A brief observation about observing

Isn’t it interesting how powerful eye contact is?

Whether we’re sitting across the table from someone, or walking past a stranger at the mall, or even glancing over toward the driver in the next lane at the stop light…there’s something about us that isn’t satisfied with cutting our gaze short at a person’s nose, chin or shoes.

Whether it’s from two feet or 200 yards away–whether that person is dancing, performing a card trick or about to crash into us at the ice-skating rink, it’s in our design to ultimately search for even a flash of communion with those M&M-sized pupils. Inherently, we won’t stop looking until ours find theirs.

It’s not always a comfortable feeling, either. Sometimes, we’ll resist the urge to make eye contact altogether for fear of what kind of emotional response that connection would/could make. More often, we’re so consumed with the screen(s) or whatever task in front of us, that we straight-up miss the opportunities to connect, completely unaware.

But it’s a part of the human condition to connect through our eyes. Usually, we do it without even thinking about it. Whether or not we realize what we’re doing–and whether or not it it’s intentional–eye contact is one of the most validating components of humanity. It’s offering a part of myself–my joy, sadness, hope, frustration..and ALL of my attention–in exchange for a part of someone else.

So simple. So meaningful.

“I long to see you, so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong–that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith.” – Romans 1:11 (NIV)

Mercy.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” – 2 Peter 3:9

I can’t recall ever feeling anger toward God.

Maybe if I consider defiance–or even dismissiveness–veiled forms of hostility, that would count; but if I’ve ever felt that the Father warranted any of my aggravation, resentment, or rage, it’s slipped my mind. And that seems like something that I’d remember.

A while back, I’d made some plans for this weekend. Yesterday, today and tomorrow, specifically. At the risk of being way vague, I’ll just say that these plans were not the best for me. For my heart. For my testimony. For the path I had understood God desired me to continue walking out (I Cor. 7:17, James 1:4)–for my own good for His glory. For the few weeks leading up to today, I very much knew, in my moments of honest self-evaluation, that these plans weren’t going to be ultimately helpful toward all of the above, but I simply wanted to do it anyway.

And planned to. I mean, in the world’s eyes, these plans were nothing. No big deal. Nothing criminal. Nothing scandalous. In fact, with my “world lenses” on, it actually seemed like a healthy idea. Then again, something I always use as an illustration for my kids, simply by using my two fists: If my left fist is “The World,” and my right fist is “The Spirit,” even if our two arms are stretched out as far as they can be from each other, the space between the two is still too close.

Then I checked my email a few days ago. A friend had been doing some devotional writing, and in the midst of her prayer and study, the Holy Spirit spoke to her about my specific life circumstances. So she relayed the message into my inbox, saying, essentially:

“If you’d like to get yourself out of the pit your destructive choices were instrumental in putting you in, you need to stop this pattern of destructive choices. Or you’re never getting out.”

Until I was ready to stop my behavior that had already caused incredible wounds to myself, my family, and countless others around me; until I was ready to truly make choices correlating with a repentant spirit; I wasn’t going to be–I couldn’t be–in a place to get to what I ultimately desired.

She didn’t know what this pertained to, exactly, but I did. She didn’t know about my plans, but God essentially blew them up with that message via my faithful friend. And, ugh, was that disappointing. Even frustrating.

After a few hours of hemming and hawing, I decided this warning was surely divinely-inspired (enough!) to make the necessary call and cancel this weekend’s very-much-anticipated itinerary. Again, frustrating, disappointing, and saddening decision, but 100% the right one.

It’d be great–and a little less embarrassing–to say this story was uncharted waters for me. That this experience was a new and unique life quest thrown my way. It wasn’t. Maybe not the exact same plan design as this weekend’s, but still…like a dog returning to its vomit (Proverbs 26:11), I was all up for putting myself into another temporarily-appeasing/fascinating/exciting situation that was going to ultimately…not help.

To say the least.

That’s where I go back to the whole thing about being angry with God. There was a moment after reading my friend’s email where I was like, “Come ON, Lord! Why be so extreme? Why do the things that I want to have to come with such drastic ramifications? Or any ramifications at all?” But that temper-tantrum only lasted maybe a minute before my parental logic kicked in. I don’t threaten my kids to make life harder for them; I warn them through counsel so they’ll make choices that will make life easier–OK, maybe not easier…more fruitful…for them.

How can I be angry with the Almighty, who loves me more than I love myself? Who sees and desires great things for me if I’m willing to be at peace in joyfully serving Him (Psalm 37:4)? Of course it’s our flesh nature to want what we want, when we want it. But my flesh wants the opposite of what my soul and spirit really need. If I’m sowing into my flesh the temporary pleasures I want, I’m going to reap all of that toxicity that comes with it (Gal. 6:7-8); and the result is…well, deadly (Romans 6:23).

It’s God’s mercy that saves me from death.

