Thanksgiving

I got up early this morning with Daniel, our 7-month old son. At 5 am when a little baby is communicating his displeasure and you have three other sleeping children in close proximity the natural response is to rush to the bedside of the infant and restore quiet to the house. In my hurried effort to hush Daniel I threw off the covers, through on some sweatpants and scurried to his crib... shirtless, which seemed innocuous enough at the time.

Daniel calmed down and I walked around with him for 20 minutes or so before settling in the recliner in the living room. He eventually dozed off into a light sleep as I held him against my chest. I may have failed to recognize it before, but the biting chill in our living room this morning told me that fall is officially upon us and I was ill-prepared for that reality this morning. The thing is, once you get the baby asleep too much moving around disturbs his slumber and you don’t want to tempt him. At that point, getting a shirt on or digging up a blanket somewhere has inherent risks that I was unwilling to take and the lack of foresight when I initially woke up became evident. For 2 hours I was refrigerating myself. The other kids woke up around 7 and Betsy too. She came and got Daniel and fed him and put him back in his crib. I returned to my bed, just vacated by Betsy who serves has a natural space heater, and Thanksgiving morning really began...

I am thankful for warm blankets, especially the heated blanket that makes it’s way onto our bed every Fall. I am thankful for coffee in general, but the first cup of the day in particular... it warms the body and the soul. I am thankful for slippers. I am thankful for the light humming of the dehumidifier that drowns out some of the noise in a noisy home. I am thankful for early morning hours when everyone is quiet and sleeping, the calm before the storm. I am thankful for the way the light breaks through gradually beautifully announcing the gift of another day. I am thankful for the sweet and especially pleasant demeanor for the first 30 minutes after the boys wake up when they are most rested, and I thankful for the next 13-14 hours each day of goofiness, laughter, conflict and chaos... every “awww” moment and every “oh no you didn’t moment” is a gift. I am thankful for extra sauce on pizza at a time when the food service industry is being stingy with the ingredients. I am thankful for paper plates and plastic cups... I know they aren’t helping the environment much but they cut dish washing time significantly. I am thankful of Ibuprofun. I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies... which reminds me, I am thankful for milk. I am thankful that I am a daddy... nothing else brings so much joy or frustration, nor does anything else demand so much work and yield such profound reward, nor does anything else expose my sinful heart so plainly or reveal God’s grace to me so abundantly. I am thankful for Nintendo DS, even when an 8-year-old takes me to school in Mariokart... of course he cheated. I am thankful for football, both real and fantasy... how else would I ever realize my dream of being a General Manager for a pro football team? I am thankful that TV hasn’t always existed because I am thankful for books by dead guys and I assume the absence of the one led to the beauty of the other... people just don’t write the way they used to. I am thankful for Facebook... how else would I have 500-plus friends all of who know I am doing on at a given moment. I am thankful for terrible cartoons and kid’s shows... they buy us a few minutes of peace here and there. I am thankful for nephews and a beautiful little niece... our boys have the most fun when they are together with their cousins. I am thankful for $1 menu infiltrating the fast food market... I mean, it’s all just $1. I am thankful for the gas leaf blower, what I call “the breath of God”... it’s just slightly more efficient then the push broom. I am thankful light sabers... both real and plastic... Jedi’s make the world a safer, better place. I am thankful for being called by God. I am thankful that he has chosen to love me in Christ, and that he has seen fit to invite me into partnering with him in reconciling all things to himself. I am thankful for Jesus’ bride, the church... in all her weaknesses, flaws and shortcomings she still somehow advances the Kingdom of God and reflects the beauty of her husband even if only dimly... the fact that He gave his life for her leads me to believe she is worth giving my life to as well. Speaking of which, I am thankful for my bride. I am thankful that I wake up every morning to the most beautiful woman in the world... and the best looking too. I am thankful for her partnership in everything, especially in raising four men of God... I am truly a much better man, husband, father and Christian because of her. I am thankful for anything that makes her smile... even if it’s at my expense. I am thankful for her patience and tolerance of me and all the ridiculousness that sharing life with me entails. I am thankful for her love for Jesus that fuels her love for me and her children... only because her heart is His is she able to love me so well. I am thankful the scriptures, that through them God chose to reveal himself to us. I am thankful that his Word truly is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword. I am thankful for the cross of Christ that saves me from my sin and the resurrection of Jesus that saves me to a new life. I am thankful that his grace to me is not without effect... it’s like a warm blanket.

Adoption

I met my son Dylan when he was about to turn 3-years-old. He was doing puzzles in the living room of his grandparents house where he and Betsy lived. I remember, while talking to Betsy in the kitchen, stopping to ask if that was her nephew because her sister was sitting there with him. Betsy somewhat coyly corrected me saying, "No... that's my son." At that moment, as a 23-year-old bachelor, in my mind her statement abruptly ended a relationship before it began. While I enjoying my initial interaction with my future wife, the mention of her having a son left me waving the white flag internally.  

Over the next couple of hours in that first meeting I sat down with Dylan and did some puzzles, read some books and goofed off, with little idea where that day would ultimately lead all of us. That was a little over five years ago. About 9 days ago, Betsy, Dylan and I spent the morning in the Cobb County Superior Court, finalizing my adoption of Dylan. Officially, it is Dylan Rowell now. I never could have known, when I first met Dylan, how much he would change my life. When it did become apparent that life was indeed changing, I remember the prideful thoughts of what a gift I was to Dylan and to Betsy. It did not take long for God to rebuke me and remind me that they were his gift to me. The single most difficult thing I have ever had to do was make that transition from bachelor to husband and father. No other situation has done more to shine a bright light on the darkness of my own heart as well as to move me toward humility and holiness than becoming a husband and daddy. Neither has any one thing done more for me to better understand God's heart for me, than to adopt Dylan as my own son.  

I have watched Dylan, myself and our relationship evolve in significant ways: starting as a guy he knew as "James" that came over to see his mom and took him to see Spiderman 2 and to "play" with him... to me being a guy who offered instruction and discipline and who moved him from sharing a bed with mommy to the floor by the bed and eventually to his own room... to me being a guy he called "daddy" and he lived with and wrestled with every night... Then Dylan went from a boy with all the attention to sharing that attention with two little brothers and inheriting a heap of responsibility... he's gone from a cute little preschooler, to a mature, hansom young man, articulate, funny and talented. He has fully moved from a mama's boy to a daddy's boy (i think his mom would agree), and he now sets the tone for three little brothers and a slew of cousins, all who adore him and follow his lead.  

Reflecting over the last several days, the "Spirit of adoption" has been the refrain in my head. In Romans 8, Paul writes to the Christians in Rome and he tells them that "you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs-heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..." I have been meditating on this passage for a number of days now and I have come to see more beauty in two precious doctrines: predestination and adoption.  

You might be wondering if predestination relates to this at all or if I am just a Calvinist with an agenda. Let me explain: Dylan had a life apart from me for a couple of years. He was born into Betsy's family. He's known his aunts, uncles, and grandparents on that side of the family for longer than he has known his dad. He has known his mom longer than his dad has. For his first three years, I did not exist to Dylan. He could have seen me or even met me without ever knowing who I was. But what happened on Monday changed everything... it revised his story.  

A birth certificate was issued of course in my absence 8 plus years ago and my name was not on it. Today, if you looked up Dylan's birth certificate, all evidence suggests that I was there from the beginning, and that he was mine all along. Dylan did not seek me or find me to be his dad, nor did he ask me or choose me. I chose him when I chose Betsy. I pursued them. Even after we were married, I never asked Dylan to call me "daddy". I just loved him and he eventually saw me that way. Thinking about his adoption reminds me that I didn't go looking for God, or choose God or ask him to love me. Rather, through Jesus, God pursued me, found me, chose me and loved me to point that I have loved him back.  

Through adoption, see, Dylan's whole story has been rewritten to reveal that he was always mine, and I was always his. Even though he was very well loved by his mom and many others, he was without the daily, stabilizing presence of a dad. The insecurity and confusion produced in the early part of his story finds meaning and significance because he belonged to someone all along... he just hadn't met him yet. The beginning has to be seen differently in light of the end.  

