prayer

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.”

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!

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).

Wanting to Want.

“Sinners are perishing for lack of knowledge…Jesus gave both His hands to the nails. How can I keep back one of mine from His blessed work? Night and day He toiled and prayed for me. How can I give a single hour to the pampering of my body with luxurious ease? Up, lazy heart; stretch out your hand to work, or lift it up to pray. Heaven and hell are serious; so must I be, and this evening I should sow good seed for the Lord my God.” – Charles Spurgeon

If I’m praying that I ‘want’ to serve others more, or find ways to involve my family in servant ministry together more, that wouldn’t be truthful. In my flesh, I don’t really want to do anything more than what my flesh has to do. But my soul isn’t satisfied with laziness. And my spirit spurs me on to something…more.

Not out of obligation to be a better Christian, or guilt that I’m not raising my children to serve with a spirit of others-centeredness. I simply viscerally know this life is short and it’s arrogant of me to waste it staring at a screen or in constant pursuit of some sort of entertainment, like a concert or sports event.

So, my prayer is simple. And though it feels like it starts ten yards in front of the actual starting line, it’s realistically where I am. Thank you, Lord, I’m at least positioned somewhere on the track. My prayer is not that I desire to sow good seed for you, God. It’s that you will give me the desire to sow good seed for you. That I will want to want to do your work; to love you more than life–and in that, love others more than I love my comfort. That I will see life through a wider lens and hurt for the lost, surrender my personal ‘wants’ for the care of those who need to know Truth, and teach my children to do the same.

To have the eyes to see and ears to hear–and maybe even the creativity–to know how you can use me to do all of this. Please, Father, give me the desire to desire this so I can be used as you’ve purposed me.