It’s God’s mercy–other definitions include: grace, compassion, pity, forbearance, humanity–that uses others to open my eyes to what I’m doing that could be destructive. Or simply, not conducive to where He desires to take me.

It’s God’s mercy that forgives and gives second, third, twentieth chances.

In my case, pertaining to my friend’s message to me last week, it’s God’s mercy that, in spite of my repeated failures, the restoration in my life that I truly desire is still even a possibility.

When I take even 30 seconds to really see how merciful God has been toward me–when I’ve done literally nothing on my own to earn the good I’ve received–any penchant toward anger at God feels like a waste of time and energy. I’d rather make the changes I need to make so my heart can get back on the path of being ready for whatever it is He’s purposed for me next.

Temptation: The choice to make life easier (or harder) on/for ourselves

“…’You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing…The sorrows of those will increase who run after other gods.” – Psalm 16:2,4

I needed to run into a department store to pick up…I don’t even remember what it was, now….but it doesn’t matter, anyway. It was going to be a quick stop, so as I pulled into my parking space, I asked my two kids if they wanted to join me or wait in the car. My daughter, Evelyn opted to stay in the car. “Really?” my 10 year-old son Alex challenged. “They have toys in there.” Without missing a beat: “I know,” Evelyn responded. “And I don’t need that kind of temptation right now.”

Try to not chuckle out loud as a parent overhearing your seven year-old talk so unwittingly big…and mature.

In that moment, at least.

Her short life experience has taught her that putting herself in an environment that will spark her cravings–perhaps cravings that didn’t even exist in her mind minutes earlier–and not seeing them fulfilled, will result in little more than disappointment. Disappointment that also didn’t exist prior to walking into the situation. She doesn’t have money for anything, and she knows, in our family, just because you want a toy or whatever, that doesn’t mean you just get it.

So, in her wise-beyond-her years elementary school logic, why even bother making life harder on herself? My son, on the other hand? Yeah, like most kids his age, he seems to be in a constant cycle of lust-turned to hope-turned to emotional-wreckage due to the willful exposure to things he suddenly can’t live without…only to find out he’s going to have to find away to live without them. At least until he saves up enough money to purchase that item on his own.

Admittedly, my son comes by this tendency right. Whether he even knows it or not at this point in his life, he’s a lot like his father.

I’ve spent way too much of my adult life facing the painful back end of a choice I thought would bring me some kind of pleasure. Some more dismal than others.

*There’s the moment I craved a certain article of clothing that I didn’t need but thought would make me look cool. I went to the store, spent more money than I really should have on it, was embarrassingly late to an important meeting due to a slow checkout line, and ultimately realized the clothing was cheaply made and I ruined it after one wear.

*There’s the moment I succumbed to the urge to make myself look good by making a work colleague look not-so-good and shared some confidential and personal information I’d learned to a group of other industry peers over a late-night dinner conversation. Only to spend several days later feeling sick to my stomach because I’d broken confidence, potentially altered others’ opinion about this person on my account, and feared that information getting back to the person who shared it. Not to mention, does anyone ever really walk away from someone who just gossiped and like and/or trust that person more than they did before the gossip?

*There’s the moment–as a married man–I decided I wanted to win over a hurting, female co-worker (whom I also found attractive), and stopped by the coffee shop on the way to work one morning to get her favorite coffee as a self-indulgent act of chivalry. Only to open the door to what would be an extramarital relationship that would break apart my marriage to eventual divorce and cost me the job that I very much enjoyed three months later.

…And there have been countless other instances where I walked through a door with flashing warning signs all over it (some, the same door over and over) thinking it’d make my life better…this time; but only result in a deeper hurt, sadness, guilt and shame than the heart-emptiness I tried to fill ever was. When I thought I needed to put someone who was annoying me in their place; when I drove over to a single woman’s house late at night for a drink and “to just hang out;” when I spent most of my time at a gathering of my friends or family ignoring them (especially my own kids…ugh) as I incessantly tried to manufacture the perfect social media post to proclaim how awesome I was for doing something awesome.

This isn’t an airing of my wrongs for the sake of self-condemnation. Anyone reading this can relate to one+ of these examples. And that’s why I articulate them here, because we’re all running after other gods and as the lead verse promises, sorrow (synonyms: regret, heartache, grief, sadness, trouble) will increase to those who choose that course.

I’m naturally a person who tends to put the weight of the world on my shoulders. When I’m living out of my flesh, I beat myself up a lot and expect that life isn’t going to go my way. In my spirit, I also deal with a sadness over the sinfulness of the world and how out of order, chaotic and distant people, societies, and belief systems are from how the Father intended them to be. That’s why I pay attention to the word “increase” in Psalm 16:4. I’m already dealing with some sorrow…some sadness. We all are. By running to another god in the pursuit of eliminating that sorrow, I’m doing the exact opposite. Maybe only burying it for awhile, but eventually, that sorrow’s going to burst out in tragic proportions.