And isn't it this way in our relationship with God? When God adopts us into his family, all the pain, confusion, fear and chaos that dominated our story before Him can be seen as an intricate weaving of a complex story that was always about you becoming part of His family. You can't know that is the story being told while you are in it, but once you get to the end, or to the adoption, you can reflect back and see how everything in your life led you there, into the loving embrace of a perfect Father. In other words, if adoption is by design, then the hurt of being orphaned can be legitimately recast as the residue of design. Rejection makes sense in light of adoption.  

What I love about adoption is that it stands alone. Adoption isn't regeneration. Adoption isn't justification. It's something altogether different. Where regeneration gives me new life spiritually and justification gives me right legal standing before God, adoption more fully symbolizes the intimacy and depth of God's affections for me. I could have had Dylan live with me, provided for him, had relationship with him all without ever adopting him. Likewise, God could justify me through Christ without adopting my as his own son. But we wanted Dylan to bear our family's name. We wanted Dylan to know that his position in our family is secure. We wanted Dylan to know he has the full rights of all of our sons. We wanted Dylan to see himself as we wanted him to be seen... as our very own child, a part of who we are, a precious gift, loved and cared for, fully accepted, chosen and worth giving our very lives for.  

That's just my simple love for my son. That God's love for me is so great that He would claim my sonship is worth his own life arrests me. That he actually proved it to be true through the person and work of Jesus Christ compels me to eagerly surrender. His death and resurrection offer much more than forgiveness for sin... they offer a roof over my head, a bed at night, a seat at the table for dinner and a share in the inheritance. I have received the full rights of a son. Everything about my life identifies me with the family of God, and Him as my Father.  

We tend to associate adoption with those who have been neglected, orphaned and cast aside. We assume that children of adoption should and will have to deal with the significant pain of rejection... and so many will undoubtedly and necessarily have much to work through. But the bible teaches something completely contrary to our understanding of these things. The bible teaches us that adoption isn't about someone being rejected, it's about someone being selected. The biblical view of adoption is rooted in the idea that I am chosen, not that I am orphaned.  

The older I get and the longer I walk with Jesus the more my identity and confidence is tethered to him and the reality that through Christ, God has adopted me into his family. He chose me, initiated the adoption and sees it through to completion, all to his delight. For Dylan, as a young man now twice adopted, a child of mine and a child of God's, my hope and prayer for my son is that his identity rests securely and firmly on the fact that I and his Maker have both chosen him, and that he not prove or earn anything to either of us.  

If you are in Christ, may you remember again the beauty and wonder of being adopted as a son or daughter of God. And may the weight of his active pursuit of you wreck you today and every day. And if you don't know Jesus, may your orphaned soul surrender to that same loving pursuit of God and the glorious inheritance he offers to you through Christ... and may you be overwhelmed by the Spirit of adoption even today.

Return

Over the last few days I have looked over this short letter that the Apostle Paul wrote to a young pastor that he mentored named Titus. Paul, like he did everywhere he went, planted churches when he passed through the island of Crete. His partner in the gospel and friend, Titus, was left behind and charged with the task of pastoring these churches and nurturing them along to health and maturity. Though all indicators suggest that Titus was a capable leader and pastor, he had a rough time in the early going, not unlike so many church planters in our day.  

For Titus, the biggest problem was bad doctrine and false teachers. The churches seemed to have attracted people of various backgrounds and they brought in with them other influences and ideas apart from the gospel which they were propagating among the congregation. While we don't know all that was being taught erroneously, we can see that religious, legalistic ideas had crept in from those of the "circumcision party" (which sounds like a kind of party I don't want to attend). Paul's letter was a sharp rebuke of these false teachers and a prescribed remedy to the situation for Titus which was to equip and put in place qualified leadership.  

New churches are planted... young pastors... people who don't know Jesus come... cultural influences and ideologies invade the church... false teachers preach false gospels... need for qualified, mature leadership... need to be taught sound doctrine... hmm... glad none of this is applies to us today.

I was studying 1 Corinthians recently too. Turns out that was a church community who had people getting sloshed on the communion wine like they were tailgating; they had someone sleeping with a relative; sexual immorality of all kinds was rampant; they had people suing each other in the church; there was massive division; they had people speaking in tongues and prophesying but trying to talk over each other and interrupt each other; they educated and intellectual so they were these immature Christians who thought they had it all figured out; they had idolaters; they were promoting themselves instead of Christ; they were concerned for their own glory and their own way much more than the gospel. That was the church in Corinth.  

I was just thinking, after studying through Corinthians and then Titus how funny it is that there is a major push to "get back to the way things were in the early church." My generation is the primary demographic pushing for this nostalgic return to the good old days when the church was really doing things... when the church made a difference... when the church knew how love and live in community... when the church really was the church. We are so quick to criticize the church, both local and universal. We are so quick to pass judgment on the church and dismiss the church as having failed miserably, corrupting what the early church and passed down to us, generation by generation. It's as if, in our estimation, for the first time the church is made up of sinners.  

Sometimes, I don't know what bible people are reading, particularly people in my age range. When I read the letters Paul, Peter, John and James all write to churches, I can't help but think we are mirroring the early church quite well. We are too easily influenced by our culture. We talk about many things and do far too little of them. Some affirm the gospel but are functional moralists. Others affirm the gospel but are functional relativists. Some affirm a gospel that honors prosperity as the highest ideal. Others affirm any and every gospel that you are comfortable with. Denominations and churches wrestle over issues of sexuality, doctrine, leadership, justice and many more.  

The Bible, both OT and NT, has never been more timely than right now. I am in awe of the timeless and relevance of the scriptures, even as I read the words inspired by the Holy Spirit so many generations later. It's as if God knew what He was doing. It's as if he had a plan of some kind. It's as if he wanted to have some way of speaking with us and communicating with us. It's as if he wanted to reveal something about himself and something about us. It's as if he knew he could help.  

It is my joy to place myself under the authority of the scriptures. After all this is the book that so clearly lays out the real and true Gospel: "For we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another. But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life." (Titus 3:3-7) 

Our sin is met by His kindness, not because we're good, but because he is good, and we are made new by the Holy Spirit, through Jesus Christ and his death and resurrection, offering us hope for a new life now and eternal life with him. That is truly good news in and of itself. It is in fact, the best news. We like to add to that gospel, like a an amendment to a bill, and in so doing we empty the gospel of it's power. 

There are other letters to other churches about other problems and if you read them, it seems we are actually too much like the early church. Maybe Paul's letter to Titus and his effort to bring order to the confusion caused in those churches in Crete has some value for you and me and the churches around us today. Tim Keller rightly says, "the gospel is not the ABC's of our faith, it's the A through Z of our faith." Rather than returning to the idea of the early church which we have constructed in our imaginations, perhaps we should instead return to the message of those who planted the early churches... the message entrusted to them by the one who is reconciling everything back to God... the transforming message of the Gospel.

Perseverance

It's just been one of those seasons in life that can only be described as "one of those..." People always say things like "it's been one of those days", or "it's just one of those things". We all know what they are really saying is "it's one of those things that I would really like to not go through again."

So, I haven't blogged since April 18, I think. I only know that because it was the morning after my fourth son, Daniel, was born. In many ways, this has been a wonderful few months as our family has been changed by the recent addition. That part has been pure joy. The other stuff has been that fake farting noise you make when you stick out your tongue and blow. 

I don't know if the rest of you have noticed, but it has become increasingly evident to me that this life can be frustrating. Even when things are going well there seems to be a corresponding struggle. You have a baby but you lose your sleep. You get your dream job but the you lose your family. You get married but you feel like you lose your identity. You get your dream house but you now have to clean it... all of it. There are very few things in life that allow for pure joy. 

Then there are life's outright difficulties. Your wife has a miscarriage. You suffer the loss of a loved one. You suffer through a painful divorce. Cancer ravages your body. You lose your job. You get foreclosed on. Life is full of frustration, sadness and trial.

