Ellen...

"I am loved so much that I am left free to leave home. The blessing is there from the beginning. I have left it and keep on leaving it. But the Father is always looking for me with outstretched arms to receive me back and whisper again in my ear, 'You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests.' -Henri Nouwen, Return of the Prodigal Son

"But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found again." -Luke 15:32

There was a dad who had two sons. The oldest was a hard worker: straight-laced, self-motivated, the kind of guy you didn't have to give instructions to twice. The younger was a bit different. He tended to tread his own path, often the wrong path. He was the master of his fate and wouldn't let anyone tell him otherwise.

One day he'd had enough of his dad's demands and expectations and limitations. They had a fight. The son told his father he wished his father were dead. He demanded his inheritance, the money he was due once his father had died. He was ready to blaze his own path, and he didn't need his dad holding him back anymore. So with tears in his eyes, the father relented. There was no talking him out of it. He gave him what he asked for, gave him a hug as he hopped the cab and left for the big city.

Back home, things kept on as they always had. Work had to be done around the farm and house. The older brother never complained, even as his brother's chores now got passed on to him. Besides, if he didn't do them, who would? But the empty chair at the dinner table was a nail to the dad's heart. His son, his most cherished boy, had left them behind.

Meanwhile, in the city, the boy lived life to its greatest extent. He gambled. He drank. He bought all the nicest clothes and even a new car. He put himself in front of the most beautiful girls and the most powerful businessmen. But eventually, the money began to dwindle. The extravagance ran out. Slowly but surely, the young man spent all he had and found himself looking through the bottom of a glass with nothing but a couple bucks and the clothes in his duffel.

He bummed around for a while, sleeping on friends' couches for a few nights at a time. But their generosity ran out. Soon he found himself writing those most humbling of words on a pizza box: "Hungry. Need $$. God Bless." Rock bottom could not have felt worse. Shivering one night with nothing but his jacket for warmth, tears streaming down his face, the truth hit him.

"Even the workers at the farm back home have a place to sleep and food to eat," he thought to himself. "And here I am. Freezing. Without a shower or a meal." Feeling the depths of shame, he resolved to begin the process of hitchhiking home the next day. And three days later he made it.

He hopped out of the truck at the edge of the driveway and thanked the man who'd carried him the last few miles. After a few paces towards the house, he noticed someone coming his way. Fast. "Well, it didn't take them long to send someone to kick me out," he thought. But step by step, the figure got closer. And soon it came into focus for the young man. It was his father.

And when the two met, the father's arms were wide as a condor. He wrapped the boy tighter than he'd been held since infancy. Tears poured down both their faces as the emotions overwhelmed them both. Collecting himself for a mere few seconds, the father found the calm to whisper, "Welcome home Son. I've missed you."

After an embrace that seemed to last hours but didn't move the minute hand of the clock more than a few ticks, they began to walk up to the house. The father yelled out to anyone he saw to drop what they were doing to meet at the porch. There was going to be a party. And a party there was. No more work was done that day. Everyone was in the house, and as the sun set, music could be heard for miles and the aromas of the home cooked meal must have been enjoyed in in the next town over.

Noticing the commotion, the older brother, who'd been out working til the sunset, approached the house wondering what all the noise was about. Seeing one of the workers, he whistled him over. "What's going on up there?" the son asked.

"Your brother. He's back!" the man replied with joy that his smile could not contain.

At this the older brother was outraged. After all, this is the good for nothing brother who'd left him with two times the work. And after all of that work and devotion, had his dad ever thought of throwing a party for him? No. He hadn't even taken the time to find him when the party was starting. In his misery and anger, he sat outside on the porch, close enough that the party would notice his fuming, but not so close as to enjoy the party.

Catching wind of this, the father went outside and approached his son. "Why won't you come in? Your brother is back!" The genuine enthusiasm in his dad's voice was unmistakeable.

"Because! I've been here this whole time, doing everything you've asked, doing his work, and you've never so much as thrown a dinner for me! What did you want from me? I gave you EVERYTHING!"

The father was taken aback and tears began to well up in his eyes again. Fighting them back, his voice crackled, "Oh boy, don't you know how much I love you. Everything I have. It's yours. You have all my love! But tonight, your brother came back. He was lost. He ran away. And he came back. And we must celebrate that!"

This is not a new story. You've probably heard it in fact. Jesus shared it with the Pharisees and the teachers. It usually goes by the "parable of the prodigal son."

Usually, we read it as a story about the father and his son who has run away. And for good reason. It's a parable about the INFINTE love of a god for his children! It's about a god who is forever loving us enough to let us run away and then meet us at the gate with tears in his eyes when we come stumbling home.

But lately I've read it as a story of someone else: the older brother.

Henri Nouwen wrote one of my favorite books, The Return of the Prodigal Son. If you have a chance to read it, I would absolutely recommend it. In it, he talks about reading this story and the effect it had on him. He began to see himself in the story as each of the three main characters. And I've started to do the same, only I spend a lot of time with the older brother.

