Month: October 2016

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 😉

Surrender, with open hands

I started this morning kneeling beside my bed in prayer. I don’t normally do that. I usually pray sitting upright on my couch. But a friend had recently mentioned a prayerful moment she’d had on her knees beside her bed, and it inspired me, I guess.

Since January 2014, Thursdays have ritually been a day focused on pursuing hope and clarity through surrender, though rarely is the focus what I’d desire it to be. Thus, I often question its effectiveness. But today is a new Thursday. So down to my bedside I went, with my journal in hand.

“Father, with open hands,” I wrote. “I surrender:”

And I wrote out the following list:

  • My frustrations with/resentment toward others who have impacted my life and currently don’t live up to my expectations–particularly, relationally.
  • My cravings for relational companionship and sexual intimacy with another woman. Particularly, my wife.
  • The ministry path you’ve purposed for me. The fear of never getting it started. The confusion of knowing where to go with it.
  • The direction of where to attend church–one that is as non-toxic as humanly possible.
  • The pain of rejection from people I care about.
  • The idle distractions of entertainment (sports-obsession) that I’ve used to balm my pain.

I turned around toward the bookshelf behind me, remembering as I wrote “with open hands,” that I own a book with that same title, written by Henri Nouwen. The first page I turned to said this:

You still feel bitter because people weren’t grateful for something you gave them: you still feel jealous of those who are better paid than you are; you still want to take revenge on someone who didn’t respect you; you are still disappointed that you received no letter, still angry because someone didn’t smile when you walked by. You live through it, you live along with it as though it doesn’t really bother you…until the moment when you want to pray. Then everything returns: the bitterness, the hate, the jealousy, the disappointment, and the desire for revenge. But these feelings are not just there; you clutch them in your hands as if they were treasures you don’t want to let go. You sit wallowing in all that old sourness as if you couldn’t do without them, as if, in giving them up, you would lose your very self.

Detachment is often understood as letting loose of what is attractive. But it sometimes also requires letting go of what is repulsive. You can indeed become attached to dark forces such as resentment and hatred. As long as you seek retaliation, you cling to your own past. Sometimes it seems as though you might lose yourself along with your revenge and hate–so you stand there with balled-up fists, closed to the other who wants to heal you.

When you want to pray, then, the first question is: How do I open my closed hands? Certainly not by violence. Nor by a forced decision. Perhaps you can find your way to prayer by carefully listening to the words the angel spoke to Zechariah, Mary, the shepherds, and the women at the tomb: “Don’t be afraid.” Don’t be afraid of the One who wants to enter your most intimate space and invite you to let go of what you are clinging to so anxiously. Don’t be afraid to show the clammy coin which will buy you so little anyway. Don’t be afraid to offer your hate, bitterness, and disappointment to the One who is love and only love. Even if you know you have little to show, don’t be afraid to let it be seen.

Each time you dare to let go and to surrender one of those many fears, your hand opens a little and your palms spread out in a gesture of receiving. You must be patient, of course, very patient until your hands are completely open.

It is a long spiritual journey of trust, for behind each fist another one is hiding, and sometimes the process seems endless. Much has happened in your life to make all those fists, and at any hour of the day or night you might find yourself clenching your fists again out of fear.

Maybe someone will say to you, “You have to forgive yourself.” But that isn’t possible. What is possible is to open your hands without fear, so that the One who loves you can blow your sins away. Then the coins you considered indispensable for your life prove to be little more than light dust which a soft breeze will whirl away, leaving only a grin or a chuckle behind. Then you feel a bit of new freedom and praying becomes a joy, a spontaneous reaction to the world and the people around you. Praying then becomes effortless, inspired and lively, or peaceful and quiet. When you recognize the festive and the still moments as moments of prayer, then you gradually realize that to pray is to live.

Father, it seems like such a simple easy task to just let go of inconvenient emotional weight like resentment and fear, yet I hold onto these things as if they’re a literal lifeline. Either I simply don’t know how or I’m actually afraid to open my clenched fists. As if I don’t know who I’ll be when I have nothing left to hold on to. Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands, Lord? Please help me to gradually open my hands and to discover that I am not the weight I carry, but what you want to give me. And what you want to give me is freedom through your unconditional, never-ending love.