Jesus had a little brother named James who suggests that we should view trials as pure joy. That notion is elusive at best and laughable or devastating at worst. We struggle just to view blessing with pure joy. Trials? We tend to view those with contempt. James' perspective is nothing short of revolutionary. 

Trials are relative to each of us. I would suggest that if it is a trial for you than you should accept it as such, rather than allowing the significance of someone else's trial to somehow invalidate your own. A trial could be an overheated minivan full of kids en route from Georgia to Kentucky, or it can be the death of your grandmother that was the reason for making that same trip. A trial can be two operations and three days in the hospital with kidney stones and something called a three-way catheter, or it can be your son falling out of his bunk bed and breaking his collar bone. A trial can be 18 months with your house on the market with no end in sight, or it can be a storm rolling through your area and taking a few trees down. A trial can be watching a married couple you love stop loving each other, or it could be the despair of watching people you love turn there back on Jesus for an empty way of life. A trial can be much bigger than these... and much smaller. Some trials are momentary, some are protracted. That's why James says to consider it pure joy when you face trials of "many kinds". He knows the human proclivity toward frustration and dissatisfaction. 

Trials, it would seem, are a means for our flesh to prey on our souls in order to foster frustration, sanction sin, and jettison the gospel of Jesus Christ. Yet James says, counterintuitively, that trials should be viewed through the lens of joy, in the name of something called perseverance, which finishes it's work. Oh, goody... tell me where to sign. 

You can look long and hard to find a verse that says to develop perseverance through success and comfort, but you won't find it in the Christian bible... I've looked. It is only formed on the anvil of trials. If you are like me, you start thinking about thrift store perseverance. I don't necessarily want top of the line, name brand perseverance. I would be completely content with black market or knock off perseverance. But as in everything, you get what you pay for.

The truth is, to view trials through the lens of joy you have to be looking through the scope of eternity. Otherwise, sickness, loss, death, unemployment, pain, loneliness, failure, lack, conflict, and all the frustrations of life are simply that... frustrations. But when they are paraded under the banner of the Gospel, these things are overwhelmed and redeemed by resurrection. When you think about it, perseverance is THE essential character trait for the Christian. Other than faith, which all Christians have in some measure because they are saved by grace through faith, nothing is of more value than perseverance.

If you want to have a great marriage, you have to have perseverance. If you want to raise children who love Jesus, you have to have perseverance. If you want to succeed in any career field, you have to have perseverance. If you want to bear fruit in ministry for the rest of your life, you have to have perseverance. If you want healthy relationships, you have to have perseverance. If you want to be judged at Jesus' death rather than at your own death, you have to have perseverance. All of these things will have their share of frustration... but it's only for a little while. And then Jesus will come and reclaim and restore this world and our lives to their original intent, and frustrations and striving will cease. Frustration will yield to freedom. Sorrow will yield to laughter. Conflict will yield to peace. Death will be swallowed up by life. Until then, consider it all joy and persevere.

After all, this life?... it's just one of those things. It's good to be reminded we don't have to do it again.

Overwhelmed

In my brief history as a blogger, my experience is that my children serve as the consistent catalyst for material. After this week, I have more inspiration to draw from... 

Daniel Mullins entered the world on Friday, April 17th at 12:17 a.m. He weighed in at a healthy 8 Ibs. 11 ounces, measuring 19.5 inches long. His Apgar score was 10-10... Unless you are a mom you have no clue what that means. Essentially, it indicates that our newborn son is... well... perfect. That may seem like boasting and just typical proud parent syndrome, but Dr. Street, who has delivered thousands of babies even said "I have never seen a baby score 10-10." Jesus said that we are to be perfect, therefore, as he is perfect. Daniel took him quite literally.

After watching Betsy go through labor and childbirth with no pain medicine, no epidural and maintaining her sweet nature, I am convinced that she could be a pretty successful ultimate fighter. I will be more agreeable with my wife in the coming weeks.

I left Betsy and Daniel yesterday afternoon for about two hours. We have a car seat at home recycled from the other kids. Between her toughness and his perfection they seemed deserving of a brand new car seat and stroller combo. Betsy is usually cautious about spending money on things we don't "need" but even she had to acknowledge this was a well deserved purchase. 

So, I get in the car and I leave my new son for the first time his extraordinary mom. It was my first opportunity to come up for air since the adrenaline of the night before. The sun was shining accompanied by a light breeze and cool temperatures embodying the best of what Atlanta weather has to offer. With windows down and sun roof opened up, a wave of emotion hit me. I left my iPod in the room, which I usually play through the car stereo, and switched to c.d. mode. The wave of emotions that was already imposing on the shores of my heart turned to a flood as I heard the words of the first song...

He is jealous for me. 

Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree 

bending beneath the wind and the waves of his mercy 

When all of sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory, 

and I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me...

Oh, How he loves us

Oh, How he loves us

Oh, How he loves us

As the tears streamed down my face it was impossible not to feel the truth of that declaration. Oh, how he loves me. Being charged with stewarding the soul of a child from birth is perhaps the clearest expression of said love that God could offer. And for the fourth time now, he has showed his love to me by entrusting me with the care of his child.

For many of us it is difficult to understand the nature of God's love. We hear that He loves us because he is good, not because we are good. We hear that He can't us more and He won't loves us less. We are told that his love his perfect and that our actions can't change that reality. We love others only when they earn our love or prove somehow worthy of our love. Our love grows for people when they are good to us and diminishes when they are not. Our love is earned and his is given. Our love has strings attached and his love severs all would-be strings and dangles freely, irrevocably. The nature of His love for us is directly counter to virtually every human form of love... with the exception of a parents love for their child. 

At this point, my love for Betsy has evolved into a love that won't let go, but I never would have married her or pursued her if my interest and affection was not reciprocated. But loving your children is totally different. It's the closest point of reference for understanding and receiving God's love for you. 

Daniel has just become a part of our family. He has not honored me. He has not respected me. He has not loved me. He has screamed at me and he has ignored me it would seem. He has preferred his mom over me (understandably, but still). There is essentially nothing that Daniel has done to earn my love. But I can't help it. I just love him. I love him simply because he is. I love because I took part in creating him (I know it's God's work but he allows us to create with him). I am not going to love him less in a few years when he starts talking back. I am not going to love him less when he blames the hard things in his life on me. Similarly, I will not love him more when he is smiling. I will not love him more when he gets good grades. I will just love him because he is mine and because my fingerprint will always be on him. Something about Daniel will always point back to me. No matter what happens, he will have originated from me (in a sense)... and I love him simply because I am full of love for him.  I don't even really choose to love him. I can't help but love him.

That's the best I can get my head around God's love for me. Not that he doesn't choose to love me. But it's bigger than that like Jesus' dear friend John said: his existence and essence is love. That's who he is. He doesn't love me so that I will love him back or because I love him back. He doesn't love me to get anything from me or to feel better about himself. He simply loves me. He loves as a good father does. He fathers me well by loving me well. And eventually, rebellion, folly, pride and my own way give way to humility, obedience, wisdom and loving him back.

But whether I am compliant or defiant, he just loves me... until I love him back. I suspect that Daniel will be that way. I suspect that as he experiences my love for him, which is very different from Jesus' love in that it is absolutely flawed, he will at some point just start to love me back. He will have moments of disrespect, fits of rage and rebellion but through imperfect but rightly centered fathering, he will receive discipline and training and affirmation and attention... all of which are the biproduct of love. And he will learn to love me and honor me the way God, through his infinite patience has loved me until I have learned to love and honor him. 

I am overwhelmed that Jesus came in tiny, vulnerable form like Daniel here by my side. I am overwhelmed by Jesus' love for me, which is all I can see when I look at this little fella. I am hopeful that Daniel will grow over these coming months and years to know the love of Jesus. I am hopeful that Jesus will love him well until Daniel loves him back. I am also hopeful that Daniel will see and experience Jesus' love through his mommy and daddy the way we see and experience that love through him.

May you, like me today, experience the hurricane-esque love of Jesus that leaves you as a tree, bending beneath the wind and the waves of his mercy. And may he overwhelm you.

P.S. I would encourage you to watch a video of the song I alluded to by clicking here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoC1ec-lYps

Addiction

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am a sports addict...