There is a truly unbelievable story of love and mercy and celebration going on around him, and he's too caught up in all he's done and earned to see it! He'd rather teach his brother a lesson about what happens when you run off and lose your way. He'd rather remind his brother of all the work he left behind to be done. He'd rather keep his brother in his place.

When I was a freshman at Furman, I went on a spring break mission trip to D'Iberville, Mississippi. The church where we stayed had a children's classroom I found while exploring. On one of the shelves was a box full of journals and I started to thumb through them. The last one in the stack was a girl named Ellen's. I opened it up (breaking every rule of 7-year-old-girl diary protocol) and started to read.

On the very last page was the truest thing I've ever read to this day. The teacher had posed the question "What's the most important thing a friend can do for another?" And as if in connection with wisdom itself, Ellen's response was "Pick them up when they fall."

This answer rings truer when I think about the older brother. After all that extra work and extra responsibility, he wanted (he NEEDED) his brother to pay. To earn his way back. To regret it all. He wanted to keep his brother down. But what his brother needed was something different. At his lowest, what he needed was someone, his brother, to pick him up when he'd fallen.

One of my favorite things about Camp Barnabas, of which I've written often, is that when someone needs help, all they have to do is ask and the need is met. No matter what. People drop what they are doing to help one another. There is no need for an explanation. It doesn't matter who is asking. If someone has fallen, there is a hand to pick them back up.

This is the story of Jesus: that we are loved beyond love to travel our own roads and come back trembling before a father who is waiting with arms wide open. I've taken many paths that the father wasn't pointing towards and I come back many times in tears. I've needed someone to pick me up when I'd fallen.

And that's who Jesus calls us to be: people who are picking each other up instead of reminding them why they've fallen. We're all flawed. We all make mistakes. And our friends let us down every day. They lie to us. Speak behind our backs. Date people we don't approve of. Make choices to harm themselves. But so do I. And too often I am the older brother. I forget the boundless love of the father who has redeemed me and showered me with grace when it comes to others.

But that's not God. That's not the father. And he's inviting us to become the father in our own stories. He's inviting us to be vessels of overflowing love. He's inviting us to come inside. There's a party after all. Our love has always been there. Let's celebrate when our brother finds his way too. Let's learn to forgive trespasses and embrace grace. Anger and resentment are too heavy a burden to bear.

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Holes...

"But Simon says to fill your void with toy after toy after girl after boy. After all isn't that what we were meant for?" -Jimmy Needham, For Freedom

"Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him." Romans 6:8

I love football. I love Saturdays and watching the Vanderbilt Commodores run through the SEC gauntlet and the Furman Paladins start a new legacy in the SoCon. Some of my earliest memories are of juking in and out of tackles of the imaginary linebackers in my front yard.

So over the past month or so I've loved the return of football to our calendars with training camps and preseason games. At this point, this could be THE year for every team (and it will be Vandy's year my friends)! It's a pretty awesome time of year.

But this summer's football news has not been all positive. Aaron Hernandez, an other-worldly talented tight end for the New England Patriots, was arrested and charged with first-degree murder. By all accounts, Hernandez survived an incredibly tough upbringing to earn a scholarship at the University of Florida where his violent roots were never overcome. And trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went, all the way to the NFL.

And there's every college football analyst's whipping boy, Johnny (Football) Manziel. What began with pictures and videos of what might be called excessive partying has turned into accusations of bar fights and autograph selling and you name it. He's a young man who plays and apparently lives on the edge of control and chaos.

As I've watched and listened to commentators talk about both of these athletes, what I can't ignore is how many times I've heard, "They have everything. I can't imagine why they insist on jeopardizing all that for this nonsense." In Hernandez's case it sounds something like, "If he just could've kept himself out of trouble he'd be making thirty million dollars in the next five years." For Manziel, the refrain goes, "His parents have millions and he doesn't want for anything. Why on earth isn't that enough?"

It's not enough because money will never fill the hole in our heart crying for completion. But don't mistake this for a blog about the dangers of money. Because people living in poverty are striving to fill that same void.

We're all looking for happiness I suppose. To feel complete. To be enough. There's a hole in all of us begging to be filled. So we try. We try to fill it with money. Or things. Or careers. Or relationships. Or drinks. Or you name it. And you've heard its symptoms.

"When I'm making the big bucks all this will finally be worth it."

"I'm ready to find someone because I am so sick of being single."

"In five years when I've gotten that promotion we'll have made it."

"If only I were a little taller and a few pounds lighter."

And the list goes on and on.

We need. We want. We need. We want. We've become creatures with insatiable appetites searching for that one thing that will fulfill us. So we read self-help books and visit life coaches and plan out strategies and map our futures to find that perfect joy that will bring our lives purpose and joy. But is it possible that like medicine masking the symptoms of a disease we've missed the root cause? That in filling our lives with things and relationships we're just digging the hole deeper? That we're becoming emptier?

