were hoping that Jesus would change government so that it was easier to live their faith and traditions.

He didn't.

In fact, he seemed to go after those things that kept people from getting to God. The only record of Jesus getting REALLY pissed was when the temple courts had so many hoops to jump through that not everyone could get to God.

The message of Jesus is that everyone can get to God.

That means that everyone gets to enjoy what God has given.

And we get to tell them that they are enjoying it because they are loved.

And that goes for the mexicans. If you are afraid that they will take your job...work harder. Make yourself invaluable. You can't complain about them if you keep marginalizing them. Welcome them and make room. More workers should equal a bigger economy. Hire a few and start a company and go change the world. There is plenty of money out there.

So quit acting ridiculous. You represent the most powerful species on the planet, that means you are responsible for the good of the entire world - not just how good your lawn looks. There are people hurting, not because of justice, but because they were born differently than you.

I say this as a representative of the most powerful sub-group of the most powerful species on the planet. I am white, male, heterosexual, and have a few dollars. I do not directly benefit from gay marriage (i.e. I'm not planning on getting gay married) nor do the plight of minorities or illegals directly affect the fact that I get to sip a latte in my favorite coffee spot in the middle of the morning.

I could ignore you.

I can't ignore you.

If I ignore you, you might gain more followers because you sound right.

You are not right.

If we make the world better for everyone then we all win. If we fight for civil rights and put the social call back into the message of the gospel (which is simply the call to find our humanity - not a new religion) then the water level rises for the entire planet.

Imagine a world with no hunger. It's not a lack of food that kills 50,000 kids daily - it's the fact that we aren't sharing.

Imagine a world with no war. That would mean that we expect that people are seeking a fair and just agenda rather than one that puts them on the top of the pile.

Imagine a world with no bigotry. That would mean we accept people as they are and love the mess out of them based on their personhood and not the color of their skin or their economic status or who they find attractive.

It was acceptable, at one time, to believe that somehow if I spend time with an African American that the black would rub off and my race would be corrupted.

We know that is stupid.

It's as stupid as believing that the gay will rub off if Ellen DeGeneres shills JCPenney. JCPenney has one shot at keeping their company alive...take it, and godspeed.

Don't believe stupid things because you are afraid. The only things that rub off are love and hate.

Which one are you?

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.