We all have our vices. You have areas of addiction or, at the very least, guilty pleasures too... yours may not be the kind that warrants multiple cable channels or endless hours of AM Radio, but your thing steals your time, brain cells and affections just like mine.

Yours may be a usual suspect like alcohol or pornography (if so, talk to someone and get help), or it may fly under the radar in the form of reality TV or Dawson's Creek re-runs (seriously, if that's you, you need help). Your addiction may resemble working really hard at your craft, an instrument, hobby or job. As a Youth Pastor, I would be remiss to not recognize that your addiction could masquerade as the line item unlimited texting on your cell phone bill. 

Whatever the case, we think of addictions as having a negative connotation. We spin addictions as "hobbies" and "interests" or even "callings" and "passions". I would argue that the label "addiction" is a euphemism in itself. If I am honest... and if I were to pair that honesty with biblical thinking, which some might suggest is right thinking, I would have to acknowledge that sports hasn't just been an addiction most of my life... sports has been an idol. Sports, for me, has spilled over into idolatry. It is hard to know where the line is between interest and idolatry, between passion and worship. But the line became clearer for me this NCAA Tournament season.

March Madness followed by the Master's is the Yom Kippur of the Sports calendar. If you fill out less then 6 brackets and don't take sick days on the Thursday and Friday of the opening round, you are really just fooling yourself and the truth of sports addiction is not in you. But as you get older and take on more responsibility, anything you are into can be judged as addiction based on the same factors. 

Just like drinking is simply fun and cool when you are with your buddies at a party in college and not necessarily an addiction, watching sports with your friends all weekend when you are in college and have nothing else to do was innocent enough. But if you are still drinking with your buddies every weekend, tailgating at every game, showing up late to work or not coming home to your family because of your appetite for partying, than this begins to smack of something more like addiction. If alcohol or pornography, for example, dominate your thoughts, plans and conversations... if they destroy your marriage, family, relationships, job, career or health... if they deeply impact your time management, spending habits, sleep patterns or overall stability... well, these are the things addictions, idols and functional saviors are made of. 

It is not hard to see how something as seemingly innocuous as sports can produce the same net effect as more obviously unhealthy addictions. So, I am a perpetually recovering sports addict.

Much of my married life, as a result of this, has been spent pruning my proverbial sports tree and like people being liberated from other addictions, I am finding freedom in experiencing the reality that there is more to life than a 6 overtime thriller, or a 19-hole playoff in the U.S. Open. 

Like everything else, I am learning this from my kids. Dylan is 7 and in his third season of baseball. He has been a pretty average player to this point in his life, though it seems he is starting to take big strides. Having him in baseball has been fun, but at the end of the day, they are only 7 to 8- year-olds. Naturally, it was frustrating to have a rainout game rescheduled for a Friday night that happened to be day two of the NCAA Tourney. I had to leave near the beginning of the early tip games to get him there on time and I despaired at the idea of missing a couple of hours of action. Round two started on Saturday of course, but to my dismay, the schedulers gave protocol the finger and Dylan's team was playing a saturday evening game rather than the early morning first pitch parents are accustomed to. 

I could stay home from the baseball games and enjoy basketball, but then I would incur the wrath of the household commissioner and I didn't want to be in violation of league policy and subject to a fine or other disciplinary action. You may roll your eyes, but make no mistake... I have made the wrong choice before. Having been cajoled into the coaching circle, I had the necessary impetus to leave the couch to fulfill my commitments. I did this begrudgingly to be sure.

To make matters worse, Dylan's team was getting beaten like a drum for four innings on Friday night. Then something happened. Dylan was playing the pitcher position in the field (he is playing coach pitch still). And in the top of the fourth, down 12-6, and he fielded two ground balls and threw some young punks out. They went three up, three down, and after the third out, made by Dylan, he was fist pumping like dang Rafael Nadal... I couldn't help but listen for him to yell out "vamos!" They spent the next couple of innings closing the gap and then taking the lead 13-12. 

Top of the 6th, with the time limit expired, the other team scored the one run to tie, but no more. Then, with 2 down, bottom of 6 and a runner on first, mighty Harrison, sprinting in from the cinder-block restrooms, fresh off a number two, came to bat. He spent the first three pitches catching is breath, while his parents did the same, and then he took that swing we have been working on with him... If you haven't experienced a walk-off home run with 7-year-olds, well... you just haven't lived. Harrison through his hands up as he watched it go and then he rounded first base, where I was coaching, giving me a high-5 and conjuring up images of Kirk Gibson... Un-believable. Harrison got the dinger and Dylan got the game ball for his two doubles and... count 'em... five put outs in the field. 

The next night, in similar fashion, coming from behind against the undefeated Blue Jays, who might have several Danny Almontes from the look of things, they scored in three in the bottom of the 6th to win it with 2 outs. No walk-off homers, but still, riveting action nonetheless.

I missed much of the NCAA tournament action, but I tell you, you and so many millions of others missed those two baseball games, and you are the ones who got cheated. You may be thinking that I am in denial, having simply fed my sports addiction with a new brand. I would argue, instead, that a rather profound paradox took place. I would argue that an exciting sporting event worked toward curing my sports addiction.

If you are addicted to anything at all, if you have appetites, longings and cravings that are unhealthy in any way, it's crazy how watching your 7-year-old son experience pure joy is a compelling distraction, and ultimately, it will compete for all of your affections. My only regret that weekend was my own internal conflict at the outset... March Madness has got nothing on what I watched. 

I have spent less time watching the tournament this year then any year I can remember. It's not that I don't like to still. It's just that I've realized that I had a worship problem... an idol problem. When things get hard, I want to retreat and watch a good sporting event. I would rather watch sports then spend time with my family. I would rather watch sports then go to church. I would rather watch sports then get sleep. I would rather watch sports then go to work. Sports was my passion, my escape, what I knew I could count on. Sounds stupid I suppose. Sports has been a functional savior. My guess is you have little saviors not named Jesus too.

I found something to combat my appetite for sports... something that gives a better high than an epic game... something that beats an upset or come-from-behind win... 

Children are the best teachers. 

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am addicted to seeing my kids come alive... I intend to do my best to feed this addiction. 

Perspective

It's 5:09 a.m. and I am usually not awake at this hour. This has turned out to be an average night for this week, though thankfully, this has not been the average week. Josiah has finally fallen asleep next to his mom after enduring some seemingly significant pain caused by an ear infection, accompanied by a fairly aggressive cough and uncomfortable fever. The last few hours have crept by at a profoundly unhurried pace, and now that he is resting I can't seem to. 

Josiah's unfortunate evening has mirrored that of Ephraim's, his twin brother, from a couple nights ago. I am normally a very deep sleeper, undisturbed by would-be disturbances while slumbering. Something about the genuinely painful cry of your child has an unsettling effect though. It's easy to go through life and intellectually grasp that God loves me and wants good things for me as he does for all his children. It's a bit more elusive connecting with that reality emotionally. I think one of the great gifts of being a parent is that God sometimes invites you to experience, on a small scale, how he feels about you personally and all of his creation. In such moments, an affection and love that seems a bit fuzzy and incomprehensible starts to make sense. 

I was in bed tonight, Josiah snuggled tightly in, alternating between moaning, crying, coughing, and other expressions of pain and discomfort. We tried several different medicines for the several different problems and nothing seemed to work. Josiah, confused, thinking each time that mommy and daddy were going to make the pain go away, kept saying things like "my ear hurts" with a genuinely helpless whimper. He seemed to think that we should just be able to make it stop... and it didn't.

There is nothing worse than watching your young child endure pain and suffering that you can't seem to alleviate at any level, even as they look to you as the one who has the power to make it all go away. As a dad, you feel a little helpless (and tired) but all you can do is hold them and tell them you love them... tell them your sorry it hurts... maybe cry with them. 

 

Sometimes we parents think it's our responsibility to protect our children from pain. Sometimes, our children might think so to. But at the end of the day, we just can't. Pain is part of life. Suffering happens. I am reminded tonight that our part is to love our children through their painful experiences and do what we can to help them process those things appropriately, to cry with them and stay present as they walk it out.

