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.

America In Decline

Recently, Nancy and I made a cross country trip. I've talked a little bit about it already, here.

Somewhere along the way a strange sensation came over me as I realized a number of things.

• I've been driving 70 or better the whole way on big, clean highways.

• I've dodged no potholes.

• There are signs telling me how to find the next town.

• There are signs warning me of construction, miles ahead of time.

• I haven’t been hassled by anyone at any checkpoint.

• Over 1,600 miles and I don’t need my passport.

• Clean bathrooms… and toilet paper in all of them!

• All the stinking restaurants are full.

I keep hearing that we are an America in decline. In trouble. In recession. With huge unemployment. Financially on the brink of destruction. 

All of that may be true. People I care about have lost their jobs and businesses, some have filed bankruptcy and our national debt is in the stratosphere. 

But if this is America in a shambles, we have been supremely blessed. I’m ashamed that I don’t wake up every day and thank God that I get to live here… it may even be sinful not to.

Nancy and I have been a lot of places. We've seen some pretty grim living situations.

I’m humbled by the fact that I didn't do anything to get to live in this great nation; a nation, even in difficulty, that has a comfort and ease of life that eclipses much of the world. 

No matter the fate of America, I long for the day of a new heaven and a new earth when we all, my siblings living in prosperity and those in poverty, will finally be home. 

Geese HONK!

Recently we spent some time with some friends who live in an apartment near a pond. Each day we’d take walks, with their precious 19 month old girl, down to the pond to watch the geese.

Apparently, these Canadian geese ware naturalized, because they spend the entire year swimming in this pond and grazing in the large grassy field of the apartments.

They were beautiful and graceful as they would glide into the pond and on the water. There were at least 30 strong and healthy geese flying and swimming effortlessly around the area.

Then one started to honk.

Have you ever heard a gaggle? They are loud. It’s not a pretty songbird kind of loud, it’s an obnoxious, incessant honking and squawking kind of loud. It was so loud and long at one point some poor soul screamed manically out of his second story window, “SHUT UP!” They didn't seem to notice.

The other thing I noticed as we walked around the area is, you have to be careful where you step. If the geese have been there, they've left evidence, like rancid breadcrumbs leading them back to the pond.

That’s when it hit me, geese are like people.

People squawk. They whine, moan and complain about almost anything. It’s too hot, too cold, the traffic is awful, he cut me off, I always get in the wrong line, I hate my job, my family, my life. You can get pretty weary listing to all of it and at some point you just want to say, “SHUT UP!”

And if you deal with someone long enough, at some point, you’re going to step in it. We have no idea the… “stuff” people have been through. It is only a matter of time before you say or do something that is going to require some clean up.

With all the squawking and shoe cleaning you have to do, it’s easy to forget how beautiful people are. If we stop and watch, we can see the beauty. If we take the time to hear their story, we’ll better understand the reason for the mess.

The thing about beauty is, sometimes you have to sit still and watch to see it.