In that same passage in Psalm, King David goes on to assert in verse 11, “You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand (NIV).” From what I know about David in scripture, I have to think this is self-talk as much as it is praise. A reminder to himself that it’s God’s job to take care of his/our pleasure.

Conversely, Satan couldn’t care less about our longings for wholeness and fulfillment, but isn’t going to stop tempting us to compromise–both spiritually and sexually–until our sorrows have wrecked our lives, and often the lives around us.

So how do we kill the idols that threaten to make life only harder for us? Honestly, I’m still working that out. Thankfully, though, there’s limitless scripture to guide me in that work. I start with choosing to belief to the best of my ability that I Corintians 10:13 is true:

“God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”

Then, praying–literally–Psalm 139:23-24:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there’s is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” 

If I/we mean it, this can be an incredibly risky prayer for us(!!) Because our hearts in their nature are pretty filthy…and there are tons of offensive elements about us that–when put before a sinless, stainless, mighty God of the universe–are surely cringingly gross in comparison. This same God delights in us, though, so in our gnarliest state (“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1 NIV), we can still come to him and ask for his help to unpack our mess, bring it all into the light via confession, and then repent of it.

In the Bible, Peter says, God “resists the proud but gives grace to the humble (1 Peter 5:5 NKJV).” When I’m stuck in my self-satisfied pride, I’m not seeking his strength. If I think I’m going to overcome any flaws of my heart on my own, I’m kidding myself, hardcore.

Author Elyse Fitzpatrick wrote: “Humble confession is the door that opens streams of grace to me. I know He’ll give me His help when I bow before Him, confessing that I’m hopeless and helpless without it.”

Augustine said: “He who conceals his [sin] will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will find compassion. Confession shuts the mouth of hell and opens the gates of paradise.”

I’ve learned that confession is only going to benefit me if I’m specific about what it is I’m confessing. I can say I’m an open book all day, but wow will my pride lock me up when it comes to putting the details of my folly on display in front of even my most trusted and loving confidants. My tendency is to go into details of what happened in the acted-out behavior, but truly, confession is also in spilling the dirt about my motives, desires and thoughts that drove me to the action in the first place.

I admit, I don’t often hate my sin. In fact, a lot of times, I really like like my sin. Which is why the truth that comes out of a Psalm 139 prayer is so essential. As I’ve learned to get more honest with God (and myself), my prayers have changed from “Lord, I want to change,” to “Lord, I want to want to change.” I want the desire to fight it. And often, unless I’m completely in a situation where I’m screwed, that desire’s absent. Because, again, I don’t want to honor the Lord like I say I do. So I prayer becomes one of wanting to want to honor Him.

It’s amazing that God can love us enough to absorb not only our sin, but our lack of discipline at times to turn from it. Not only love us, but work with us and not leave us on our own to figure it out—or not figure it out. And beyond that, work with us to resist getting to those points of temptation in the first place. Which is why, as I grow older and slowly gain more understanding of who (and how and why) God is, verses like Matthew 11:28-30 carry so much more meaning for me than they ever did growing up:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Innocence

“To the pure all things are pure, but to those who are defiled and unbelieving nothing is pure; but even their mind and conscience are defiled.” – Titus 1:15

Have you ever found some artifact from your distant past–a book, a souvenir from a family vacation, a CD–and reflected on how much life has changed since you last held that thing in your hands?

When you last read those words, touched the edges of that familiar nic-nac, pressed “Play” on that disc and absorbed the melodies coming from it 10…15…20 years ago, you had some form of worldview of what life was like. You had hopes of what your life would become one day. You hadn’t considered how or when your relationships could or would go away. You had no idea the people you’d meet who would bring you great gladness or open your eyes to beauty. Or introduce you to a pain you wouldn’t dare–or even know how–to imagine.

Sometimes, I’ll come across something–maybe a picture or a note from high school or college–I shake my head and grin as I face that younger me and reflect on how hard I tried to be funny. Or cool. Or anything else that I wasn’t. Can’t say I ever thought I had the world all figured out, but I certainly always wanted it to like me–and worked countless angles to make it so. The world scared me before I even really stepped out into it.

Now, what really makes my heart weigh a few pounds heavier are those pieces from my pre-adolescent-era life. When the only hurt I knew were my parents’ spankings and confirmations that, no, we weren’t going to Chuck-E-Cheese for dinner. So much innocence. Not that I acted innocently–hence the spankings. But I didn’t even know to expect anything out of life outside of countless pick-up baseball games, Little Debbie snacks in my school lunch and agonizing countdowns to overnight trips at the grandparents’.

