Grand Canyon

Nancy and I got to visit the Grand Canyon recently. As we walked and drove along the south rim, we started talking about just how grand it actually is. It's vastness is so overwhelming, it's hard for your brain to process all that your eyes are absorbing.

So we started trying to come up with words to describe it. We decided "big," "really big" and "really, really big" didn't quite do it. At one particular overlook, there was just one other couple when we walked up. As usual, as we got to the edge, a reflexive "Wow" fell out of our mouths.

"Yes," said the lady. "It's inexhaustible."

I was so impressed with her wordsmithing and frustrated mine had been bested by this little old lady. The word that suits the Grand Canyon is inexhaustible.

Except it isn't. It's not even the biggest canyon in our solar system.

This awe-inspiring geologic wonder makes us feel so small and insignificant, we begin to ponder life, creation and God. And it's not even noticeable when we begin to look at the universe. The earth is minuscule compared to the sun, which is a measly little star.

Somehow, I think David understood this. I think, one night, watching sheep, laying on a hilltop outside Bethlehem, he drank in the stars from horizon to horizon, was consumed by wonder and said, "What is man that you are mindful of him? The son of man that you care for him?"

What I love about his words is they speak two fundamental truths. We seem to be frightfully insignificant. God loves us anyway.

The universe is filled with incomprehensible wonders. You are the one God sees. You are the relationship he longs to redeem. You are the one he loves, with a love that is truly inexhaustible. You.

Flashes of Light

I was sitting in an offsite meeting last week, in a room with a huge window. It looked out on the Air Force Academy with Pikes Peak towering behind. As I was soaking in the view I saw a faint flicker.

The weird thing about the flicker was it didn't seem to belong. We're used to lights blinking at the tops of radio towers as they jut into the sky. But this light seemed to be on the side of the hill, in a grove of trees. Slowly, methodically, incessantly blinking.

As I sat there, it started to drive me crazy. What's it doing there? The location doesn't make sense. What purpose could it possibly serve? On a break I started asking people. I showed David. He couldn't figure it out. I told Jon. He said, "Yeah, it's always there. I don't know why."

I couldn't wait until Sunday. Two young men, who attend the Academy, go to our church. I asked them. They didn't know what I was talking about. "You know, we have 18,000 acres, right?"

I STILL don't know why that stinking light is there.

As I watched the light blinking I began to wonder. What if I lived my life that way? What if I lived in a way that flashed light in unexpected places? What if my kindness caused confusion. If my love for people was bewildering. If my actions caused people to ask, "Where does that light come from?"

I'm going to continue to look for the source of the light. The questions it created in me compel me to keep looking. My hope is, my life will do the same for others.

The Sinful Pursuit of Morality

Would anyone read “My Utmost for His Highest,” if we found out some dirt on Oswald Chambers? What if we learned, he was a terrible father, who ignored the rape of his daughter by one of his sons. That he seduced another man’s wife, then had the man killed so he could have her. Then, at the end of his life, he took a count of the number of books he’d sold, to glory in his achievements.

Most of us would disqualify that kind of man and trash his books. Still, we read the Psalms of David. In them we find healing, encouragement, strength and refreshment.

I’m struggling with the pursuit of morality in the evangelical church. Please don’t misunderstand me. I believe Christ calls us to a life of holiness. He says if we love him, we will obey him.

Here’s the thing, he is the one we love, obedience is the product. Not the other way around. Forcing obedience doesn’t create love for God. The difference is subtle. It’s pharisaical. It’s wicked.

It seems, for the past 30 years or so, this is what the church has been trying to do. Organizations were created to lobby and legislate.  Then we wonder why people get upset and call us “judgmental.” We protest and say, “But we preach a gospel of love and grace!”

No. No we don’t. We explain the rules.

Somewhere along the line we started telling people how to live, instead of who to serve. We started telling people what to do, instead of who to follow.

Our Bible is full of screwed up people, with messy stories, who loved God. They blew it in ways we would consider unforgivable. Still, they are forgiven.

I wonder how things would be different if we preached Christ crucified. If we spent time each day reading and wondering what loving him really looks like, then tried it. I wonder if our world would be different. If I would be different.

David had some significant moral failures. And penned the most beautiful words. For some reason, God chose to look past the failure, into his heart and use him anyway. I hope he’ll do that for me. I hope we’ll do it for each other. 