Maybe that's the reason millions of dollars didn't "fix" an NFL player's tendency towards violence and hate. Maybe that's why while having everything at his fingertips, the Heisman Trophy winner still needed more. Maybe that's why marriage hasn't filled the lives of my friends who were desperate to find their life's partner.

Is it possible that the root of the hole is a word we've tried to shy away from: sin? I'm not talking about wrath, envy, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth or whatever that last of the seven deadly sins is. Surely these are symptoms, but sin is something much deeper. It is a reality we live in that tells us that the God who provides and nurtures and loves isn't big enough. That we need more. That the pit in our soul longing for completion can be filled if we just find the right thing to fill it.

The church talks a lot about sin, but what if the conversation changed? What if Jesus' resurrection didn't save us from the guilt of all the things sin leads us to do, but saved us from that separation from the God who knit us together? What if Jesus saved us from a life devoted to trying to fill that hole and just went ahead and filled it himself?

I think that's what Paul means when he talks about being rescued from sin and being raised to life in Jesus. That we're rescued from doing whatever we can to fill that void because God has already made us whole.

Here's what I know: I've spent a lot of time in my life trying to find joy, to find my life's purpose and meaning. And I've looked in A LOT of places. Just like Aaron Hernandez, Johnny Football and every other person who's ever lived. I've gone down a lot of paths to make my life feel complete. But what I've found is that when I stop trying to fill my life with happiness, God seems to provide it. I love my youth, but my job doesn't define me. I love my friends, but who I know doesn't fill me. I love my girlfriend, but she doesn't make my life complete. I don't make a bunch of money, but my bank account doesn't measure my worth. No, I'm defined by the Creator who made my fingerprint different than yours. My value comes from His love. My hope is found in the God who would leave 99 behind to find the one. The hole in my heart has been filled by a Father who would let his son die for me.

And it will always be more than enough. May we stop looking for joy under every rock and around every turn and know that love has already found us.

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Matthew...

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." -Matthew 5:8

"Sweeter than wine. Softer than a summer night. Everything I wanted whenever I hold you tight" -This Magic Moment, Jay and the Americans (Matthew's most recent Song of the Day)

The Fourth of July is a big day in this country. There are fireworks and barbecues and apple pies. Heck, there is even an nationally televised HOT DOG EATING CONTEST! If that doesn't qualify as a worthwhile holiday, I'm not sure what does.

But there is an even more important reason for celebration each Independence Day: it is Matthew Drumright's birthday! And this year, my good friend Matthew turned the big 3-0! And it wouldn't be right for me to mention Matt's age without reminding him that he is becoming an old, old man.

If you don't mind, I'd like to tell you a little bit about my friend Matthew.

First of all, you should that Matthew has an Olympic medal in bowling. That's right, he went to Beijing the last Olympic cycle and won a medal that's heavier than I expect a normal man's neck could sustain. But not Matthew's.

He's also the only high school defensive tackle coach in the state of Tennessee, or so he says. He started his career at Brentwood High School as a student equipment manager, and while he still holds that title (not the student part) he has been upgraded into the coaching ranks. And let me tell you, there's no one who works harder in the BHS football organization or smiles as big when the team wins. Heck, he smiles big when the team loses. He's the rare coach who understands there are things bigger than the game.

You might think that being an Olympian and football manager means he's got no artistic side. You'd be wrong. Matt is a photographer. And not just one of those "I have a cell phone and Instagram and look how cool these pics of gum on the sidewalk with a black and white filter look" photographers. No, he is a real photographer. So good in fact, that he's had a photograph displayed in the SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE!! Yeah, he's a big deal.

As if this weren't enough, he is the single greatest grocery bagger in the history of Publix Shopping Centers. How many times have you been through the line buying your groceries only to have someone waiting at the end of the line who seems to think the only thing more miserable than bagging your milk might be watching the thirteenth straight re-run of Dumb and Dumberer? But not Matt. Nope, he makes picking up your groceries more enjoyable than a day walking through the Magic Kingdom at Disneyland.

Let me tell you why these accomplishments only begin to tell the story of how incredible my friend Matthew is. Because above all of these accolades and in spite of them, he remains the most humble person I've ever known. We speak of people with a lot of superlatives ("He's the kindest person I know" or "She's got the sweetest smile"), but in Matthew's case they are true.

I've never known someone as kind or caring as Matt. There is no person he's met who could possibly have a bad thing to say about Matt, mostly because he's never said a bad word about anybody else. It's a rare person who can see the best in people, whether a lifelong friend or a brand new acquaintance. His smile and laughter light up a room and his life is a blessing to EVERY person he meets.