The last time I read through the pages of a Henry Huggins book was at my son’s age of nine. My kids like me to read about Henry and Ribsy and Ramona Quimby’s adventures out loud, which I’m more than glad to do. Just like my son and seven year-old daughter now, when I last read this story, I didn’t know rejection nor had I ever betrayed anyone who trusted me and broke their hearts.

I hadn’t failed an important test or lost a job…nor lost a loved one…yet.

I hadn’t faced the fear of growing old alone or wondering where the money was going to come from to pay my mortgage.

I didn’t pine for the someone else’s approval of me to affirm that I was OK, in my humanness, as it was.

I hadn’t questioned if God really liked me, much more, loved me.

I hadn’t really messed anything up yet.

And then, for a minute, comes a deep longing to go back to that moment. Before I’d scarred or been scarred. When I read that book or listened to that song free of nagging pains of what my sin has done or what others’ sins have done to me circling my consciousness.

This is all kind of heavy thinking, for sure. Not to back-pedal, but it’s not that I live in this space 24-7. There’s freedom from that sort of misery. And I’m grateful for the journey toward that, fully. But how beautiful is that innocence. The kind I see in my 10 year-old son and seven year-old daughter, yet very much does dwindle away a little by the hour as travelers exposed to the World’s destined-for-death elements.

An author named John A. Ritenbough once wrote:

A well-known series of scriptures, beginning in Matthew 18:1, touches on innocence and its destruction. It starts with a question from the disciples: “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Jesus replies that unless we become as little children, we will not be in the Kingdom of Heaven. Is not the beauty of their innocence and the harmless vulnerability of little children a major reason why we find them so adorable? They produce no harm, shame, or guilt. But what happens as they become adults? They become sophisticated, worldly, cosmopolitan, cynical, suspicious, sarcastic, prejudiced, self-centered, cool, uninvolved, and many other negative things. They also seem to lose their zest for life. Sin does that.

Of course, we can never become children again; and none of us really want that anyway, really. God mercifully gifts us with wisdom (James 1:5) and discernment (Proverbs 2) as we persevere to mature through life (James 1:4), in spite of what we’ve done and what we’ve been exposed to. To live in naiveté as an adult is novel, but it’s also dangerous–which is why children can be rarely left unattended–and dumb.

I don’t know that I’ll experience the same “zest for life” again until heaven. Which makes me all the more eager to get there, though I also don’t want to die anytime soon. Father, give us the faith to believe that we are, in fact, whole and seen as flawless in your sight because–only because–Jesus’ blood has made us that way. Let us be glad in that above any and all of our deceitful hearts’ (Jeremiah 17:9) guilt or shame.

 

 

Rest: Training for eternity

“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.” – Psalm 23:1-3

“Abraham Joshua Heschel once observed, ‘Unless one learns how to relish the taste of Sabbath while still in the world, unless one is initiated in the appreciation of eternal life, one will be unable to enjoy the taste of eternity in the world to come.’ We are simply naive if we think that having wasted or squandered the many good gifts of this creation, we will not do the same with the gifts of heaven. Sabbath practice, on this view, is a sort of training ground for the life of eternity, a preparation for the full reception and welcome of the presence of God.” – Norman Wirzba

Pretty much daily, I need to remind my children that my rules and decisions of what they may or may not do are not designed to make them miserable. Last week, Alex wanted to attend a friend’s Pokemon party, where all of the boys in his fourth grade class would spend a Saturday afternoon together, trading and playing (or whatever they do) Pokemon cards.

When I saw the party invite, I did the internal eye-roll of the century. Just recently, I’d sort-of-accidentally come across information on the origin and spirit of Pokemon that brought me a new perspective on the seemingly harmless kids game. Of all the party themes. Pokémon. Why not soccer or LEGOS or laser tag? So then I was faced with the decision to let him do the party or…not. Considering what I’d read about Pokemon’s occult themes (mind-reading, dream-eating(??), teleportation, sorcery and hypnosis), in addition to the game offering really nothing redemptive to experiencing God’s glory, I said ‘no.’

Much to my son’s dismay. Temporary, to the extent of maybe an hour of pouting, but dismay nonetheless.

I said ‘no’ for what I believe is best for my son’s heart, spirit and soul–and because I’m accountable to him. I didn’t say ‘no’ because I was bored and looking for a new rule or wanted to flex my authority. And I didn’t say ‘yes’ because it was a typical thing that a lot of kids–even kids from Christian homes–take part in, thus convincing myself that it’s harmless fun (Luke 6:26 MSG).

My point in all of that is, this parental operating is how I choose to see God the Father’s commands and covenants with his children. Me and you. Everyone. They aren’t designed to assert power over us for the sake of keeping us subservient. He’s the Lord and creator of the universe, so yeah, we are subject to his power regardless. But his directives are all for the ultimate good of his Kingdom–not cold-hearted tyranny.