Retail Church

In my early 20's I worked retail for a couple of years. You learn a lot about people when you work retail. I have to say, whoever came up with the slogan, "the customer is always right," was an idiot.

The thing that stuck with me the most was, people who work in the service industry have a hard job, with low pay and, many times, are treated poorly by the people they are trying to serve. I became convinced, everyone, at some point in their life, should spend a year working in service.

Nancy and I have been working cross-culturally for about 17 years. We've had the privilege of visiting churches around the world. As a result I've become convinced, every believer should spend at least a year in a church, in a nation with fewer than 2% evangelical presence.

I worry the number of church options we have in the west has resulted in us treating it more like retail. We shop.

I can go in, sit, get served and walk out. Just like a store. No investment, no engagement, no relationship. If I don't like the preaching, the music or kids program, I'll head down the road. If someone offends me, bail.

As a result, we can treat our pastors like they work in the service industry. Hard job, low pay and many times treated poorly by the people they're trying to serve. We go in with the attitude, "the customer is always right."

The problem is, God never intended for the church to be filled with consumers. In a society driven by capitalism, it's hard to get our head around that.

If you belong to a church body, love it... warts and all. Commit, belong, invest, buy in. God gave you those people, not to use them, but to wash their feet. It's time to quit shopping and go look for a bucket. 

Eucalyptus

When we lived in Ecuador, there was a park behind our house with some tall, beautiful eucalyptus trees. We spent many evenings, walking the dog around the park enjoying their leafy shade.

Until one day, a team from the city showed up. They chopped off all the branches, then topped them. I was horrified. Our once beautiful park was now full of giant barren sticks, 20 to 30 feet high.

I couldn’t understand why they killed these trees and why they didn’t, at least, come harvest the giant stumps sticking up everywhere and plant new ones. 

It was probably a year or more later when I began to notice the tops of the trees sprouting leaves. It was weird, like a little bush had climbed up to the top of the stump. Over time, branches sprouted and grew and they began again, to look like healthy trees. 

There have been times in my life when I’ve felt like those eucalyptus trees. Seemly flourishing, then suddenly stripped and topped, left feeling dry, lifeless and wondering what the heck happened. 

I think we’ve all been there. Sometimes it’s external. Something out of our control crashes into our lives and leaves us reeling. Sometimes it’s because we have made some foolish choices, the consequences of which are devastating. 

In retrospect, I think these trees were pruned for their protection. They had grown too tall too quickly. Their narrow trunks and towering height had left them leaning precariously. 

Likewise, I think, at times, God prunes us to ensure our foundation can support our stature.

But the bottom line is, no matter what has left you feeling barren, you are a eucalyptus tree. It’s in your DNA. No matter how it feels, you were designed to sprout again. No matter the damage you’ve suffered, you can rise. 

Sometimes we need the help of friends who can water and nurture us. Sometimes we may need a professional “horticulturalist” to guide us through the recovery process. 

And as we grow, remember, it may take some time, it may look and feel a little funny, because it's not like it was before. It's OK. Do the hard work of growth. You'll get there. You are a eucalyptus tree. And you will rise. 

Trump

I hate blogging on politics because I really see very little point. Sadly, real hope and change seem unlikely. But as I've watched the campaign of Donald Trump unfold I have been baffled by his appeal. It finally hit me today. It's fear.

We have become addicted to fear.

The Trump campaign seems to know and understand it better than anyone else. Maybe even because they themselves are fearful. I don't know. I know only, it is a drum they, and others, are beating quite effectively.

Any of this sound familiar? Immigrants are going to take our jobs! China is going to take our country! ISIS is going to attack the homeland! They are going to take your guns!

Or how about? Your families will be separated by deportation! Spending limits will shut down the nation! ISIS is going to attack the homeland! They'll let even crazy people have a gun!

It's time to stop living in fear. Stop eating a steady diet of Fox News or MSN. Stop reading email forwards you can't possibly verify, then dutifully pass them along like they're gospel. Stop scowering the internet reading articles that enhance your preconceived preoccupations.

If you are a Christ follower and this has been your life. Stop it! Watch this Bob Newhart video if you're having trouble understanding me.

If the things I've listed are things that preoccupy your day, it's probably because you're consuming the wrong things. I'm not saying we should bury our heads in the sand and not know the facts. I'm saying, a few hours of study each night, about a week before your primary, should probably be enough. Not this hysteria they'll be feeding us for the next year.