But more than that, I am reminded how God does those things. Sometimes I feel like he is absent or detached from our pain and as we go through difficult situations we wonder where is God and why did he let this happen. We expect him to protect us from pain... from suffering. 

I know an ear infection seems pretty insignificant on paper, I guess that's the thing. It is painful to watch your son experience pain at any level. You sit there, wishing you take it away from him and upon yourself. 

There's that well-known verse in the book of John that says "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son..." This might sound sac religious, but I have often thought the idea that He gave his only Son was a bit of a copout. His Son was the one who endured the pain, not the Father. And it was the ultimate suffering. 

My wife, Betsy, was by my bedside 2 weeks ago in the emergency room as the a doctor stuck a catheter in me (I don't want to talk about it), part of the process of trying to relieve the pain of a kidney stone. I was in quite a bit of pain that night but I'll never forget the look in her eye when it was over. She was just looking at me, tears in her eyes, right there, clear evidence that she was enduring every ounce of pain I was plus a large dose of helplessness. When you love something deeply, their pain is your pain and their suffering is your suffering... usually accompanied by helplessness. God sent his only Son, and not unlike me, He probably wished he could take it all on himself, protect him from the pain. But pain usually produces something good, and when you come out on the other side, it looks something like resurrection.

I guess I was just meditating on this idea that love always allows you to feel in some way what another is feeling. I generally think of God's love as an deep but abstract affection, a desire to bless and things like that. But what it must feel like to be Him, intimately acquainted with the individual suffering of each person in a world full of suffering. What I feel for Josiah and his ear infection is real. How real must his feeling be for my pain, for your pain... for those who are living in poverty... those who live in isolation... those who have worldly wealth but are spiritually dead... those who have cancer... those who have been sexually abused... those who live in fear because of war all around them... those who are trafficked as products to be consumed... those with HIV/AIDS...

He feels all of it. Each one breaking his heart all by itself... imagine how much it must hurt to bear the totality of human suffering. To try grasping that brings clarity to the intensity with which scripture says he will be returning. Pain... suffering... tragic realities that dominate the human story. But only for now. I can't shake the thought of that day... when "the dwelling of God will be with men, and He will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away... I am making everything new."

Today, may we usher in glimpses of this future reality as we await his return to this world, to reclaim what has been lost, and remake that which has been stained. Today, may you see, experience and participate this new order of things and a new way of being.

Romance

I have always felt that Valentine's Day fits under the umbrella of organized crime. Call me cynical or bitter if you like. But this is a holiday the way chess is a sport. For decades now, the retail industry has managed to sell the compliant American public on this consumer-driven notion of a day to celebrate romance. I have to wonder how many people had to forget about anniversaries in order to reserve this day on our calendar. To me, V-day is the ultimate symbol of a culture driven by consumerism.

Valentine's Day is very clearly the brain child of a co-dependent woman, who has a need to be needed and adored. She was probably the kind of woman that told her lover what to say and how to say it. Eventually she stumbled on this idea of a day where men everywhere must swoon over the woman in their life. As a teenager I understood that both parties shared in the responsibility of presents, cards and sweet nothings. As a grown man, I have found the responsibility of Valentine's day rests squarely on the man's shoulders. Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, stuffed teddy bears, nice dinner, maybe a romantic film, sitting by the fire, whatever your pleasure. Responsibility of women? Show up and look good. Anything beyond that is just gravy.

I have participated in this nominal holiday for years and years... each time roling my eyes, sighing heavily, and thinking to myself, if I was a good husband shouldn't this day be discarded. Is this a day that invites men to be insensitive, emotionally distant, self-centered for every other day of the year? Or is this a day that suggests nothing men do will ever be good enough so step it up just this once? I don't really know... But this year V-day was brilliant.

Enough of the presents and protocol of your average V-day... it's all overplayed, nothing is original. I have a theory about the early part of romantic relationships that applies especially to first dates. (If you are a woman, I saw you just roll your eyes.) So, I am going to try and dispel a couple of myths here.

We have been programmed to think that the best first date is to figure out what she would like and then plan accordingly. Take her to a cheesy movie, a play, a musical, a romantic restuarant, ice skating, or whatever feminine activity you feel gets you brownie points. That is what we all think we are supposed to do, because it's thoughtful and shows you care... the truth is, at that point, all your thoughtfulness is aimed at looking good and leading her to believe you are sensitive and sweet to degrees which you are not...

This is why I firmly believe that a guy shouls take his date wherever he wants to go. If you go where you want to go, like a sports bar, a baseball game, the bowling ally, an action movie you have, in fact, been very thoughtful of this woman. First off, you have allowed her to see the real you up front so she knows what she is getting into. Second, you have put yourself in a position where you are comfortable and able to be yourself, rather than feeling out of place at some up scale, overpriced restuarant and a ballet that that leaves you wondering how any man can parade himself and an unsightly bulge out in front of people that way. You let her get to know the real you, see, and if it doeesn't go well, at least you are doing something you enjoy. It's what we call a win-win.

I say all that to say this: I tried Valentine's Day with a fresh approach this year. Rather than pretending to be more romantic than I am, I applied my first date thinking. As a result, I had Valentine's Day planned in early December because I found something that I was interested in that long ago.

If you haven't heard Shane and Shane play live and lead worship you haven't lived. If you hear Erwin McManus, a renowned author and communicator, and aren't stirred by his insight then you don't have a pulse. Turns out, they were doing a weekend event together in Asheville, NC. Betsy likes Shane and Shane and she has never heard McManus. But I am a huge fan of both. So, like any thoughtful, romantic, loving husband would do, I paid for us to go where I wanted to go as a present for her.

In hindsight, it was a little like buying her a plasma tv for Christmas, or tickets to a Counting Crows concert. Still, Erwin and Kim McManus were full of wisdom for marriages. I am now convinced that Shane and Shane will leading worship in heaven. And the surprise of the weekend was BJ Harris, a phenomal illusionist from Franklin, TN. I knew I'd enjoy the time away and I hoped she would too. I wish I could say that I searched for the perfect thing for Betsy until I found something that only I would know that she loved. But, that would be a lie.

You don't have to like or agree with my thinking, but when I do what I think she wants, it is a total hail mary and I usually guess wrong. On the other hand, I am absolutely certain of what I like. I have a friend who I used to tell 95% of the time I go with my gut, and the other 5% percent of the time I should have.

I just looked at the Braves schedule. Opening day falls on Betsy's birthday, in Philadelphia. My gut says a trip to the northeast would be a perfect birthday celebration for a woman 8 and half months pregnant.

Seasons

Trying to predict the weather in Atlanta can be a lot like predicting the mood of a pregnant woman. If you have ever lived or spent time in Atlanta and with a pregnant woman, then you fully understand the correlation. I spent two afternoons at the park over the weekend, both with a pregnant woman by the way, and the conditions outside were a lot like I hear it is all the time in both San Diego and Heaven. Our three kids couldn't have been more excited to get out of the house and run wild for a few hours unless they were parents of kids their age. It was a welcome change in the winter climate.  

But it came out of nowhere. Washing cars, playgrounds, picnic lunch, jogging, remote control airplanes, throwing footballs and frisbees... ahhh, January in Georgia.  Sunny, 60 degrees plus, slight breeze, on both Friday and Saturday. That weather has continued through the beginning of the week and will bring the vacation to us for a short while. I couldn't possibly complain about such beauty around me, the kind that warms both the body and the soul. Family taking time to be a family. Life is good and I am thrilled to be right where I am... Today.  

Wednesday and Thursday I was tempted to blow the budget on long johns, heated pants, a hot tub, and converting the living room to a fire pit. And that was only when my search for work in sunny South Dakota just for the warmer climate change ended with the discouraging news that our economy is apparently in a recession and jobs are hard to come by. It was cloudy, with biting wind, and antagonistically cold. I could have sworn that unless you live in Helsinki you couldn't possibly know how bad we had it here. Kids are locked up inside, watching the same three movies repeatedly, never agreeing on which one to watch at a given moment, taking out toys that they have no interest in playing with, every piece of furniture is a trampoline, and seeming a lot like harnessing the energy of an atom. There is nothing worse than young boys, confined, contained for extended periods of time. Family taking time to get on each other's nerves. Life is a massive migraine, and I'd rather be on fire... A couple of days ago.