Model parenting, even without the kids

Several months ago, my 9 year-old son asked if he could borrow the family iPad. He had just returned from a school field trip to a local history museum and was curious to know how much fox pelts go for on Amazon these days (Ha!). I monitore my kids’ screen time and activity closely (15-20 minutes at a time, always in the living room), but on this particular day, I had some guests coming to the house for some friends’ going-away party, and I was more distracted getting stuff prepared for that.

About 45 minutes later, it dawned on me I hadn’t heard from or seen my boy in awhile. My daughter who’d been helping me, hadn’t either. I dropped what I was doing, walked toward the stairs leading to his bedroom on the next level–called for him, but decided to head to his room anyway. I needed the iPad to play music from for the party anyway.

When I walked into his bedroom, my son sat on the edge of his bed pensively while the iPad lay face-down on the floor, across the room. I walked over to pick it up.

“Are you OK, buddy?” I asked while picking it up.

“Yeah…uh, can I see the iPad?” he asked with a hint of urgency.

Nope. Definitely not after hearing that tone in his voice. I opened the device and headed straight for the Safari browser. Maybe because I’m a male, my instinctive hunch was right on. The screen instantly filled with Googled images of flesh. Shimmery, mostly cartoonish, topless females. My heart sank, but kept my demeanor objective.

Impulsively, I closed out of the search page. “Can you tell me about this, buddy?”

My son’s eyes looked up into mine with shame I’d never seen from him before and seemed to plea for mercy.

“Some kids were saying this word at school today, and I didn’t know what it was.” He said, lip quivering. “I’m a terrible person.”

My kids attend a small, private Christian school and at the time, he was finishing up third grade. But in 2016, that’s largely irrelevant. My son’s news didn’t really even surprise me, in spite of his sociocultural school environment. I think this, along with the Spirit’s counsel, kept me calm.

“You’re not a terrible person, buddy.” I sat on his bed so I could affirm him at eye level. As timing would have it, guests started knocking on the front door minutes into our discussion. In that short conversation (which we picked up later), we talked about natural curiosity, and also how that curiosity takes us to places that ultimately don’t feel good. Which is why he felt like a terrible person, even though he’d never been taught that.

As crushing as it was to know that my son had exposed himself to that kind of perversion years before I had anticipated or (of course) preferred, I’m grateful that I caught it early, and in my house. He needed to not feel shamed by what he’d done. He needed to know that he is still loved and delighted in, in spite of the ugly things he’d experienced (and will surely experience in other capacities later). He needed an opportunity to know that he could be truthful with me and feel safety in his honesty. He needed to experience the consequences and impact his decisions would have on himself and others.

It was also good for me. To my fault, I had been lax on keeping a filter on the iPad. It had crossed my mind earlier, but I hadn’t seriously considered my children would come across anything explicit–much less deliberately seek it out. Not atypically for me, lesson learned, the hard way.

On top of that: Despite all of my knowledge on the grossness and devastating effects of porn, I’m not sure anything has turned me off to it more than knowing that, if I were to errantly and selfishly look it up myself, I could be coming across the exact same images my son had been subjected to. It’s the same feeling I have when I stare (and stare) at an attractive woman at the mall, and then look around and see other men in the vicinity also visually soaking in the same woman, at the same time. Wow, does that make me feel disgusting.

“Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6)

This verse gets overused and taken out of context in my generation, as parents use it to joke about making sure our kids delve into the same hobbies, sports teams or character traits as we’ve subscribed to. I admit, it’s easy to get lazy as I train up my kids. Part of me sees how good they are now (“At least, they’re not horribly misbehaved…”) and I’m tempted to stay on autopilot.

Maybe somewhat obviously, I realize and understand the importance of training them in speech and action–living out the fruits of the spirit (Gal. 5:22-23) so that they can see and hear examples of Christ’s work and character. But more convicting to me through this, is how I (and every parent) chooses to operate when my/our kids aren’t directly in our presence.

How I spend my time. What I do. What I’m allowing to consume my mind and heart. How my consumption of evil things affects my spirit. And though scripture mentions only one time where evil spirits transferred from one living creature to another (Matt. 8:28-34), if I don’t resist the devil, he’s not going to flee from me (James 4:7).

And if he’s not fleeing from me, he’s around me. Consequently, I’m then not protecting my children. It’s a crass example, but painfully true (and hopefully helpful): it’s a sobering thought to think that the hands of a parent who masturbates out of lust are also the hands his/her child reaches out for, as a source of security, intimacy and solidarity. That’s hardly protective. And it’s incredibly…icky.