Matt also has trisomy 21, otherwise known as Down syndrome. It is impossible to see Matthew and that not to be the first thing you notice. But for such an obvious trait, it's about the last thing I think about when I think of Matthew after all these years. Why? Because his life is defined by all the things he is, and not what he isn't. And what he is is love and joy and peace and patience and kindness. His life is defined by boundless fruits born out of a faith so sincere and rooted that it seems almost impossible.

Matthew is so in love with Jesus that anything other than loving everyone he meets would seem out of rhythm.

Jesus spent a lot of time with people who were a little bit not quite _______ enough. His fisherman friends weren't smart enough to follow a rabbi. His leper friends weren't clean enough to live inside the city walls. His prostitute friends weren't holy enough to eat at the Pharisee's table. His tax collector friends weren't righteous enough to host him for dinner. Yet Jesus invited them all in anyways.

If you ever met Matthew, you might be inclined to overlook him. You might be inclined to think of him as just another. But there is nothing just about Matthew, because the Jesus he knows doesn't live in the world of just, he lives in the world of overflowing. And the love of Jesus overflows into every person Matthew meets.

We are all different, yet the very first chapter of the bible makes an outrageous claim. "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness," God says. I know this is true, because God has left his fingerprint on my heart through Matthew's touch. It's probably why I'm crying writing this in the middle of this coffee shop in Fort Worth.

It's rare for someone to live in such a way that God's light shines through everything he does. But that's who Matt is. It's rare for anyone to have passion bursting through his every breath, but Matthew does. It's rare for someone to impact the lives of a few, let alone an entire community, but Matthew has. It may be tempting to look at Matthew and see the "least of these." But don't let him fool you, he is the greatest of these, and for his smile I will never be able to express my love.

May we all take the gifts God has given us, and the passions and the light, and move them into the rhythm of God's story. And may we let Matthew's example guide us.

Happy birthday Old Man. You are the greatest man I know!

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When Being Right is Wrong...

"You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves in Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." -Galatians 3:26-28

"Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not that we be not judged." -Abraham Lincoln, Second Inaugural Address

This blog will not be without disagreement I am sure. But I am also sure that it is important nonetheless. Heck, disagreement is what moves us forward. It isn't a bad thing.

A little more than a month ago the Boy Scouts of America made the decision to allow openly gay youth to full admittance. This week, the Supreme Court will render a decision about the Defense of Marriage Act and Prop 8.

Today, the issue of gay marriage, and more globally, of homosexuality itself, is a heavy one, no longer waiting in the shadows but at our very feet, demanding a voice.

You would've had to have been under a rock the past couple of years to be unaware that the issue has been rising, as magma rises in a volcano, ready to explode. Lines have been drawn and people have been aligning themselves on either side, for and against. Voices have become louder, and most often angrier.

And it has become a defining question of and for the church. Heck, if you Google "What did Jesus..." one of the first auto-fill selections is "say about homosexuality." Christians, particularly straight Christians, have been forced to wrestle with how to understand homosexuality.

Here's the truth: I have great and dear friends who read scripture and pray and live lives desperately fumbling to follow in the example of Jesus who have no problem with homosexuality at all. They've read the texts of the bible which they take incredibly seriously and they've prayed in earnest for understanding and wisdom and come out fully convinced and trusting that the movement of God is towards inclusion and wholeness and that includes homosexuals.

And I have other great and dear friends who read scripture and pray and live lives desperately fumbling to follow in the example of Jesus who cannot reconcile homosexuality with the God they know. They've studied scripture and prayed and thoughtfully wrestled with the nature of God and His creation and cannot reconcile homosexuality with the Christian faith.

It's true that there exists a tension between certain texts of scripture and homosexuality. It cannot be denied. That's why Christians are divided just as the rest of the country and world is divided.

I know some very simple, everyday folk who have voted Republican their whole lives who whole-heartedly support gay rights. And I know some very highly educated, metropolitan people who don't. People of all shapes, colors and backgrounds fall on all different angles of this conversation.

But that is just it. This must become and remain a conversation. Wherever you fall in this debate, I am ABSOLUTELY convinced that the arc of scripture and the nature of who God is are defined with arms open for embracing our neighbors and with a grace and love that overflows. And in this conversation, it is much more important that our words be filled with grace and love than anger and hate.

Sometimes, it's more important to be gracious than to be right! Through the years, our words have become more violent, more angry. We have groups like Westboro Baptist Church picketing funerals with signs declaring "God Hates Fags." But they're not alone, just a little bit louder. If someone's being right comes at the expense of someone associating the Father with hatred, then we've messed up, no matter what our words say, no matter our position.

I know and trust with the entirety of my being that God is and that God is moving and that God's love and grace are of a nature I cannot possibly wrap my mind around. And I have a lot of hunches about what God is like. I take the words of the Bible, particularly in the four gospels, incredibly seriously. I try my best to listen, both in prayer and in conversations with friends (and even people who aren't so friendly.) And all of that has shaped the way that I see God's nature and character. And I think I have a pretty good picture of who God is.