This takes me to God’s commandment about Sabbath rest. Not a suggestion. Not a preference. God commands us to remember and honor the Sabbath. Not only is taking a day to rest a direct order from the Lord Almighty (Exodus 20:8), it’s inarguably good for us.

A few years back, I realized that I got (and still get) annoyed by the responses “I’m busy” or “I’m tired” to the question, “How are you?” For one, they seemed way overused. Of all of the things a person could be, one (or both) of those is one’s best “go-to” in describing his/her status at the time? For as boring as being tired or busy is, at least it’s honest. And super typical.

Unless we’re only saying it to sound impressive, like, we’re tired due to the volume of busyness going on because we’re so successful or whatever (which, really…when does kind of life descriptor ever impress anyone?), by choosing that lifestyle, we’re choosing to make ourselves slaves.

In Deuteronomy, the Israelites were reminded that the Lord, with his mighty hand and outstretched arm, had delivered them from slavery in Egypt. Thus, to keep us from ever being prone–or worse, forced–to constant work again, He made us liberated people by commanding a day for rest.

“Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your ox, donkey or any of your animals…so that your servants may rest as you do.” (Deut. 5:13-14)

Eugene Peterson says, “The Deuteronomy reason for Sabbath-keeping is that our ancestors in Egypt went for four hundred years without a vacation. Never a day off. The consequence: they were no longer consider persons but slaves. Hands. Work units. Not persons created in the image of God, but equipment for making brick and building pyramids. Humanity was defaced.”

Just yesterday, my friend Analee pointed out via a Facebook post how a person is asked to step down from office or ministerial positions after an adulterous act, but is often applauded for his tenacity when he works on Sabbath. Both honoring the Sabbath and not committing adultery are written in the Ten Commandments.

Something another friend of mine pointed out is how often we as believers, when we DO acknowledge Sabbath rest, will still hit up grocery stores, restaurants or other places of consumerism, and ask others to serve us on a day of rest. Kind of arrogant, right? Resting on our day of Sabbath, while still asking others to not rest by taking care of us? Whew. That’s convicting. And something I for sure need to work on, big time.

As I’ve come to understand more what Sabbath is, and choose to abide by God’s kindhearted directive of it more, it’s revealed how much change this requires in the way I live my life. There are a LOT of things I want to do on Sabbath, but not always because I truly want to–I feel like I need to. I don’t trust that taking a day off of work will relax me and put me in a better position to be effective and full for the six days following. Sometimes, it’s about fear of missing out on something. Other times, it’s a fear of getting behind in the rat race that is often my life. Ugh. Rat race. Talk about a humanity-defacing term to describe one’s life.

I’ll end with this great quote by Wayne Muller:

“Sabbath is not dependent upon our readiness to stop. We do not stop when we are finished. We do not stop when we complete our phone calls, finish our project, get through this stack of messages, or get out this report that is due tomorrow. We stop because it’s time to stop.

Sabbath requires surrender. If we only stop when we are finished with all our work, we will never stop–because our work is never completely done. With every accomplishment there arises a new responsibility…If we refuse rest until we are finished, we will never rest until we die. Sabbath dissolves the artificial urgency of our days, because it liberates us from the need to be finished…

We stop because there are forces larger than we that take care of the universe, and while our efforts are important, necessary, and useful, they are not (nor are we) indispensable. The galaxy will somehow manage without us for this hour, this day, and so we are invited–nay commanded–to relax, and enjoy our relative unimportance, our humble place at the table in a very large world…

Do not be anxious about tomorrow, Jesus said again and again. Let the work of this day be sufficient…

Sabbath says, Be still. Stop. There is no rush to get to the end, because we are never finished.”

The Amazing Taste of Silence

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” – Psalm 46:1-3, 10

“Many are avidly seeking but they alone find who remain in continual silence…Every man who delights in a multitude of words, even though he says admirable things, is empty within. If you love truth, be a lover of silence. Silence like the sunlight will illuminate you in God and will deliver you from the phantoms of ignorance. Silence will unite you to God himself.” – Isaac of Nineveh

Like almost everything, there’s a good side and a bad side of social media. I tend to look at social media–for me, it’s Facebook and Instagram–as a prominent, accessible dinner table placed in the epicenter of my house…or life, to make this more metaphorical. Its central location means there’s a lot of activity around it. Like the mall, a church or airport, there are always people around to attract.

As the owner of my “house,” I choose how I want to use the table. I can invite others to join me at the table, where people are peers, equals, fellow sojourners and accomplices observing and sometimes working out the questions, intrigues, joys and pains of life together.

Or, I can use the table as a platform. A stage to attract attention of the people milling about below me. I can perform and entertain. I can woo through sage-like “wisdom” and profundities. I can provoke others’ envy or ire. When I have elevated myself onto this table, the people around it are not peers. They are not really my fellow anything. They are my flock. They are my hopeful followers and fans. When I’m standing up on the table, I don’t need them for who they are, I need them for what they can do for me.

