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.