And that is the way it goes. One day, the sky is falling. The next day, it is well with my soul. The weather in Atlanta last week, upon reflection, strikes me as symbolic of our perspective, usually dictated by emotions. We allow our circumstances to influence our mood, perspective and attitude. The way we treat people is determined largely, not by our character or a deep respect for our neighbor, but rather, by how we feel at a given moment. I think of the economy right now, and how many people are facing foreclosure, suffering through unemployment, rethinking choices, fighting hopelessness. 

That might be you. I know it has been me. It dawns on me though that the impermanence of seasons may be an intentional message from the one who created and sustains it all. Maybe He wanted us to have a physical reminder that "this too shall pass", that better days are coming. Maybe God wants us to know that though it feels like 27 degrees in our soul, there will come a day when it is sunny and 60. Maybe when it feels like winter, we are supposed to know that spring and summer are on the way, that winter doesn't stay all year this side of Narnia. 

There is something about the energy and warmth that the sun gives that helps us understand why the Apostle John chose Light as the grand metaphor for Jesus arriving on the scene. Though darkness may permeate your life and your world, though it may be cold and chaotic everywhere you look, Light can and will burst forth if you allow it to in the person of Jesus. According to scriptures, which I have come to trust, this is not a possibility but a certainty. 

Think of it this way: Spring IS coming. We don't wonder about it, we just wait for it, anticipate it, expect it and then welcome it with joy. But knowing that spring is coming, rather than just wondering if it is coming is quite a different thing. When we wonder if spring is coming, each day it does not arrive is a day of disappointment. Each day of winter frustrates, irritates and perpetuates a growing inclination toward despair. Rather than allowing dark days to form appreciation and gratitude within us for the days of summer, we give gloom the power to shape us, and embrace the cynical struggle to ever enjoy the sun, fearful of the day winter will return. 

 

When we know a better day to be in our future, we view the current day through a brighter lens. We don't just throw away the sunglasses because it's rainy and cold. We put them in the console or somewhere accessible, fully aware that the day will yet be upon us when the sun will emerge, brighten everything around us and remind us that the world is beautiful, that God is good, and that every day is a gift. 

I wonder what it would be like to view the world through that lens all the time. Rain or snow, cold or warm, clouds or sunshine... what if my perspective was always formed by the reality of the Son waiting to burst forth in all His glory. What if I looked for the Son in everything and in everyone. What if I lived without confusion, but simply knowing with absolute certainty that He is going to break forth, radiant, beautiful, full of life, energy and warmth. What if I knew that I could bring that into your situation, to anyone's situation. 

What if guys like me viewed pregnant mood swings through the lens of a baby to come. Would I be infinitely more patient, sensitive, excited and expectant about all that waits around the bend? What if we all began to see the world through the lens of what the bible calls this idea of New Creation... the lens of all-this-is-just-for-now... the lens of each day is a gift.

The forecast is calling for rain later this week, and we will be dipping back down into the 30's. I suspect that on one of those days I will start the rant of "I hate winter" that I tend toward. I am hoping that I will be reminded of this last week though. I saw temperatures climb almost 50 degrees in two days. I also went from being a single bachelor with no direction to married with three kids and no direction in 15 months. Direction came since then, though, and child number 4 is soon to come as well. 

New creation is happening every way you could imagine and in many ways that you can't. New creation is everywhere, all the time. The only question is are you expecting it, looking for it, participating in it? We have been invited into that way of living, that way of seeing the world. That is our alternative to cold, dark, frustrated and sad. I dare you to adopt this way of seeing thing. I dare you to live knowing that spring and summer are coming. I dare you to live certain that old things will pass away and new things are coming... in your life and the lives of those around you. I dare you to see passed the rain, through the cold and see if you can't find Light emerging. And I recommend you keep the sunglasses close by. 

Lessons

I know we all have our points of insecurities. We generally view that as a negative thing but I am of the mind that some level of insecurity or self-doubt is healthy for the human soul because it prevents us from getting to comfortable and produces some level of humility. While I am a pretty confident and secure individual, there are some things that prey on insecurity. I am beginning to find out what some of those things are these days. 

My friend preached a sermon at his church recently and he historically does a good job. He is a gifted communicator, dynamic, engaging and personable and he has been preaching and teaching in churches for a decade or so now. I was stunned when my friend told me about someone who approached him after the service was over and said that they had a word from the Lord for him that might make him defensive. That individual proceeded to, in a moment and in the name of Jesus, rebuke the preacher for his message. I won't go in to details. Rather, it has inspired me to reflect on the two greatest truths I have learned in this, my first year of vocational ministry.

Over the last few weeks I have become increasingly aware of my own limitations. I know now, more than I ever have, that I am ill-equipped to be a youth pastor. The more I study and prepare and read and teach and interact and counsel and pray and meet, the more I am certain that I am not suited for this job at all. The other side of this is that nobody else is either. But on this point, a few scriptures have informed my sense of insecurity. 

2 Timothy 2:15 says "Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth." 

Isaiah 66:2 says "This is the one I esteem: he who is humble and contrite in spirit, and trembles at my word."

1 Timothy 4:16 says "Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers."

These are just a couple of verses that shed light on the enormity of the responsibility that preachers and teachers bear before the Lord. Though I have been a pastor's kid since I was 4, and though I went to a bible school, indeed, though I know the Word, I must admit that there is a great chance that I have mishandled the word at some point. What's worse is that I am reasonably certain that I will again. At the end of the day, there is just so much that I don't know. 

I was arrogant enough a year ago, even two years ago, to think that I was qualified to be a pastor. Now? Not so much. My former pastor used to talk about the responsibility of a pastor to give an account for the spiritual condition of those under his leadership... I am beginning to get some idea of what he was talking about. 

I am restless much of the time these days, overwhelmed by all that I have to learn, and frustrated with the reality that there is no way to learn it quickly. I am staring down the barrel of a 50 year journey, at the end of which, if I have done my best, I will still fall short of these job requirements. When you frame it this way, it is not surprising that I am becoming wildly insecure in my own ability.

There is no question, I am utterly unqualified to be a pastor of real life, actual people. But something in me suggests that it's what I was made to be. I don't know if all pastor's step back at some point and think "how on earth did I get this job?", but it is a question that resides on the tip of my tongue at almost any moment. My friend's discouraging encounter left me wondering how I might respond in such a situation... after quite a lot of time thinking on it, I still have no clue. I struggled just to get past the notion that someone might actually approach me that way immediately following a message. 

It evoked this profound anxiety in my soul rooted in a very real concern that I may be found out. I mean, what if I get up one too many times to speak, to teach other people the truth of God's word, and some error in my communication shines a bright light that illuminates the billboard above my head that declares me to be a total fraud.

But the Spirit of God comes in, and whispers words of assurance, affirmation and comfort. And through the Spirit I have learned this: It's okay to be frantically insecure in my capacity so long as I am firmly secure in my calling. I tell you, dependency on God feeds on the trough of self doubt.

My friend's painful experience of someone speaking a harsh word in the name of Jesus, reawakened me to the nakedness of doing something you love. It's safe to do something you aren't totally passionate about. It's safe to stay in a relationship with someone you aren't completely in love with. It's safe to never pursue your dreams. What's scary is when you pursue that career you dream about, or when you express your feelings for the girl you want to spend the rest of your life with. And people in ministry? Well, they are mostly in it because they love it. 

There were times I wished I would get fired from my old job. Now, if I lost my job, my heart would break. I think something in my friend broke the other day. He loves people... not the way we mean when just say we love people. He actually does... I know this because he is extraordinarily generous, caring, respectful, honoring and affirming... and he is that way with everybody, not just the ones that are easy to love. See, anytime you preach, you expose yourself in some personal way. My friend prepared for hours, prayed diligently, spoke on a subject that he is passionate about, and shared a few personal stories to illustrate what God put on his heart. He poured his heart and soul into the sermon. His message was a gift from God, through my friend, to the people in the congregation. And while it wasn't his gift, he was the messenger, and somebody essentially threw it back at him and said it was no good.