“Wow, man–that’s really overthinking a platform people use to post pics of their kids and fancy lattes.” Maybe? But at least for my own relationship to the communication outlet provided via social media–chronic processor that I am–there is a lot of truth in this analogy. No sense beating myself up over it, but also no sense ignoring/avoiding a very poignant revelation. And it’s prompted me to not only check my motivation for why I’m posting, it’s challenged me to consider whether I really need to post at all.

Or maybe–at least sometimes–it’s better to keep my “admirable things” to myself and remain silent.

One of the verses I mentally refer to the most is Ecclesiastes 6:11, “The more the words, the less the meaning, and how does that profit anyone?” It’s not saying to stay quiet, but to be thoughtful with the quality of what we share first, and then the quantity of how much we share it. God’s gifted lots of people in my life with incredible wisdom. For a few of them, as much as they talk, sometimes it’s like digging through a giant box of cereal to find the “prize” hidden inside of it. Others? It’s like whenever they open their mouth to speak, the air goes out of the room. They don’t say much, but what they do say, carries with it a lot of thought and…meaning. Hence the point of that verse. People are more open and expectant of what that person wants to say because when they do choose to speak, it tends to be something golden.

There’s something beautiful about that ability to remain silent. To not need to perform, because I’m busier and more interested in quietly listening to what God wants to instill in me. Rather than me copiously considering what I (think I) need to instill in others.

To some degree, this is one reason I’m actually grateful for social media–what it’s taught me about myself. My motivations based on what I want, versus my decisions based on what I (and others) truly need. What I need more of is silence. And that is something I’ve needed for force myself to be that way…because I’ve learned to anticipate better fruit from that rather than the fruit of a handful of peers’ somewhat-passive validation found in a “Like.”

Father, give us more of this sweet experience that is born out of the exercise of silence. Help us to be still and to wait patiently for you at the table. To be united with you there. Teach us to see the hollowness of our fleshly-need to jump up and make noise on the table for the temporary fix of another’s approval.

What We Don’t See

Several years ago, I picked up some incredibly memorable life-principles as an active participant in an intensive workshop called The Encounter Training, while living in Nashville, Tennessee. There was a lot of sticky doses of counsel that I’ve kept with me since then, but I recollect one in particular nearly every day:

The power of a promise

One of the most tangible ways to show love is to simply keep your promises. If you pay attention to the day-to-day promises you make to others, it creates integrity for you and lets others know how valued they are. We would also assert that a broken promise is a cry for help. It’s tangible evidence that certain aspects of your life aren’t working.

Where the power of a promise really came into play during this workshop was in abiding by the rules the group of 30 of us crafted ourselves. One rule agreed-upon by the entire group? “We start the first session each morning at 8 a.m.”

Simple enough and not asking too much. Following morning, no one thought much as some of the trainees rolled in at 8:01, 8:05…even 10 after. But our workshop leader did. Each person who walked in late was asked to stand up and acknowledge that they had, in fact, broken the 8 a.m. rule–and to that, a promise–they’d played a part in creating.

Of course, initially, it seemed a bit extreme to make such a big deal about a few minutes’ tardiness (including my own!). But as the instructor reminded us of our prior commitment to the “8 a.m. Rule,” and how it pertained to the above-noted Promise Principle, it all did strike a chord. When you and I agree to meet at the coffee shop at 9:30, we’ve made a verbal contract to each other. A promise that we’ll be there when we say we will. If one of us is late because of poor time-management or straight-up carelessness, it’s a broken promise.

We may not think much of it because we are surrounded by people (including ourselves) who run late as ritually as we check our Facebook. Or make plans and don’t follow through with them. No matter how culturally-common it may be to not follow through, a broken commitment is a broken promise. Is it a cry for help as the principle states? I’m not sure. But I know when some of the prepetually-late people in my life say they’ll “be there at 7,” I don’t totally trust they will. In my mind, I’m like, “Yeah, see you at 7:15, then.” And trust is everything. Which is why I’ve been known in my household to take the kids to the fro-yo place at 9 p.m. when they should be in bed–because at some point during the day, I absentmindedly committed to Let’s Spoon.

And those two have the gift of recollecting my promises in the nick of time.

Plus, it’s fro-yo.

My point in all of this promise-talk is twofold: 1) Trust is essential in thriving relationships; and 2) Sometimes, the cause of a delay has nothing to do with errancy.

If I’m waiting for my good friend Jeremy to pick me up at the airport, and he hasn’t shown up an hour past the time I’d told him my flight would land, I’m not going to be annoyed by his irresponsibility and thoughtlessness. Years of relationship has taught me that Jeremy’s prompt and reliable. Thus, I assume something happened that messed up his plans beyond his control. Maybe a flat tire? Daughter blew out a diaper right after putting her in her carseat? I don’t see or know what’s going on, but because of our history, I trust that his intent was to act on his commitment.