However, I am neither arrogant nor ignorant enough to imagine that my finite mind can fathom the infinite nature of a God who is beyond imagining. And I will not presume to speak for the God of the universe, on this issue or any other. I believe there is truth, that it's not all just relative, but I'm equally sure I'm not the only one to understand it. I will gladly share my hunches and explain where they come from, but to speak for the Father I dare not. I hope that my picture of God is never set in stone, but that He is always teaching me and pushing me to understand who He is in new ways.

This is why we have to learn how to speak with our brothers and sisters who disagree with us. Can't reconcile homosexuality with your faith? Talk with someone who's gay. Maybe it'll help give you a deeper and fuller picture of what is going on. I have a number of very dear and very gay friends, and our conversations about it are some of the most honest and special conversations I've ever had. Convinced homosexuality is at peace with God's nature? Listen to someone who doesn't. Allow yourself to be stretched. Study and talk and wrestle and pray and never stop growing and discerning and listening.

But we've got to learn to listen and speak with people who don't always fall in line with our thinking. We've got to remember that there is always room at God's table. We've got to remember that if our words build walls between us and others, and especially between others and the Father, then we have missed the mark. It's OK to disagree. In fact it's really important to have deeply held convictions and opinions. Conversations and differences lead to deeper and richer understanding and relationships. Let's stop being so loud and so angry trying to convince people we are right that we also convince them we don't love them. We've got to learn to disagree well. Because there is ALWAYS room at the table!

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Prince Ali...

"The best I can be is Jamaican! Look... I'm telling you as a friend, if we look Jamaica, walk Jamaica, talk Jamaica, and IS Jamaica, then we sure as heck better bobsled Jamaica!" -Sanka, Cool Runnings

"The man asked him, 'What is your name?' 'Jacob,' he answered." -Genesis 32:27

I have a confession: Princess Jasmine was my first crush.

That's right, the princess with a pet tiger from Aladdin was my first taste of attraction. Of course, this was still a season of life (being a 3-year-old) even before girls had Cooties, so maybe it's not TOTALLY crazy! My first memory of wanting to choose my own Halloween costume was wanting to be Aladdin as a little tyke because maybe, just maybe, if I was Aladdin Princess Jasmine would fall in love with me.

It's all a bit silly I know, but it's hardly the only thing in my life that would fit that description.

I love Aladdin. Well, for those of you who don't know me too well, I love pretty much all of the Disney animated movies. What can I say?

But Aladdin has always been one of my favorites. Jafar was a terrific villian, especially when he turns into a giant snake! Iago might be one of he funniest sidekicks of all the Disney flicks. The genie... well, it goes without saying that Robin Williams pretty well stole the show. And the music is absolutely fantastic!

But it's funny how Disney movies change as you get older. You notice new things: new jokes you couldn't possibly understand when you're a toddler, new elements to the story, new morals woven into the plot. Maybe that's why Disney has aged so well, because there are elements for children, teens and adults alike.

Aladdin is like that. I was watching it with my roommates last year and there was a new dynamic. If you've seen the movie, you know that Aladdin is a "street rat" (basically a poor guy who steals to survive) who meets the princess and falls in love. But he's convinced a princess would never fall in love with a lowly beggar, even one with his charming good lucks and sense of humor. But he gets his golden ticket when he finds a lamp containing a genie who can grant him three wishes.

Seeing his opportunity to woo Princess Jasmine, he makes his first wish, "Genie, make me a prince!"

And a prince he becomes. He storms through the city streets of Agrabah with a parade only Disney could imagine, and with a little charm and a little singing the princess begins to fall in love.

But a funny thing starts to happen. Just as all his dreams are coming true and the girl of his dreams is flying across the world with him on his magic carpet, he begins to feel guilty. It's all a lie, and he knows it. He's playing the role of Prince Ali while being somebody totally different. He's at war with this conflict between confessing himself while also maintaining the illusion.

He's not the only one who does this though. We do it every day. I do it every day. We play roles. We become who we think people want us to be and have become tremendous at hiding certain parts of us while showing others.

Jacob was like that. All the way back in Genesis, he stole his older brother Esau's blessing from their father Isaac by impersonating his brother. He wanted to be the first born with all its privileges and honors. He wanted to be somebody he wasn't. So he fooled his blind father into believing he was his older brother by wearing sheep wool to mimic his brother's hairy arms and received Esau's blessing.

And then he had to flee. Esau, understandably, was furious, and he happened to be a much larger and much rougher man than Jacob. So Jacob ran. But after many years abroad where he married and had many children and accumulated a vast amount of wealth, he is forced to flee again and heads to return home.