We have but one savior. We have but one hope. We have but one promise. Christ, our Hope, eternal. Rest in that. Because no one else can offer anything close.

Vacations -- A Missionary's Guilty Pleasure

Nancy and I got to Ecuador last week, spent some time with some of our folks, then headed for the beach.

Same, Ecuador (Sah-may) is a place of healing for me. We've spent countless vacations here, with our boys and friends, over Christmas and in the summer. I even have a sweet memory of my sister and her boys stranded here with us, when a general strike closed the roads. Not a bad place to be stuck. 

My happy place

But when we got here, Nancy clicked two pictures, posted them on Facebook and I thought, "Crap!" 

Missionaries don't like to tell you about their vacations. If we ever do, we qualify it with phrases like, "We found a great deal!" or "Used frequent flier miles!" or "Someone blessed us with!" Those things are probably true. But many could also say, "We lived frugally and saved for it." or "The last few months have left me emotionally exhausted. I needed time away." 

You see, people give us money. Widows give us money. Personally, since our basement flooded, people have given us all kinds of money, supplies and help to fix it. And here I sit, looking at the ocean. Something about that feels wrong. 

We wrestle with that, the guilt of taking a break, in the beautiful places God has landed us. Especially when we know other's have sacrificed to send us here. And anxiously, we wonder if our donors feel the same way.

So there are missionaries who don't take great vacations. Or we hide them from you, like a dog afraid you'll steal his bone. That's why I love Nancy. Secrecy isn't in her. "I'm on vacation. (click, click) Deal with it."

Missionaries need vacations. It's in those places where we can reflect on our lives, on God's creation and his presence. He renews our vision, our calling and affirms who we are in him. It's when we rest, cease to pour out and only exist to be filled.

Missionaries need vacations. Just ask them. You need one too. 

Dependence

Dependence: The state of relying on or being controlled by someone or something else.

When water started coming in my house, we had to have a structural engineer come, jackhammer up some of our floor and put a drain in. I looked at our savings, people had helped, I crunched the numbers and thought, "We can weather this."

Halfway into the work he called me to tell me he had come across a pipe that drains to the sewer. It was corroded. He offered to help fix it, but soon discovered all of the pipes under my house were corroded. He was going to have to replace them all.

I dropped by one evening to check on the progress. You can check out my Facebook page to see what I found.

I felt like God said, "How about this? Can you weather this, Sparky?" No. Not any of it.

For the past four months I have been utterly dependent. I've needed help from my kids, contractors, coworkers and congregation. I have no control over the timetable, the work or the cost. I am completely out of my depth.

And we have been beautifully cared for. Our family, friends, church and work have given us so much money it's embarrassing. Half of the cost has been covered. They have repaired the walls and are offering to do more, even while we're traveling.

Because of our life in missions I thought I had dealt with the dependence issue. For 19 years I've been asking for help. But this has been a wake up call for me. I still think I'm in control. I'm not. I'm one corroded pipe away from a meltdown.

Dependence is the antithesis of American culture. And it is at the heart of the Gospel. Thank you everyone for loving us so well and reminding me of our need, not only for God, but for each other.

When Missionaries Go Dark

At the beginning of May our basement flooded. Fortunately, we caught it early and none of Marcus and Kelsie's stuff was damaged. We've had to pull up the carpet, cut out some drywall and move all the stuff to our garage.

Bailing water is a 24 hour a day job, for a week after the rain stops. Before we could have a landscaper divert the water from the house, it flooded again. The landscaper came. He did the work. It flooded again.

Finally we had an structural engineer come. Soon, he'll dig up the floor in the basement, around the outer walls and put in a drain. He promises we'll be good for at least 25 years.

As a result I haven't been able to do my job. We've had to cancel two trips to see our missionaries and I've missed days in the office.

It's all left me a bit overwhelmed. The flood attacked my house but also my insecurities. If you need to sit down with someone, have a cup of coffee and work through life's struggles, I'm your guy. If you need someone to hang drywall, paint, carpet a basement and re-tile a shower, I'm lost.

For some reason, one of those skill sets seems more manly than the other.

I don't feel like I'm doing my job. I don't know what to do with my house. I don't feel very spiritual. So I don't write the people who provide my paycheck.

Missionaries don't write prayer letters for many reasons. Sometimes it's because they're crazy busy. Sometimes it's because life has overwhelmed them. It's hard to say that to people who send you money.