Sort of similarly, almost everyone I know is waiting on God to do something in their life. Give them direction on a career path. Heal a sickness. Provide a spouse. Restore a damaged relationship. Bring financial stability to the family. We’re waiting on God to answer some type of prayer.

But those I know who have established a relationship, history and knowledge of and with God the Father–those who have developed a mature faith in who He is and what He says–aren’t typically cursing Him as they wait for some sort of deliverance or answer.

And here’s where I take another slight turn on the subject.

One thing I don’t think about as often as I should is the spiritual forces at work that might actually be delaying the answered prayer. In fact, in my weak moments, I’m way more likely to chalk up an unanswered prayer to poor performance on my end (not praying right, not behaving well enough…)–essentially make it all about me–rather than consider there is a literal spiritual war happening in the supernatural that might be getting in the way.

That said, I’ve been camped out on this scripture passage pretty much all week:

“A hand touched me and set me trembling on my hands and knees. He said, ‘Daniel, you who are highly esteemed, consider carefully the words I am about to speak to you, and stand up, for I have now been sent to you.’ And when he said this to me, I stood up trembling. 

Then he continued, ‘Do not be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to them. But the prince of the Persian kingdom resisted me twenty-one days. Then Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, because I was detained there with the king of Persia.'” – Daniel 10:10-13

The prophet Daniel can’t understand why one of his prayers is going unanswered. He’s fasting, praying, crying for weeks, and nothing’s happening. Eventually, an angel shows up to explain what’s been going on in the unseen world: for three weeks, the angel had been trying to overcome resistance from the “prince of the Persian kingdom” in order to answer Daniel’s prayer, and only recently had received help from archangel Michael, who I have to imagine is just an absolute powerhouse.

I read that and have to imagine Daniel never prayed flippantly again. And, I mean, this is a guy who’d already prayerfully-survived a lion’s den.

How interesting–and inspiring–is it that there is a battle going on for us that we can’t see? Yet, it’s through our prayer that we become part of the battle ourselves. John Piper puts it this way:

“…it’s no accident that the messenger said that his struggle with the prince of Persian lasted exactly the same amount of time that Daniel’s fasting and prayer did—21 days. The reason for this is that the warfare in the spirit realm was being fought in a real sense by Daniel in the prayer realm.

And so it is with more of our prayers than we realize. We should wrestle in prayer and fasting for the things that we know are God’s will in our lives and our families and our church and our city and our world. But by and large we should probably leave it to God how he will use angels to get his work done. If God shows us more, we will use it. But the essence of the matter is not knowing the spirits but knowing God (emphasis Matt’s) and praying in the power of Holy Spirit.

To pray and trust like Daniel did. To be aware of the warfare we can’t see but is very real, and passionate enough to prayerfully and actively wrestle against it through the Holy Spirit’s power. To follow through with promises as timely as God does. May that be the prayer for each of us who read this far into this blog post!

Stumbling & Not Falling

“If the Lord delights in a man’s way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.” – Psalm 37:24

“For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again, but the wicked are brought down by calamity.” – Proverbs 24:16

“Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light. Because I have sinned against him, I will bear the Lord’s wrath, until he pleads my case and establishes my right. He will bring me out into the light; I will see his righteousness.” – Micah 7:8-9

I met with a new-er friend for lunch today. Because we’re young in our relationship, having only met up twice prior, there’s a lot of “getting to know you” ground to cover. There are times when I think I’ve hit my limit on the amount of people I can adequately maintain in my social circle. But when a guy like John comes around who’s inquisitive, transparent, and intentional about building a friendship–and also insightful and biblically perceptive–I always gladly find a way to stretch out that circle to fit in one more. Guys like John are gold to me.

He’s taken a lot of interest in my four+ years-old decision to stay single and wait out the potential for God to restore a presently-divorced marriage between my wife (not a fan of “ex-wife”) and me. That means remaining abstinent and not getting involved in any kind of romantically-inclined relationship. It also means facing the loneliness, frustration, extra work of being a single parent and sometimes-gigantic void of sexual intimacy.

“Man, I don’t know how you do it,” John said, gazing off over my shoulder, head shaking. “…I don’t think that I could”

He was pondering what a lot of men who sit down with me ponder. “Could I be that obedient? That consistent? That self-controlled?”

NOTE!!: Though that is truly my assignment–and I am determined to stick through it, I’ve been far from the poster boy of self-control. I’ve wandered off the path–sometimes by a step, sometimes by an overseas voyage–uncountable times.