But on his way home, he is met by some alarming news: Esau is headed his way! That night he splits his camp and remains alone on one side of a creek. And then a very strange thing happens: someone (and the Bible is not exactly clear who, maybe God, maybe an angel, maybe some man) begins to wrestle with Jacob. They fight all night, and eventually Jacob gains the upper hand. Holding strong, he demands of his mysterious adversary, "I won't let you go until you bless me!"

And his opponent says something very interesting. "What is your name?" he asks Jacob. It's an innocent enough question, but is incredibly profound at the same time. Jacob has been in hiding for years because he was trying to be somebody else, and now as he is preparing to meet the brother he cheated decades before, he is asked his name. He is asked to acknowledge who he is, who he REALLY is.

"Jacob," he replies. And with that, with the acknowledgement that he is Jacob, that he is nothing more and nothing less than the man God created him to be, his adversary responds, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel."

Jacob had to come to terms with who he was before he could go forward. He had to stop pretending. He had to stop hiding. He had to embrace who he was. He had been blessed by his father as Esau. This new blessing would not come until he became Jacob again.

This is our story. We're like Jacob, just like we are like Aladdin. We morph and mold ourselves to what we THINK others want us to be, what others want to hear. But what that leads to is insecurities, a war between who we are and who others expect us to be. We struggle with what we see in the mirror and what others see. And like Jacob, when someone asks, "Who are you?" we find it a hard question, as if that answer could change depending on the audience.

We've become Mr. Potato Heads, willing to replace the gifts and beauty of who God made us to be for an image others superimpose on us. And this is not a teenager thing, or a college thing, or an adult thing. It's a human thing.

But that's not what the world needs us to be. We need to be US! We need to take the passions and gifts and personalities that the Father has made us with and live into them. When Genesis says God made us in his image, I'm convinced that there is beauty in the diversity. We weren't meant to be the same. We were made fine the way we are. You don't need to become somebody else. Trust me, if God made one of them, that's enough! He wants you to be YOU. Because YOU is the best you can be! It's who God made you to be. And it is without flaw.

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ˈkris-chən...

"We're 'disciples.' We're 'students.' We're 'followers.' We're 'doing it.' But what's really interesting is if you insist on using the word 'Christian' and you insist on embracing the word with such power and passion and conviction that you force people to readjust their definitions" -Rob Bell

"Come, follow me" -Jesus

There's a recent trend in the world of Christianity. We call ourselves "believers." Or "disciples." Or "followers." We've found a bunch of new, "authentic" names for what we can people who follow Jesus.

But one word seems to be getting left behind, particularly among younger church-goers.

"Christian."

There's just too much baggage that comes with it: anti-gay, hypocritical, conservative, BORING, completely outdated, not authentic, fake, cliché, parents, etc. For many, to call oneself a "Christian" is a bit of a scary term. It doesn't encompass everything their faith means to them.

But why is that?

I remember writing papers in middle school (well, more like essays... or probably MORE accurately, "lots of run on sentences and bad English"). My favorite introduction went something like this: "The dictionary defines (insert subject here) as..." My English teachers must've gotten bored reading "paper" after "paper" that began with dictionary definitions. I probably defined half of the B section. At the very least I was consistent.

But as we all know, words and names mean SO much more than what we can find in Mirriam-Webster's masterpiece. Just ask the Obama campaign. They made a name mean more than just a face and policy ideas. It became "hope" and "change."

Or take Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. By definition, they are modes of social networking facilitating the articulation and connection of people, pictures, ideas and experiences. But to a middle schooler they might be life. And to a grandparent they might signify the downfall of society. They are so much more than a definition. They carry second, or as my sophomore English teacher Mr. King would remind me, implicit meanings.

"Christian" is no different. By definition, it is "one who professes belief in the teachings of Jesus Christ." But, over the years it has grown to mean a lot of different things, and to a lot of people it has grown to mean things that aren't always positive. In fact, to most, especially those who don't claim any faith. So we've abandoned it a lot.

But what if we reclaimed it. What if we were willing to CLAIM the name Christian? What if we were willing to love God and love our neighbors SO well that people were forced to redefine how what they think about when they hear the word?

If the words "Christian" and "church" carry less than flattering connotations for people, it is because they have seen people claiming them and not loving in the way Jesus loved.

What if we didn't leave it behind, but claimed it for what it is? What if we didn't keep it at arms distance but so fully embraced the incredible depths and truth that are Jesus and the God who created us in His image?

We aren't perfect. We who call ourselves Christians will always be hypocrites and less than Jesus calls us to be. We will always be broken vessels through which graces spills and moves. But so were the disciples. So is every living person who has ever claimed the name Christian. God uses the broken and left behind, but He calls us to live and love in such a way that His love is unmistakeably at work!

Let's be disciples. Let's be followers. Let's be all these new age words for "Christian." Let's be people who love our neighbors with our whole heart and all that we are. But know that those words are just new Christianese words that will come to mean the same thing if we don't let God invite us into His much better story.