Family and friends at the office and church have helped with the cost and the labor. We have felt so loved and cared for. We really are in a good place. Still I have felt too stuck to write supporters and let them know what's going on.

There's just something about chaos and insecurity that drives withdrawal. I think that's true for all of us. If it's you, maybe we can meet for coffee and work through life's struggles. 

No Political Solution

I heard this report on NPR the other day and something about it really troubled me. There is NO political solution that will solve a heart issue.

Let me say up front, we need Godly men and women in politics. I want wise people, with honesty and integrity to make good and just laws and lead our cities, states and nation. We need them there. They need to understand, though, no law they instate will ever change the heart of man.

In 1863 Lincoln's emancipation proclamation freed the slaves. Even then, 100 years later the civil rights movement was battling Jim Crow. Now 50 years later 9 people were killed due to how God created them.

None of  the laws created over the past 150 years changed the fact that Dylann Roof hated black people enough to kill them.

What we, in the evangelical community, need to understand is; if we woke up tomorrow and abortion was repealed, homosexual marriage nullified, prayer was back in school and the ten commandments were carved in granite at the front of every court house, the same number of people would be going to hell as today. Eternally speaking, nothing will have changed.

The Jews didn't recognize Christ as the messiah because they believed he would come to free them from the Romans. That task was too small minded. Christ came to free their hearts by restoring our relationship with God.

In our efforts to make American a "Christian" nation, I worry we're making the same small minded mistake. 

Flood Damage

A few weeks ago Kelsie came upstairs and said, "Um, Jeff. The carpet is wet on my side of the bed." Her announcement came after a week of gentile soaking rains, followed by a night of torrential downpours.

After a week of mopping and sopping, tearing up carpet, pulling out drywall, fans, dehumidifiers water finally quit coming into our basement. 

Then it poured again. 

There has been only one day in May without rain in Colorado Springs. Kind of a switch for a city with rainfall totals similar to a desert. And while there are things we can do to resolve the problem, there is nothing we can do until the ground dries out, except bail water. 

One night, after staying up all night cleaning up water every fifteen minutes... again, it occurred to me; this is like a chronic illness. 

There is an initial shock, fear and concern. It impacts the entire family. You take actions to compensate for the problem. At some point, the depressing reality of the daily struggle sets in, "I'm exhausted. There's no end in sight. This is my life now."

This is what life has been for my dad as he's cared for my mom for 13 years with Alzheimer's. This is what life has been for Nancy as she's dealt with chronic fatigue. This is what it's like for folks who deal with chronic pain, who may look fine on the outside, but internally are suffering silently. 

We can cope with most anything when we know there is an end date. It's the ongoing struggle, when we feel trapped and powerless, that is so debilitating.

Hope for my basement returns with the sun. It's the promise of the Son's return that brings hope to those who battle daily with chronic suffering. 

Confession Conundrum

On Sunday, a good friend preached a sermon and gave a compelling call for the need for confession. Many heads nodded and many went to the alter. It was good.

As I listened there was a voice, deep in my head that responded to every point he made. The voice said, "It isn't safe!" 

When we come to Christ we can confess. We can share every deep dark corner of our hearts and it is celebrated as a life forgiven, transformed, made new. It's beautiful.

The problem comes after a few years in the pews, when the sins of our youth revisit us. When casual clicking online leads to objectification, causal drinking slips into addiction and casual lunches at work drift to an affair.

Like Goldilocks we suddenly realize we're lost in the forest. We desperately long to go home but there is no one to ask for directions but bears.

The people called to be light feel dark and judgmental. Condemnation comes in a place called the sanctuary.

So we confess. Silently and alone. We pray God will forgive us. We pray no one finds out.

I wonder what church would look like if was a safe place to fail, then fail, then fail. Where confrontation came from a heart of deep love and concern rather than accusation. Where we learned to forgive each other and ourselves.

It's tragic Church is not a place safe enough to talk about the impulsive click, the extra glass and the flirtatious banter. I think if it was, fewer of us would end up in the woods. 

Furlough

Missionaries have secrets. One of the biggest is, we hate furlough. We don't tell you, but when we're together, we talk about furlough like folks in their fifties talk about their colonoscopies. The prep can be chaos, the even't long and painful.

Thousands of miles in a car with whining kids in the back seat. Different beds every night, living out of suitcases, no routine for the family. "Begging" for money and always having to smile.

