Housework

We've been doing some work on the house. Painting walls in a couple of rooms, getting some work done on a ceiling and installing a fan. We just varnished some cabinets in the kitchen trying to help them look more like ten years old instead of forty.

After spending all day working on them Marcus came in and said, "I don't see a difference." He's right. Not having the original dried up cabinet to compare it to, they still don't look that great. 

Nancy comes in and says, "They look beautiful!" She's right. She's made a lot of meals in that kitchen and knows exactly how much better things look today than yesterday.

Still, even as she says it, I can see the spots that aren't right, the things that could be better, the stuff I don't have the skill to fix on my own. 

We all have character issues we need to work on. Someone may come to me and say, "Jeff, you shouldn't have said that." That may be true, but it's easy to get defensive and think, "At least you got the filtered version."  

If a friend doesn't have the old version of my character to compare it to his judgement is likely to be harsh. 

At the same time, someone may congratulate me on handling a relationship well. But I have a hard time accepting the complement because I see the things I could have said better or the friendships I've blown in the past.

I still see the hidden flaws that need work.

I think the beauty of God is he knows exactly how much work we've done and exactly how much is left. Somehow the evaluation is both serious and compassionate. It's exacting and full of grace.

And if we let him, sometimes through the help of others, we can get  help, even with the things we don't know how to fix on our own. 

No Gift to Bring

I was pulling into a Walmart parking lot yesterday, listening to the classic rock station, when "The Little Drummer Boy" came on. When he got to the line, "I have no gift to bring." I almost lost it. Something about the weight of it struck me like never before.

I had to pull it together before anyone saw me. It's not very manly to be weeping in Walmart the day before Christmas. Somehow, "No, no! I was really just listing to classic rock!" didn't seem like a believable excuse.

The irony of the Christmas story is, God was born in a manager, with seemingly nothing to offer. No wealth, education or power. Others had to warm, wipe and feed him. He had nothing.

Thirty three years later he gave what only he had, what only he could give. We are the ones left wanting.

We are the ones who are truly powerless, naked and exposed. We bring nothing to the table, no wealth, wisdom or power, in need of being warmed, wiped and fed. In need of salvation. And it is there, in our emptiness, that we are loved.

Like the Little Drummer Boy, we have nothing God could need or want. Still he looks into the heart of each one of us and says, "I know you. I love you. And I love the way you play that drum."

You are the one he came for. You are the one he loves. Merry Christmas. 

Hopeless

This place is a mess. Russia, Ukraine, a new cold war looming, Syria, ISIS, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Nigeria, Ebola, slavery at an all time high, the economy, income disparity, race relations, civil unrest... am I missing anything?

I think the thing that troubles me most is, this is humanity at its greatest. This is us at our apex. We have more money, more affluence, more education, more food, more leisure and more comfort, more technology, better health care and greater access to information than at any time in human history.

The level of pain, complexity of the issues, the lasting impact of today's decisions on tomorrow's circumstances only lead to a sense hopelessness.

And still, there is beauty in the world, life, love and reconciliation. Like good blues, painful lyrics mixed with captivating melody, underpinning the pain is something beautiful, something that gives us hope.

Something deep inside us tells us it shouldn't be this way. It motivates us to act, to weep, to speak out, to provoke change.

It tells us things won't always be like this, there will be a new day, a day of unity, a day of healing, a day of peace. We can taste it here, like a free sample in a chocolate shop, and it resonates with our soul.

In our quest to be free, free to live our own lives, find our own answers, make our own decisions, free from oppressive rules and lists of dos and don'ts, free to create a world we want, free from some God and his judgement, we have run from our hope and into despair.

But hope is out there. He is waiting for us. And is name is Jesus. 

A Broken GPS

Nancy and I were driving recently and our GPS kept telling us to get off the highway. It was the wrong way to go, but as we passed every exit it told us to leave the road.

Missionaries run into this trouble all the time when they return to the U.S. Their cultural maps haven't been updated. Imagine how many roads have changed in your hometown in the past 20 or 30 years. Our culture has been no different. So as missionaries return they frequently make wrong turns as they try to navigate cultural cues.

The reality is, this can happen to anyone. We all know people who just can't seem to make good decisions. Even though they may know the right road, time and again they seem to make choices that are self destructive.

Sometimes I think we minimize the potential reasons for this. We can quickly dismiss people as "bad" or tell them if they prayed harder, REALLY listened to the Spirit and  read their Bible more, then they wouldn't keep making mistakes.

It may sound like heresy, but sometimes that's not enough.

God did not create us in isolation. We have all been put here with unique gifts. And some people are really gifted at healing minds.

When we know the choices we should make and ignore them, there is probably a reason. It could be something hardwired from birth or that got rewired in our youth through experiences with family and friendships.

For some reason our GPS keeps telling us to pull off the road and its constant yammering is really difficult to ignore. So eventually, we give in, make choices we know will hurt us in the long run, for short-term reward, then hate ourselves for it later.

It doesn't have to be that way. If we're humble enough and brave enough to tell someone, there is healing. You aren't alone. Things can get better with God's help and the help of others who understand.  

Hope

Our dog Abby LOVES to play. When I get home from work, I go out back and throw her ball. So, from the moment she hears the garage door goes up, she absolutely flips out. She runs in circles all over the house, back and forth from me to the back door.

She's inconsolable. Hope oozes from her every fiber, expectant that I will play with her. It's contagious and it draws me outside.

Hope is an interesting word. In English, when we use hope, there is a level of uncertainty. We don't know if what we hope for is ever going to be achieved. But I learned recently, the word Paul uses in the New Testament is different.

The hope Paul talks about is something we have yet to attain, but there is a certainty we will attain it.

I heard an interview with a former Vietnam POW. When asked how he survived such horrible conditions, when others didn't, he said, "I always knew we would get out of there." When asked about the guys who didn't survive he replied, "Oh, they were the optimists."

Understanding the interviewer's confusion he smiled and continued. "The ones who died were the ones who would say, 'we'll be out by Christmas' then 'we'll be out by Easter.' When it didn't happen, they gave up.

"We had the realistic attitude that we didn't know when we would be freed, but we would be freed."

That is the hope of the Gospel.

Our lives can be overwhelmed with uncertainty, heartbreak and pain. And we have a hope. It's not a "Pollyanna hope" that ignores the realities of our circumstances. It is a hope that acknowledges the struggle but that we do not struggle alone. One day, the one who loves us will come and our hope will be reality.