The World Around Us

Life can be hard. All you have to do is glance at the news and you find volumes of personal and community pain, and problems without solutions. Catastrophes, accidental and intentional, natural and manmade, fill up the headlines until we can’t bear to read anymore.

It’s no wonder people don’t believe in God, at least not one who is loving and just. There’s just too much heartbreak, too much destruction, too much pain. An honest heart needs to work through those issues.

But if we’re honest, we must also deal with beauty. Not a beauty that is subjective, one we might argue over like art, or music or a Miss Universe pageant. There are things in this world that make us stop, stare and wonder.

White puffy clouds on a sapphire sky, wind rustling leaves, the rippling of a brook, giant craggy peaks and green rolling hills, the sun lighting up soft greens in the ocean and the deep metallic blues, a child’s infectious laughter.

They are colors, textures and sounds that warm our hearts and calm us. They bring us joy, recharge us and few would deny their beauty. The opposite is true, orange haze around L.A., diapers and syringes on a beach and the shriek of a child in pain all repulse us.

Why?

Why does nature enchant us while its destruction unnerve us? Is this some Darwinian mechanism to help us choose the best places for survival? You might think so, until you realize the view from the top of Everest is mesmerizing.

In the beauty of nature I see God. I can’t escape it. And I believe the love for it was placed in our hearts, so we would search for him and care for it. The pain on this planet can make us doubt the goodness of God, but for me, its beauty makes his existence, undeniable. 

Are You Going to Hell?

I watched an interview Larry King did with some preacher a long time ago. I can’t remember now which televangelist it was, but at some point Larry asked him, “Do you think I’m going to hell?” The guy didn't really want to answer, but after some pushing he admitted, “Yes.”

Larry seemed kind of miffed and the guy seemed kind of apologetic, but the whole thing left me with two questions:

1. Why does this guy feel qualified to decide Larry’s fate?
2. Why does Larry care?

Don’t misunderstand me, as a Christian, I believe in a pretty narrow door to restoration with a god we have abandoned. I think if you were sentenced to die and I sent my son to the gallows to free you, I’d be pretty disappointed if you didn't seem to care.

The thing is, that’s what I think. It’s what I believe to be true from words written in a book I choose to believe and a lifetime of experiences I feel have validated that belief.

But I cannot know the depths of the heart of God. Nor can I claim to know the heart of another man. I’m so duplicitous I don’t even know my own heart, how could I ever judge yours? So, I don’t understand how any human can know your eternal destiny.

But even if I think you’re doomed, why do you care? What difference does it make what I think? Only two things are certain when you die, you’ll be dead and I won’t get to decide anything. So if you’re an atheist, agnostic or Apollo worshiper what I think about your afterlife seems pretty irrelevant.

I think the better questions are, “Is there a god?” and “Can I know him (or her)?”  If the answer is, “No” then there really isn't anything to talk about.

But if the answer is, “Yes” then it seems we should start searching. If you ask with a sincere heart, honestly seeking to know the truth God will be revealed to you. Why? Because I believe you are desperately loved, by a god who longs for relationship with you and hopes for your healing.

I believe there is a god, a god who loves you. But like I said, it's not what I think that matters. 

Put Your Seat Up!

I climbed on a plane the other day after a four hour delay. We were late and people were grouchy. As I got to my seat and settled in for a long flight, the lady in front of me leaned her seat back.

I was not happy. If you know anything about airplane etiquette it’s that you should wait until you’re in the air before you compress the living space of the person behind you.

Suddenly the seat went back up. I smiled. Then it came down. Then up. Then down again. Finally, the lady, turned around apologetically and said, “It’s broken. It won’t stay up.”

Those few words changed everything. Instead of annoyance, there was empathy. There was nothing she could do. She was as frustrated as I was.

We constantly run into people with “broken seats.” They’re annoying. They do stuff that bugs us, stuff that doesn't make any sense and stuff that is offensive.

Some people are oblivious to their problem and just go through life unaware of how their brokenness is impacting the people around them. Others are aware, but don’t have the tools to fix it.

But understanding that she was struggling was a game changer. Sure, there are some jerks who put their seat back on you and don’t really care, but not normally.

When you’re able to see life from their perspective, (sit in their seat) their behavior may still be frustrating, but there is grace for the person.

Fortunately for both of us, so many people had abandoned the flight during our delay, the lady was able to find a different place to sit.