We fear showing up at church exhausted and grouchy, with agitated kids with toothpaste in their hair. People might think we're unfit for service (I have friends who were actually told so).

My secret is... I love it. I won't lie. It can be chaotic. Some of the biggest conflicts Nancy and I have had happened in the weeks leading up to furlough, like "in the top three" kind of conflicts.

And it's a gift. Connecting with people you haven't seen in years who love you enough to pray and give. Who gets to drive around the country and see old friends before retirement?

Snow is falling and it has wrecked my perfect furlough schedule. Something always does. I can't complain though because I have had such a sweet week of reconnection with people I love. And for some reason, they seem to love me. That's the kind of thing heaven will be made of.

I LOVE furlough. Though I have to admit, the prep is still kind of messy.  

Club Church

I was sitting in a courtroom with a friend, when he leaned over and whispered, “There’s a strange formality. There are rules to follow, but no one tells you what they are. There’s a club that knows them and everyone outside it is off balance.”

As we talked we realized, “This is like church.”

Folks in the club know where to go when they walk in. Where to take your kids. What they do when they take them.

They know where to sit. When to stand up. When to close your eyes when you’re talking. They know the songs and even why we’re singing. They know to raise your hand when you sing but that you can’t, to ask questions, when the guy is talking.

They know about the book he’s reading from and how to find the spot he’s reading. They know what he means by, lost, found, sinner, saved and sanctified. They know why he gets to talk and no one else does.

They know what the tiny cups are for and the weird crackers that come with them. They know why the guy starts dunking people. They know why a cross is there.

We need to understand there are things about a “church” experience that aren't intuitive and can put people off balance. And we should work to minimize those things.

But here’s the deal. If my ship wrecks and I wash up on some island and a group of natives find me, I’m not going to care if I don’t understand their language, customs or culture. All I will be worried about is, are they going to heal me, comfort me and help me get home?  

There are a lot of people in sinking ships who are so culturally removed from the church it's like they've never seen land before. We need to learn how to love them, help heal them and show them the way home. 

Parenting

The other day, at a restaurant, the table next to me and my Dad had a young couple and a boy who was about 5. Dad and I were talking, so I only caught fragments, but the pieces sounded something like this.

Dad: We’re here to eat. Not to play. Not to sing. Eat. When it’s time to eat that’s all you do, eat.
Son: OK. I’m staring at you. 

Dad: I’ll tell you what my dad told me, “Sometimes you have to sit there and be quite.” 

Son: Next time you do that, don’t squeeze so hard.

Son: I don’t like it when people wake me up.
Mom: I get him up about 7:30, he eats, then watches Spongebob for about an hour. We leave at 9.
Dad: He can’t do that. What’s he going to do when he has to get up and leave the house right away? He needs to learn he can’t just lay around forever. When it’s time to go it’s time to go.

The conversation was hard to listen to, because I've been all three people.

I've been the overbearing dad, so worried my boys wouldn't learn proper etiquette, I gave them no air to be kids. I've been the mom, uncertain how to navigate parenting, critiqued by others who didn't seem to know my child or my reality.

And I've been the boy, just wanting someone to see me.

I think if a young parent ever asked for advice it would be, study your child. Care more about who they are, than about how they behave or who you want them to become. What motivates them, challenges them, builds them up and tears them down? Sometimes we need to discipline, not exert control.

Few things in life are more difficult than truly understanding. Few things are more powerful than truly being seen. 

Taylor Swift

You may have seen this video from Taylor Swift recently...

I don't understand why getting a present from a famous person would make someone cry. Yes, she is beautiful, extremely talented and, I'm certain, very hard working. And I know others just as beautiful and gifted. People are people.

And I'm sure there are those who believe Taylor's "nice girl" persona is exactly that, fake and used only to build a fan base.

But here's the deal... she made people happy.

Does she make so much she could do it for millions of people? Probably. Could she try do it privately and not turn it into a PR promotion piece? Sure. But who cares.

There are some people who will always remember that Taylor Swift noticed them and because of that, they feel valued.

That challenges me. Somehow it seems hypocritical to question someone else's kind acts if I haven't done any of my own. I don't know the last time I wrote a coworker, friend or family member a hand written note to say, "I see you, I value you and you are loved." I say "I love you" to people all the time, but sometimes we need... more.

What we need to realize is, our words are just as powerful as Taylor's. The receipt of the letter may not come with the same shrieks of glee but, if our message is heartfelt, it will get the same tears.