"Christian" isn't a dirty word. It's not a scary word. At it's core, it is a word to define people who have been so moved by the grace of a personal, infinite God that to love out of that truth seems wrong. So let us live in such a way that people hear Christian and can't help but think of love. Let's redefine it.

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My Parents...

   I wrote this a few years ago, but maybe today on Mother's Day, you can tell your parents something similar. It's just as true today as it was then!

   This morning as I woke up I was reading through the latest issue of ESPN The Magazine which my roommates subscribe to. In it they polled 8 athletes about how they felt about work stoppages (a.k.a. lockouts,) and one of the responses caught me tremendously off-guard and honestly made me a little angry. Michael Young, the tremendous infielder for the Texas Rangers, said, "Look at sports like football, where one hit can ruin a career. Players have to fight to support their families." When I read that, it took me aback, although not too far aback as I must admit, I was sitting on the on the throne in the bathroom while I read it :)
   But it made me realize how incredibly thankful I am for my family, particularly my parents, and how rarely I tell them what an incredible job of raising a family they did! In 10 years, my parents probably won't make what the lowest paid of major professional athletes make in 1. My dad works unbelievable hours as hard as he can for the least supported football team in the SEC, doing the job other schools have 3 people to do. He's up early to work on game notes and to write media guides, and gets home after long nights of practice and games, usually energy-sapping losses. My mom was a newspaper editor for her whole life. Well, that is until the newspaper business tanked and she was laid off just before Christmas nearly three years ago. Now? She works even more hours than my dad on the thing that she is more passionate about than anything that's not her family, the Brentwood Home Page. An online magazine catering to "all things Brentwood," she trots around town following every scoop and every meeting, pounds the pavement seeking advertising partners, and does everything else required with a staff of 10 less than what is needed.
   But you know what? My parents are everything a son could hope for! I know how much it killed my dad when he couldn't make it to all of my cross country meets or basketball games in high school. I know how much it killed my mom that she never made it to a family weekend at Furman. But they were there for EVERYTHING they possibly could be, for all of Thomas's plays, or my gymnastic rehearsals with Mr. Rick as a kid. We were never rich, yet they always found a way to get me or Thomas on the trip we wanted to go on, or the Christmas present when we were going to have a "plain and simple Christmas." They poured out every ounce of love they could into each other and Thomas and me. For 22 years, my mom and dad have been two of the greatest blessings a son could ever ask for. I know they wish they could've given us more and that things haven't always been perfect or gone "according to plan," but I also know that after 22 years, my parents still look at me and Thomas with the same sparkle in their eyes as I imagine they had when we arrived at Santa Rosa Community Hospital. And even crazier, they are still just as madly in love as they were as stupid 20-somethings moving out to California. In a world where divorce is almost as common as staying together, that's a pretty remarkable thing. They should have no regrets about A SINGLE THING they did in raising my brother and me, because being a parent must be the hardest thing in the world, and they did the greatest job a guy could ever ask for.
   Thomas and I used to fight. A LOT! All brothers fight I've decided, but we fought a whole bunch. We knew exactly what buttons to push to get each other riled up. EVERTHING was a competition. I remember going to Maggie Moo's for ice cream and we couldn't get the same ice cream or topping because we couldn't be the same. Specifically, I remember one night at the dinner table when we were in high school and middle school and were going at it and bickering and pushing those buttons. It got to the point where Mom had to leave the table crying. That one night will always be seared into my memory for as long as I live. It killed me, and still does, that I've ever made my mom cry.
   I remember when I graduated from Brentwood High and moved out to Furman, I couldn't wait for my mom and dad to leave (and thankfully they didn't even stay the night.) And they gave me space to grow up and move on, but always called to check in. Whenever I would call my dad, he always asked if I've called my mom, and vice versa. I didn't always want to talk to them, as any college student can attest to, but now I realize how incredibly blessed I was to have parents who were always thinking about me from 6 hours away. They let me make my mistakes and grow from them, but have always been there to pick me up and give me a hug.
   Being a parent must be the hardest job in the world. I can't imagine the love they have for their kids, and then the patience to put up with the diapers as a baby, the questions as a child, the fights as a teenager, and the letting go as a college student. I think the movie Parenthood put it best, "You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - heck, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any [expletive] be a father." I'm sure my parents wish certain things could have been different, that they could have been at everything and never had to worry about how to get Thomas and me through two incredibly expensive colleges. But I hope they know that I have never doubted how much they love me, because they remind me every day. I know the sacrifices they've made to make my life what it is. They never had to hold out for more millions of dollars to support their family! I only hope one day I get the chance to be a half the parent mine were.
   Parents aren't perfect, but if you get a chance, call them up and tell them how much you love them. Tell them how grateful you are for everything they've done for you, for making you the apple of their eye. Put it in your Facebook status. I wish I told them that more, because my parents not only gave me life 22 years ago, they have breathed love into it every day since.

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Room at the Table...