Father, you are faithful. You delight in our children more than any parent possibly could. Thank you for your mercy over us when we fail to keep our resistance up. Thank you for your grace that allows us the ability to resist in the first place. Please give us wisdom to teach our children with eternal truth and hope and surrender always in mind. To always demonstrate purity to our children and choose pure hearts even when we’re away from them. Keep our hearts flesh and never stony and careless (Ezekiel 36:26).

Resting My Head…Mentally

“Wait for the calm assurance that God will be your help and protection. Even the tasks that God has asked you to do should be continually surrounded with prayer and inward surrender. Never leave your place of inward rest until God Himself calls you out. Just walk simply with God and do not look to yourself for strength. Your Father is good.

“If God doesn’t choose to use you in recognizable ways, do not force yourself into serving others. Peacefully do what stands before you. Desire or refuse nothing. Whether people seek you out or reject you, whether they applaud or oppose you, what does it matter? It is God, not the gifts of God and not yourself, that you seek.”

– Fenelon

“Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and you will find rest.” 

Since 2013, I’ve prayerfully and patiently sought a word that would serve as a theme for the year. In early February, “Rest” is what hit my spirit, which I know came from the Holy Spirit, because I’m way too antsy to think of something like that myself.

But, just like the words that have used in years past (Still, Noble, Honor), “rest” has served as a healthy reminder for me more than a few times–particularly lately. And not just rest, like, not working or moving. But rest, like, stop thinking so much. Or, more specifically, stop doing things that entice me to think too much.

Not unlike 99% of its users, Facebook causes me to think too much. And not typically in a good way. There’s the “connection” component that is largely the reason anyone would say they use it. To stay in touch with people they love. There’s also the information element. There have been some truly life-impacting articles and wisdom posted by friends via Facebook that I likely wouldn’t have found any other way. Nothing wrong with connection and wisdom; but out of each, say, 60 minutes I spend on Facebook, my educated guess is, about 10 minutes of that hour goes to personal growth through fruitful interaction or knowledge.

The other 50 minutes? Comparisons between what that person is doing with his/her life and what I’m doing with mine (and how their highlight reel beats mine). Frustration over someone else’s narcissism/neediness for approval & attention. Looking at someone’s beach spring break pictures longer and more concertedly than I should. Following a heated exchange by two people over something I care about enough to follow along, but not enough to insert an opinion. Reading half of what people are dealing with before spacing out to the next picture of someone’s trip to Destin.

Those 50 minutes aren’t resting. They’re stirring cravings that I can and should be doing without. Pride. Lust. Lust. Pride. Both of those things only take. And they’ll take as much as they can get from me, and leave nothing of value in return but resentment, guilt, discontentment, wasted time, temptation, for starters.

So, yesterday, I shut down my Facebook page. Maybe for only a short while, but we’ll see. I’ve done it before for months…even years…at a time, and it really didn’t bother me too much. I don’t suspect it will bother me much this time, either.

The other variety of “rest” I’ve encountered and tried to abide by is what pertains to the quote at the top of this post. My life has me surrounded by high-achieving, mostly-creative, mega-ambitious types. I see where God has called people into certain things and I admire the obedience and resulting fruit that is bore from it.

I don’t know 100% what my calling is. At least, I don’t know 100% what I’m supposed to do with my calling. That kind of uncertainty over something I take that seriously gets my mind super busy. And by “busy,” I mean, I can’t stop thinking about what I should be doing with my life. Not that I know what that is, particularly, of course. Just that, I NEED TO BE DOING…SOMETHING. Someone, if God isn’t going to make this clear to me, then you, please tell me what I need to do. Help the poor? Help the prisoners? Help the youth?  Help struggling marriages? Help people before they get married so they don’t end up unmarried?

Striving. Striving…

Striving.

For God’s glory? Yeah, that’d be a convenient by-product if it ended up that way. But largely, it’s for my own satisfaction of finding some significance. Purpose. And that search for that self-satisfaction is exhausting. Has been for a very long time.

I’m not passed all of this, by any stretch. But I do understand that in all of these pursuits toward purpose, fruitfulness and ultimate peace and satisfaction in life’s journey, there is a proper balance of continuing to ask, seek and knock (Matthew 7:7) for direction in purpose, while resting in surrendered prayer until God calls me into assignment. In that calling, I have to believe I won’t experience striving, but there will be motivation and passion toward the task. Because he’s giving me the strength to move toward its completion.