Yes, it has been a very tough exercise of faith to abide by what scripture clearly directs divorced Christ-followers to do: remain unmarried or reconcile with my wife. No, I haven’t always had enough faith to act obediently to this direction. But the point of this post is to emphasize what I believe is true for everyone who chooses a way that chases the spirit’s leading over the flesh:

Though you stumble, there is opportunity for you to rise again. If your path is purposed to delight (and delight in) the Lord, He–the Father–won’t let you fail. At least not in a way that disqualifies you from your heart’s ultimate desire: wholeness and satisfaction. The real kind, not the kind you get from a compliment, a delicious meal or a compelling concert experience. That’s cool, but it’ll fade–and there’s still SOME sort of disappointment involved. The fact that it was a brief, temporary moment is disappointment in itself, right? The real kind of wholeness is unending and the real kind of satisfaction brings God glory, which is what we were created to do. Believe it or not.

I don’t always believe all of this.

In fact, it’s a struggle to believe it, even most of the time. I’ve made so many blatantly-wrong decisions, that, in my weakest moments of trust and/or hope, I can be pretty convinced that I’ve used up my allotment of “stumbles.” And now it’s just waiting to reap whatever ugliness I’ve sowed.

And, yes, there have been/will be consequences for my actions (Gal. 6:7-8), to be sure. Still, as I learn to trust God more, I’m getting to know him less as a coach that’s about to pull my athletic scholarship because I’ve completely failed to meet expectations and more as the high priest described in Hebrews 4:15. The one who isn’t “unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” Jesus experienced all the limitations of living in a fallen world and he understands my carnal struggle t0 want to go a route that differs from God’s best.

One of the things I’ve had to pray for wisdom about the most is knowing the difference between God’s plan for my life, and Satan’s. I’m well-aware they both have one for each of us. As I seek to know the Lord better, I trust that I’ll grow deeper in love with him and THAT will be my main motivator to stay away from sin. While I do think sin and its after-effect stumbling equal a lot of pain and, practically, a lot of wasted time, I don’t want to not sin for that reason. I want to not sin because I delight so much in my heavenly Father, that, by comparison, I’d look at sin and be like, “Why would I want to do that?”

John Piper says, “Faith is not merely believing that Christ died for our sins, but also that he is far better than sin.” We’re going to sin. I’m going to wander off of the path God has me on. I want the faith to always know that, wherever I’ve stumbled off to is far less appealing than where God had me. And even in my stumbling, wandering in dark places…He will see my desire to live righteously and pick me back up, into the light.

 

It’s written on our hearts

“If I find myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I wasn’t made for this world…

The fact that our heart yearns for something Earth can’t supply is proof that Heaven must be our home.” – CS Lewis

“He has put eternity in the hearts of men.” – Ecclesiastes 3:11

A mega-produced concert from a band playing some of my favorite songs.

A courageous leader with conviction and integrity to lead America.

A week-long vacation in a cabin in the mountains or a beach house by the ocean.

Even a specialty doughnut, coffee, beer or hamburger.

In my flesh, I always hope these things will give me the beautiful, restful, palatable, life-giving, experience they sound like they should. And, often, it does–but if I’m honest, there’s still disappointment attached to it, somewhere.

Something malfunctions.

There’s not enough.

I’ve got some other life-worry distracting me from fully enjoying the moment.

Someone disappoints.

I may seek a glimpse of heaven in those moments, places…even people. And often I’ll pay good money and put forth great effort to experience those short glimmers when and wherever I can. But I’m convinced more by the day this world can’t really deliver what my heart is truly looking for. Until heaven, I’m always going to want more.

It’s in our DNA as masterfully-crafted, God-designed humans. We’re made for a perfect heaven.

In light of the world–the beautiful and terrible things within it that I see each day closer to death, I’m increasingly grateful for the hope of eternity. And as Paul asserts in Romans 5:5, hope never disappoints.

The ultimate thing

Such a surreal time, when the Cubs are in the World Series and we’re a week away from the most head-scratching presidential election in US history.

As a parent, it’s been a unique & important task to teach my kids what’s “ultimate” in this exciting, tense season (Cleveland’s up 3-1….and crazy enough, that’s FAR less absurd as Trump or Hillary in the White House!).

The world shouldn’t…can’t…stop when a sports or cultural event is on TV in my home. It’s simply not that important. Government can make substantial differences in our lives, but it doesn’t…can’t…dictate joy, hope or despair. It’s simply not that powerful. It’s fun to cheer. All good to get emotional. And it’s OK to question to the universe what the crap’s going on.

But in the end, it’s a game. It’s politics. Neither of these should earn a place in our hearts as vital or paramount. They’re not what ultimately matters, thus they don’t warrant the majority share of our heart or attention. And I want to be careful not to demonstrate to my kids that they do, so I’ve had to remind myself this a lot lately!

The only consistent rest and satisfaction our home(s) will ever find is in God’s glory: His mercy, mightiness, peace, patience with us…

Not in a Cubs win. Though that’d be awesome too 😉