That’s the hope for all of us. That when we become aware of our brokenness, we can begin to find ways to change, we can begin to find healing. Because if we're honest with ourselves we may realize, we are the one with the broken seat. 

Dirty Feet

I love to wear flip flops. They call them thongs in Australia, which can be a bit disconcerting, so I’ll stick with flip flops. I wore them all the time when we lived in Singapore. So much so, I had a nearly permanent tan line across the top of my foot.

For some reason we can’t wear them in the office. Some guy named Osha won’t let me. I’m not sure who that is, but he sounds pretty uptight, like an over protective mother with her first born.

Anyway, I would wear flip flops all the time if I could. So recently, on a trip out of the office, I had them on. I like going for walks when I’m in new places, to try to get a feel for the area and the people, one you won’t get sticking around a hotel.

On one particular walk there was a long dusty road. The kind of road created by months of dry weather and the pummeling of car tires. The dust was soft and powdery and exploded into little clouds with every footstep.

When I got to my hotel that evening I went to hop in the shower and realized I hadn't grabbed my towel. I’m sure it’s some kind of plot by the hotel industry because no towel is ever within reach of the shower.

I tried to step out quickly and grab it before getting too wet, but it was too late. There, on the crisp white bathmat was a nasty black footprint. It was pretty gross. So much so, when I got out of the shower, I had to wash it out in the sink. I was too embarrassed for the maid to see it. Really.

It made me think of all those sermons I've heard about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. They used to always mention the dusty roads and how dirty their feet would be, but I’m not sure I ever understood until I saw that nasty black footprint on the mat.

All Jesus did with his guys was walk around. They would just hang out, walking around and talking about stuff.  So much so, I’m surprised there aren't stories in the Bible about his mother telling him he needed to get a job.

So after one of these days of walking around on some dusty road outside Jerusalem, Jesus took a bucket of water and a towel and began to wash their feet. 24 stinky, nasty grown men feet. He washed the ones that wanted to be washed and the ones who didn't. He even washed the pair that would run off and betray him just a few minutes later.

I don’t seem to mind service, when it’s convenient or comfortable and especially when it makes me look good. But I’m not sure the last time I did a job simply because no one else wanted to do it.

The God of the universe defined what it means to be a servant. It took a dusty road to reminded me how far away I am from his example. 

Marriage Trouble

Nancy and I have spent over 25 years together. God could not have blessed me with a better friend, wife and partner in ministry. I tell you that because we had an argument a while back which revealed some things about me that I need to deal with.

Unfortunately, in the course of the argument, I communicated carelessly and said some things that wounded her. I brought up an emotional issue at a time when we were both physically and emotionally exhausted and I did it poorly.

The conversation was healthy because it exposed some things I need to work on, but I deeply regret the impact of those foolishly chosen words on my wife.

Our marriage isn't in trouble. Nancy and I have been through some really deep water together. We love each other and are committed to each other more than we ever have been. Marriage has been the most wonderful gift God has given me and the most challenging. Children would be a close second.

I can’t imagine trying to do it with someone less loving or less determined to make it work than Nancy has been with me. And it bewilders me that after 25 years I can still chose the most inopportune moment, to talk about a difficult subject, only to reveal that I am the one with the issue.

I’m sharing this story because missionaries show up in churches all dressed up, talking about awesome things that God is doing. It’s true and we should celebrate it.

What is also true is, missionaries (like all of us) are people who sometimes struggle in their marriages; many times feeling they have no one they can be transparent with.

It makes me sad that the divorce rate in the church is no better than the rest of society. Not because of the message it sends, but because there is help available. There are people who care and want to help, if we would only have the courage to admit we don't have it all together. 

If you’re struggling, tell someone. Yes, marriage can be hard, but it can also be so wonderful. If you don’t know who to talk to, write me and we’ll work it out together. Don’t give up, there is healing available. It may be hard work, and may take significant life change, but the blessing outweighs the brokenness. Trust me. 

International Airports

I love international airports. I’m a freak about flying so I always arrive about 12 hours too early. I can be pretty flakey, so I’m terrified I’ll show up having forgotten my passport, luggage or the name of the airline.

What that means is, I end up spending hours walking, sitting eating and observing. I don’t mind because there’s just so much to see. It’s a microcosm of our world.

It is a place of hellos and goodbyes, excitement and anxiety, gains and losses, exhilaration and weariness. It’s a place where reunion and loneliness can coexist.