It wasn't just simple rejection that hurt. I think it hurt him because he gave himself fully to something he loves and then experienced the rejection. He has been a pastor for much longer than me and he loves it the way I do. He loves it, he has worked hard at it, and truthfully, he does it with excellence. Sometimes, that's just not enough for people.

But the other thing I have learned throughout this year, and I have been reminded of it in recent days, that allowing yourself to love anything is always a risk. And sometimes the things worth dreaming about require greater sacrifice, not greater success. To deeply love anything is to leave yourself naked while in plain view of everyone... and you always get burned at some point. In fact, to passionately pursue anything is all but a guarantee of pain. This wasn't my friend's first blow, nor will it be his last. I know that because he bears many scars already, but he keeps going to work, keeps loving the church, keeps loving people. You do that very long and more hits will come. 

There is a verse in Psalms, I think, that says "let him not boast who puts his armor on like him who takes it off." It has been not quite one year for me in vocational ministry, and I feel like I am just getting my armor on. I know enough now to know I need every bit of it, and I love it enough to hope it stays on long enough to take a beating. 

Grace

I have twins that are 3-and-a-half and one of them is named Josiah. He is an adorable little kid, remarkably articulate for a toddler, and he can tend to be a bit steadfast. (That was a just a euphemism for stubborn). There are a lot of people without opinions, without clear objectives or the capacity to make decisions... let's just say Josiah isn't one of those people. Like most boogers his age, he enjoys anything with sugar and, in fact, he demands it at times. His approach to this is characteristically unbecoming and I find myself repeating the phrase, "maybe after you eat your food..." more frequently than any man ever should. 

But Josiah seems to have a firm belief in attrition regardless of how little support he finds for his methods. Picture this... a child being deliberately disobedient to his parents, desiring a reward or blessing as the outcome. His belief is that his open defiance will evoke a grace response. Rebellion should be overlooked and enabled. 

This is how a child sees the world. I want this thing, therefore I should have it... and the louder I scream and the more forcefully I demand, the more likely it is I will get what I want. This is a core conviction of most children... and it is why God gave us discipline. 

I bring this up because I think we often see God's grace this way. I know this is a controversial issue for many because it's pretty cozy to think God works this way... it affords me my lazy way of living. But think about this... when I emphasize obedience to my children so much that it becomes my dominant focus, they start to understand that my love and affection is the result of their obedience. They end up thinking they have to earn my love. However, when all I do is tell them that I love them and I always will and I fail to emphasize obedience, they feel completely free to do as they please and nothing is required of them. Both are out of balance and both are death to a child. 

This is not an original thought of course. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was writing about this 70 years ago but I think you will find his words eerily accurate about our culture... if you take the time to look inside yourself, you may even find that he is speaking to you.

"Cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance; it is baptism without the discipline of community; it is the Lord's Supper without confession of sin; it is absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without the living, incarnate Jesus Christ."

"Costly grace is the hidden treasure in the field, for the sake of which people go and sell with joy everything they have... It is costly, because it calls to discipleship; it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly, because it costs people their lives; it is grace, because it thereby makes them live. It is costly, because it condemns sin; it is grace, because it justifies the sinner. Above all, grace is costly, because it was costly to God, because it costs God the life of God's Son and because nothing can be cheap to us which was costly to God."

I am wrestling through this complex dichotomy of grace being a gift and unearned but still requiring something of me and of you. I fear that the church has so emphasized God's unconditional love and grace which is intended to change us, that we have unintentionally blessed people everywhere to receive this grace and remain exactly as they are. 

My former pastor used to say that the cruelest thing you can do to a person is give them a false assurance of salvation. As I consider the state of the church at large, the church I attend, indeed my own self, I have to believe that I and we are guilty of this offense. The justification of the sinner in the world has become the justification of sin and the world. Bonhoeffer goes on to say this: "Everything remains as before, and I can be sure that God's grace takes care of me. The whole world has become "Christian" under this grace." YIKES!

The purpose of grace has never been a conversion experience. The purpose of grace has always been a compelling call to come and follow. My friend Mike, who is more economical with words than me, always says "you do what you believe." If he's right, and I think he is, then don't many of us believe in this thing Bonhoeffer calls cheap grace. Essentially, aren't we children who believe that our Father sees our open rebellion, our deliberate defiance, shrugs His massive shoulders, and says "oh well", proceeding to release us from any pain, any struggle and grant our every desire. Is this the kind of parent God is? Is grace a weak enabling? Is grace the avenue by which God raises up spoiled, rotten children? Or is grace a powerful force that beckons us to follow Jesus, certain that we cannot, but guaranteeing that if we would just give our best shot... if we would genuinely, honestly and brokenly pursue the Christ, it would be the thing that carries us. What do you believe about grace? And yes, it matters... because you do what you believe.

I am the spiritual covering for a group of teenagers. I will have give an account for what I teach them and how I lead them. I have three children with a fourth on the way and I will be responsible for what I teach them too. I tell you those are heavy realities which make me want to believe the right thing. 

May God give us the wisdom to believe that a grace costing him everything requires the same of me. May we have the courage to believe that following him requires action, requires moving, requires energy and requires leaving things behind... sometimes people, sometimes habits, sometimes stuff. May we come to believe that to follow him anywhere we can't stay here. And may we have the guts to be an echo of this call to a world and a to a church that believes grace invites them to cling to their seats and waive as He passes by.

P.S. please share your thoughts on this subject.

Footlong

I don't know if everybody else has recognized this too, but the price of fast food has soared through the roof... in fact, while the entire country was preoccupied a few months ago bemoaning the high cost of gas, grocery chains have been conducting a clandestine sort of operation, hiking the price of things like cheese, cereal and soda through the proverbial roof. As a coca-cola addict this has become problematic for me because a 2-liter bottle is costing around $1.79 now... Cinnamon Toast Crunch (I have the three kids of course) was $5.50 a box last week. 

This has mostly happened under the radar because of the divergence created by big oil, who incidentally, is also to blame if you were to ask retail execs because of their soaring cost to deliver goods. But while gas prices have leveled off food is climbing higher still... Pause for moment...

... see just now, a 1 pound box of angel hair pasta just went $1.29... and that is the Publix brand, which a couple months ago was 89 cents. The point is, what gas was doing so arrogantly and blatantly, food is doing more strategically and covertly... and when you isolate a small item like pasta, it seems inexpensive at this price. Multiply each item in the cart of a family of five by 30-40 percent, however, and... well... you do the math.

That's why when you read the subject line of this post you can't help but think of Subway's famous $5 footlong subs. Truth be told, that isn't what this post is supposed to be about, it's just that when I read the heading, I too thought of Subway and the image of Jared's little squirrely face. I have to be honest here... I am a Publix guy and a Baldino's guy when it comes to subs... but Subway has weaseled their way back into my life on the strength of an adequate sandwich with a stellar price. The bread may be hit or miss, the amount of meat varies with location and sandwich artist, but that $5 price tag remains fixed, not to mention even with all that mayonnaise it is still better for you than french fries with chicken tenders or a cheeseburger, which are costing in the real world today what it used to cost inside an amusement park or stadium. 

So, now that I have given Subway an unintended plug, I will move on to the real namesake of the post. You can't trust 3-and-a-half-year-old twins to be effective and efficient at wiping after a number two. I know this from experience, so if part of you is questioning just wipe that quizzical expression off your face and just let this be a given. As a result, it isn't uncommon to have your life interrupted periodically as a parent by the faint screams from down the hall... "mommy, I go poopy". 

Hearing that very declaration on Saturday morning evoked no laughter or even smiles from Betsy and I... Josiah had done his part, and he did it in the right place so mommy got up to do her part. Me? I went about my business as dads tend to do. Nothing new under the sun, this is a scene that has played out a million times, and there was no reason I should give this situation a second thought. But then... something unpredictable... something new... something unforeseen and... well, I don't know how to describe it...

