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What we, in the evangelical community, need to understand is; if we woke up tomorrow and abortion was repealed, homosexual marriage nullified, prayer was back in school and the ten commandments were carved in granite at the front of every court house, the same number of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.