seasons

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!

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.

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).

There’s Purpose in Now

The night’s getting late, so I don’t have time to beat around the bush with this very random mid-summer thought: winters in the midwest are rough. Especially the past several in Northern Indiana. It kind of makes my stomach turn even writing about this right now–in late July–with crickets chirping and fireflies glowing outside my office window.

There’s obviously nothing that can be done about the weather, so it’s fruitless and wasteful of time/energy to gripe about it. But this year was pretty miserable. What made it most…traumatic…was not so much the degree of cold and gloom, but the longevity of cold and gloom. By February, anyone breathing and feeling in the local population I reside is generally over it and ready for warmth and longer days with sun involved.

So when snow is falling down and piling up en masse throughout March and April, the pain cycle is very much in effect: Immobilization turns into denial. Denial becomes anger. Anger into depression. Some people never even get to acceptance…and move to Texas (Hi Mom and Dad).

For example, in late March, amidst mountains of snow in the parking lots throughout my hometown, below freezing temperatures, and a barrage of school and office closings, scores of high school and college students will return from their spring break trips in heavenly Key West, Cancun, San Diego, etc. Hit the mall some Saturday afternoon during this time of year and you’ll know spring break had just wrapped because it’s a walking sea of sun-kissed skin, beach-bleached hair and shorts-wearing. A PacSun with skinny, teen legs.

Oh, did you catch the ‘shorts-wearing’ thing?

Thirteen degrees outside with snowflakes the size of throw pillows, falling sideways from the Oh-I’m-going-to-lose-my-face freezing wind.

The situation is this: these kids–understandably–have just experienced a glorious climate for five to seven days somewhere not in Indiana and they’re now ready to experience a glorious climate back home. So they dress that way. Even in a markedly un-glorious season, where short-wearing outside the home or gym is nothing but physiologically regrettable.

When I watched this spectacle most recently, I thought: No matter how badly these kids want Northern Indiana to be warm, dressing for ‘warm’ wasn’t going to make Spring come any faster. They could wear short-sleeves all day in attempts to will the next season into existence, but until the current season’s over, they are only going to be miserable.

The concept of “seasons” has been particularly important for me to understand, identify and accept over the past few years. I’m learning to accept and respect the famous verse in Ecclesiastes about seasons and how they are all made beautiful in their own time. Not mine. Not anyone’s.

Over the past few years, I’ve sat in a couple of very painful seasons where I’ve had to live through hurt I’ve caused others (most notably to the extent of it ultimately leading to a very painful divorce), the hurt I’ve had placed on me, tremendous loss, loneliness, sadness, shame and guilt. I’ve wanted to do anything and everything to get out of those unpalatable places.

And I certainly tried. I hoped for and pursued more-than-platonic relationships with women; I tried keeping myself super busy (distracted?) with friends and activities; I poured myself into work and expected the fruit of a healthy income to pacify my voids. But I’d get into those things and realize–not only are they not giving me what (I think) I want, but they’re actually slowing me down from getting to the place my heart longs to be.

Not unlike the shorts-wearing kids in the mall, just because I was doing certain things to push a season along, those things didn’t force the next season to arrive any sooner.

In his book, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, Peter Scazzero writes:

I prefer the notions of seasons to stages when describing our life in Christ. We don’t control the seasons; they happen to us. Winter, spring, summer, and fall come to us whether we like it or not.

I tend to believe that the season I am currently in is a product of the season I came out of. And the season I am heading into (at some point) will be the product of the events — good, bad or otherwise — happening in the present. And though my decisions can sometimes affect the timing of my personal seasons, God’s best timing really is up to him (Act 1:7).

**As stated earlier and maybe a caveat to what Scazerro says above, I do believe if I can do things to slow down the process, when I’m living by my own desires/perceived needs and getting off the path that really would get me to where God wants me to go more directly. This is also why I’ve come to believe everything happens for a purpose–for what it was created to do or be. There are tons of things I do daily that are not purposeful, but a choice.**

This blog is named A Salient Season because one of the most critical things I’ve learned (especially over the past couple of years) is the importance of knowing there is purpose and value in every season of our lives. Salient means “notable, crucial, important, essential, vital, pivotal” and if we see the current place that we’re in as those things–preparation for our NEXT place–it’s a lot easier to not only take this time more seriously and intentionally.

And relax.

I’ve mentioned James 1:4 in previous posts because it’s a remarkably refreshing and inspiring promise to me: “Let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be [people] perfectly and fully developed [with no defects], lacking in nothing. (AMP)”

Patience isn’t exactly a great time when we’re ready to move out of an undesirable situation; but to know that a loving God who delights in us far more than we delight in ourselves is making things beautiful in his time (not ours) should be at least somewhat soothing. Especially when we look at it the way I just did.