There are the young, beautiful and fit; the old, haggard and maimed. There are sandals, sneakers and spikes, shorts, suites and sweats. There are women strutting in next to nothing and others clothed head to toe.

There are young boys, jumping, dancing and slaying villains, watched by older sisters holding bears, grabbing hands, scolding and consoling. Weary parents are plodding and searching for the gate, a seat and a drink.

There are hippies and businessmen, the clean shaven, groomed and scruffy, the confident and the bewildered, tatted and uptight, cell phones, tablets and laptops, beer, wine and spirits, $10 burgers and peanut butter and jelly. And the skin tones rival the rainbow.

People weep with joy, sorrow and exhaustion. Young lovers embrace, old ones kiss softly and fathers send their children back to mom.

I think heaven will be like an international airport; filled with people of all shapes, sizes, brands, and backgrounds. The hurt and healthy are healed, telling story upon story of reconciliation, faith and grace. I marvel and the thought of eternity with such spectacular diversity.

Heaven will be like an international airport... without the goodbyes and baggage. 

True Love in a Glance

There’s something about spending time with a couple who has been in love for a long time. In the community I’m a part of, I've been fortunate enough to have witnessed this many times.

Don’t misunderstand me. In 15 years of missions I have seen people I care about separate and divorce. Missionaries are not immune from the challenges of marriage. Nor do I think only Christians can have happy committed relationships.

But healthy relationships have been modeled for me over and over again. And seeing an older couple truly in love with each other is beautiful. It’s more than attractive, it’s seductive.

They make me want to love Nancy better. They make me lover her more.

It’s always fun to see a young couple in love. They laugh and giggle and kiss and paw at each other until your eyes roll. They’re cute and there’s a freshness about it that brings joy.

But watching an older couple is more powerful. A wife’s gaze can communicate with so much emotion and understanding. It comes from eyes that have seen the excitement of a wedding, the passion of a honeymoon and the miracle of birth.

They have witnessed arguments, anger and heartbreak and have chosen to love anyway. They are eyes that have wept for children in worry and in joy and weep still. They are eyes that have been steeled by a journey with her lover through a cauldron of fire and pain and they have seen the wonder of God.

And in her gaze you see, grace and understanding, amusement and knowing, gratitude and peace, hope and belief, longing and a love only eclipsed by The Divine. 

It is a gaze so captivating young lovers can only long for the day they can share it. He returns it to her with the same gentleness and affirmation and no words need to be spoken.

In a glance we glimpse the purity of God's love for all people. It is full of wonder and nothing on earth is more beautiful. 

Struggle

Recently, I was enjoying my time with a little girl who was learning to walk. She would hold my finger and toddle around, only letting go when she wanted to change directions. There’s a sweetness when walking with a young child; an innocence you feel needs to be protected and held onto.

We didn't have any worries as we walked together. All she needed was my finger to remain confident and steady. There was no struggle, no strife… and no development.

As we walked with her, Nancy helped me realize there were times I needed to let go. The smooth surface of the sidewalk was no trouble, but when we ventured onto the uneven grass or the woodchip-covered playground, the leisurely walk became a challenge.

When off the sidewalk, I had to pry her hand off my finger. She was uncomfortable. She was unsteady. She was unhappy. And she was growing. If a caregiver’s job is to help develop a child, holding her hand was handicapping her.

I think the same is true in our journey with God. There are times in our lives when we wonder where he is, what he’s doing, why we’re hurting and he feels so distant. We probably feel like my little friend, abandoned and betrayed as we struggle to put one foot in front of the other. 

The issue of suffering is a tricky one because there are so many questions. Did God cause it? Allow it? If he’s good, why didn't he prevent it? What’s the role of man’s free will? Evil men? What’s the impact of the fall? What does it mean to live in a broken and cursed creation?

I wrestle with those questions and I try to live in the tension they create. No answer I could verbalize would mean anything to someone traumatized by tragedy.   

All I know is, when that little girl was struggling on her walk, I never left her. When she wobbled, stumbled and fell, I was with her. Sometimes I helped her up, and encouraged her to continue the struggle. Sometimes I watched as she learned how to stand on her own. But I was always there.

I don’t know your struggle. The pain of the past, the problems in the present and uncertainty of the future can overwhelm us. Whatever they are, please hear me say, God is honored in your struggle... and you are not alone.