"Hey honey", came the call, not from Josiah, but rather the sweet, soft voice of my beloved bride. "You have to come check this out..." Simultaneously, my head tilted, eyebrows (or what's left of them if you know me) furrowed and uncertainty seized me... the conclusion of her invitation I think was intended to provide the impetus to make my way to bathroom... "It's like a footlong in here." She wasn't talking about the famous $5 kind.

"Nah, I'm good." I said it with the meaning of a statement but with the inflection of a question. 

"Seriously," she yelled, "you gotta see this thing."

Life is too funny to take too seriously. Marriage is a serious thing and I know we put a lot of stock in romance, love, honesty, quality time and sharing feelings... but show me a good marriage and I will show you people who laugh together. If you are married, you know what i am talking about, and if you're not, know this: while that other stuff is important, being married and having a family is less about gazing into each other's eyes and buying nice gifts and eating at nice restaurants... and it's more about the high cost of gas, food and... 

well...

footlongs.

I tell you, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.  

Koinonia

I was leaving the office yesterday to go pick up lunch for some folks who were in an all day meeting. On my way down the stairs I ran into a guy who looked the part of someone in need of some help. I introduced myself to a man named Dominique and asked if i could help.

Working at a church in a highly congested area this is a common occurrence. Situations vary and it is always hard to discern what my response ought to be. I have a friend who works a lot with people in need and he says that "must be moved by compassion but we can't be led by compassion." He has some wisdom on the subject and so that statement has informed my thinking. 

Another friend of mine has told me to be quick to give a hand up but cautious about handouts. I guess what they mean is that if we are just giving a handout then we perpetuating a much bigger cycle and we aren't helping much. I think there is wisdom in that too. But when you look a guy like Dominique in the eye it is tough to know which of those he is looking for and, quite frankly, it is difficult to care.

If you live in Atlanta like me then you know that these last couple days are colder than other winter days in the south. When Dominique told me he needed somewhere to stay for the next two nights before he got his social security check I knew enough to know this was not the first time he had been in this position. I found out later, in our search to meet his need, that he had exhausted resources available to him through the local organizations involved in such affairs. But man, it was going to be cold and you don't look a guy like Dominique in the eye and send him back into the cold. Dominique has a wife and 2 children, one of them only 5 months old... They were staying with his wife's parents where he was apparently not welcome. He said he was from around here but had no money, no job, no other friends he could call. What he didn't say that I heard him say, was that he had no hope. 

We always talk about the poor, the homeless, the disenfranchised or marginalized as if their great need is money. We say they need to get jobs and work, earn a living and contribute to society. I think those are really good ideas and very helpful to one's livelihood. A couple of other people at the office helped me and we got a burrito from Willy's for Dominique and called some shelters and places that were better equipped to help him out. Like I said, it was cold. They were mostly full. We found one place downtown that said if he could there in an hour and half then he could have a bed for the night and food for the next day and they would give him a chance to work and stick around for a while. It was pretty good option from my vantage point. I offered him a ride or to get him on marta but he said no thanks... he would just try to get his wife's family stay there. 

I don't know if he was telling the truth or lying or looking for booze or a job or a place to stay. I don't know if he was looking for handout or a hand up. What I do know is that his lack of money, employment, shelter wasn't his biggest problem. The temperatures last night are nowhere near as cold as it is in Dominique's soul. His real lack was lack of hope... lack of relationships. I was thinking last night that if I was out of money, had no job, lost my house and my wife and kids, what would I do? Wasn't a tough question... if i was desperate or in real need, I realized that I had dozens and dozens of friends I could call. Even if i had made a mess of life with bad choices I literally have a hundred people in an instant that would offer their help. 

I am praying for Dominique today, not so much for shelter, a job or money, but for a person... that another person he meets today would look him in the eye, ask his name and communicate speak some kind of value over him. I think some of those other things will happen for him, but real poverty and lack, at it's darkest and most raw level, is isolation. 

Koinonia is the greek word for "fellowship", which Luke uses to express the shared experiences of those people in the very first church community. Koinonia is about relationship and sharing life with people, which is central to emotional and spiritual health. Without it, regardless of your success or what you possess, you are in poverty. My prayer today is that someone, somewhere will have a divine encounter with Dominique, and something in their spirit will reach out from deep inside and breathe light and warmth into his cold, darkened soul. Because if you stumble into hope enough times, it is increasingly difficult to overlook her. And once she catches your gaze, well, it's a whole new ball game.

Lament

I was reading some of the reports of the on-going conflict between Israel and Hamas earlier and I am trying to do what we do. Read about it, shake my head in disbelief, and then forget about it like it isn't real life. Only I seem to be a bit stuck on the shaking my head in disbelief part, unable to forget about it. 257 children have been killed now, 1,080 more wounded... the things we do to each other. 

I remember what it was like when I could distance myself from reports like this, from stories of wars and violence and general suffering. I remember having the strange capacity to flip through channels and ignore such reports, the ability to be unaffected by things. I remember saying and thinking things like "let's just blow them up" as an appropriate response to 9/11 and other armed conflicts involving the United States and some villain dictator or nation. I remember feeling and thinking so cavalierly about war and suffering. And it hasn't been all that long ago truthfully. 

Maybe it is as simple as having children that changes a man's ideology in so many ways. Maybe it is more complicated than that, but it is honestly difficult to say why I can't just forget it anymore. My whole life I have been aware of violence, injustice, war and suffering. My whole life I managed to distance myself from those realities and to lay my head down at night without giving it a second thought. 

But now, I read stories and reports like this one:

"Sayed, Mohammed and Raida Abu Aisheh — ages 12, 8 and 7 — were at home with their parents when they were all killed in an Israeli airstrike before dawn Monday."

It is hard for me as a dad not to read that sentence and imagine the names of my own sons appearing. It is hard as a youth pastor not to read it and imagine the name of three students in the place of Sayed, Mohammed and Raida. I don't them, but I imagine they didn't have anything to do with this conflict other than the family and place they were born into. I imagine that those three kids had hopes and dreams of their own... maybe dreams of a career, dreams of their own family, maybe even dreams of peace. Maybe they weren't unlike my kids and they loved stories about super heroes, playing with their toys, building puzzles and reading books. Maybe they loved to crawl up into the lap of their dad and tell jokes. Maybe they got on their dad's nerves at times and he had to tell them go away and be quiet. Maybe he disciplined them. Maybe he got really angry because they were disobedient. Maybe he and their mom occasionally argued over the consequences for their bad behavior or bad attitudes. Maybe he also liked being their dad and maybe he loved them quite a lot. Maybe he taught them things and believed in them. Maybe they had a sense of destiny and he encouraged that, blessed it, promoted it. Maybe they had bright futures ahead of them. 

I'm just saying, shaking my head and forgetting about it is harder these days. I remember watching a movie called Blood Diamond, a violent, rough, brilliant, moving film... There is a line the main character says as he reflects on the atrocities his countrymen afflict on one another... he says "Sometimes, I look around and I wonder if God will ever forgive us for what we have done to each other."

That line sometimes haunts me. Maybe one day we will have the grace to reach inside of us and find some creativity tucked away in the depths of our souls that might move us in a different direction than violence. It's all so predictable... so lazy... so inhumane. Maybe one day, the way of Jesus, the way of loving those who persecute you, the way of compassion for those who hate you, the way of combatting a system of violence, power and aggression with love will win the day. Maybe one day we will read the story and it will start the same but have a twist, like the great stories always do, and the ending will be different. 

Of course we know that it ultimately will end differently.... and what a day that will be. For now, while we wait for it patiently, I am going home to my wife and three sons... I am going to be less annoyed with them tonight... I may let them stay up late and watch a football game while they snuggle with me. I am going to love on them and be grateful that no bomb shells are going off outside the house and be grateful that they don't live in fear... indeed, grateful that they have the privilege to live at all.

May we never grow so comfortable, so numb, so detached, so distant and so out of touch with our own humanity, that we bear witness to the suffering of our fellow man, shake our heads, and forget about it. May we remember... and may our hearts break for those precious lives that are lost because of the prevailing belief in the myth of redemptive violence.