Who knows what the next season looks like. It could be warm, cozy and sunny. Or it could be an even worse storm. Either way, what we are doing with what we have and where we are now is preparing us for where we’re going, later. And I have to believe (after trying and coming up short on a variety of other alternatives) that our decision to endure, trust, hope (I Cor. 13:7), pray, serve and wait now — without a self-mandated timeframe — will adequately (fully) prepare us for whatever lies ahead.

One way to start a season, Part 1

We don’t always get a choice when we start a new season of life.

Someone you love is diagnosed with cancer. Or you are diagnosed with cancer.

Your boss fires you. Or your spouse walks out on you.

You lose everything in a tornado. Or in a fatal car crash.

There are countless circumstances that can dictate the end of one season and the beginning of another. Circumstances that form a line between “the way things were” and “the way things are now…indefinitely.”

As Ecclesiastes 3:1 says for every activity under the heavens, there’s a season–we’re always living one out. Good or bad.

Sometimes, we make decisions that can (and will) immediately change the trajectory of our life, which ultimately leads to the unfolding of a new season.

We make an impressive discovery or resolve at work that leads to a huge promotion.

We absentmindedly swerve our vehicle into another highway lane and clip a motorcyclist we couldn’t see during the quick glimpse in our mirrors.

We take a job across the country.

We tear our ACL playing basketball with the kids in the driveway.

For me, my season-turning born from the decision to divulge a secret to my wife. Something that didn’t feel too secretive at first, because it didn’t totally feel too…wrong. But that’s how all extramarital relationships go, right?

In September 2009, about 14 weeks into a relationship with a co-worker that went from, “You and her need to figure out a way to work together” in May to blatant flirtation in June and physical “intimacy” in July, I finally realized this whole thing was only destined to get worse if I didn’t blow all of this up and bring it into the wide open.

I had tried to stop the relationship dozens of times before. Tried talking with her and rationalizing with her. She (also married with child) agreed. But when no one’s watching (because no one knows to watch) and the thrill of being a part of something “sexy” that’s just between you and someone else is right in front of you every day, it’s impossible to face those demons alone in the dark. And you are alone because you’ve decided to not let anyone else in.

Could I have kept it a secret forever? Maybe. I don’t know that she would have ever told her husband. He worked in the same office we did (even!). It would have been super-messy for her to bring that to the surface. So, I convinced myself that God’s grace is enough to take care of my sins. And, for a short, miserable season through August and early September 2009, I tried to convince myself that I was forgiven and, thus, free from my sinful burdens–and any real need to bring this up to anyone in my circle. God and the woman and I dealt with it. We’re good.

And this is what I learned on the night of September 5th, 2009 is called “false repentance.” Interestingly enough, I was supposed to lead my church Sunday School class through Chapter 5 of the book we were reading through the next morning on this exact topic of false repentance. The more I read, the more my heart pounded. Did God forgive me for my infidelities? He’s an amazing Father and yes He did. Did God have big things in store for me and my life and my family? Yes he did. Could we go through the rest of our lives with a secret? Yes. Would I be stealing from her? Yes. Is stealing disobedient? Yes. Does God honor disobedience? No.

So, I had a decision to make, lying next to my wife that night. My wife, who had just two weeks prior given birth to our second child. That night was among the worst of my life. Sweat poured out of me. I couldn’t get physically comfortable. I was too tired to cry and too wired to sleep. I tried to rationalize and thought of dozens of worse-case scenarios. They were all worse-case. A best-case scenario was still going to suck, bad.

Ultimately, it came down to this: I can not tell her about my adultery and go on living the rest of our lives together with a secret. Because there’s a secret inbetween us, we’ll never experience maximum-level intimacy in our marriage. In fact, that intimacy will continue to decay over time, most likely. It may rise up now and then, but it’d never rise over maybe 50%. We’d peak at a 50% intimacy level. OR, I get it all out now. Drop our current intimacy level (surely) to 0% and, at LEAST over time, have a chance at 100% with her. One hundred percent intimacy would never be possible if I didn’t share what was going on.

So I did. Early the next morning.

As expected, she was stunned and angry and indignant. I was scared, self-protective (defensive) and mostly numb to her. We’d gone through similar things like this before. I had dropped a bomb on her 18 months earlier about a couple hours once spent with a woman that turned into more than a conversation. She almost seemed to expect this might happen again. Not even two hours after I shared the news, she had packed the kids in our Highlander and taken off for her parent’s house in Michigan, just as I expected she would.

I cried as she left, but I didn’t really feel sad. Just scared of what all of this was about to mean. I knew she was gone, but was sure she’d come back and, over a lot of time and pain and truth, we’d work this out.

That never happened. And this is how a new season begins.