"When one of those at the table with him heard this, he said to Jesus, “Blessed is the one who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God." -Luke 14:15

"There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female, for all are one in Christ Jesus." -Galatians 3:28

"Every morning sunrise says, I'm madly in love wit you" -Madly in Love with You, Sean McConnell

Teenagers are honest! There is no getting around that. And occasionally in my work with teenagers, there are a few funny and awkward moments.

So a few weeks ago when I was teaching on Palm Sunday, we shared one of those moments. "And there was, of course, the night where a prostitute comes and washes and kisses Jesus' feet," I reminded them.

Silence.

Then one by one their mouths started to fall open and they started to turn to one another and whisper. And all at once it hit me. I wasn't reminding them of a story. I was telling them a story for the first time.

Oh it was such a blast playing their whispered conversations in my head while I stood without speaking. "Like a... REAL prostitute???" I imagined one saying. "I'm pretty sure Martin has been reading a different bible than I have!"

It was an awesome experience I cannot fully explain in this blog. But, after collecting myself and imagining all of these little conversations, I pulled myself back together to continue and said the smartest thing I could come up with at the time. "So, I guess you all hadn't heard that story before, huh?" Looking back, I think I could've done better.

But I LOVE that story. In fact, I love reading the stories of Jesus eating. They are some of my favorite stories of who Jesus is. He eats a lot! And it's not so much WHAT he eats, or THAT he eats, but WHO it is he eats with!

He will share a table with ANYBODY! When someone asks him why he's going to eat with a bunch of tax collectors and "sinners," he says, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick." When he runs into Zaccheus, a tax collector who has swindled and robbed pretty much everyone in Jericho, especially the poor, Jesus goes into Zaccheus' house for dinner! Heck, he even has dinner with the Pharisees, who seemingly spend their entire days trying to make trouble for him!

He will share a meal with anybody! At the Passover meal we call the Last Supper, Jesus sat in the place of the host, and who sat in the place of honor? JUDAS!! The same Judas who was in cahoots to get him killed!

There was no one too low or too high for Jesus to share a table with. And I think that's what heaven is like. And not the heaven in the clouds, but the heaven we bring here.

During one particular meal at a Pharisee's house he told a story about what the Kingdom of God is like: a feast! And everyone the host invited originally was too busy and made excuses for why they couldn't make it. BUT, the host was going to have a party, period. So he sent his servant out and invited the poor and the crippled and they had themselves a banquet.

When Jesus talks about the Kingdom of God being a banquet and then I see the people he eats with, it makes me re-focus the lens through which I see people. It brings into closer view who my brother is and who my sister is.

You see, there is room at the banquet hall for us. ALL of us. We're the people Jesus would have eaten with.

At Jesus' table there is no too poor. Too homeless. Too suburban. Too clean. Too dirty. Too white. Too black. Too Hispanic. Too educated. Too illiterate. Too addicted. Too lonely. Too short. Too fat. Too victim. Too culprit. Too insecure. Too proud. Too weak. Too gay. Too straight. Too self-conscious. Too worried. Too consumed with eating disorders. Too young. Too old. Too scared. Too Republican. Too Democrat. Too American. Too Middle Eastern.

At Jesus' table we are all the least of these, offering our brokenness to CELEBRATE THE FEAST OF GRACE! If there is room for a prostitute to humble herself, then there is room for me. And if there is room at the table for me, there is most definitely room at the table for you! And if there is room for us, let us pull up a chair and offer up another seat to our brothers and sisters, no matter what they look like, because we all have a place.

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Safety Third...

“Our greatest fear should not be of failure, but of succeeding at something that doesn’t really matter.” –D.L. Moody

“And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom.” –William Wallace, Braveheart

I’d like to tell you about my friend named Peggy.

She's more like a second mom. Really! That's why my brother Thomas and I call her LG. It stands for "legal guardian." While Mom and Dad were helping me move into Furman my freshman year Thomas was starting his junior year of high school staying at Peggy's. So on all the forms that had to be filled out by parent or "legal guardian," there was Peggy’s signature.

She’s not our real legal guardian of course, but it’s an inside joke none of us have ever thought of correcting, because, well, she might as well be.

Peggy is, too say the least, a little bit crazy. In all the best ways. She has a nickname for everyone. For example, I’m M and Thomas is T (at one point I was dating a girl named Emily, so Peggy loved to talk about M&Em, like the candy.) She knows everyone in Brentwood, and has firefighters on speed dial should she ever need anything. She is eternally on a caffeine high, but I’m not sure she drinks coffee. When I think of someone who loves life, I think of Peggy.

And up until a couple weeks ago, she had two basset hounds, Honey and Truman (Truey for short.) Two weeks ago Honey passed along to Doggy Heaven after living a good long life. Their favorite thing to do as long as I’ve known these dogs was to try and get out when you opened the back gate. They were good at it! And once they were out, no animal could move four stubby little legs faster.

So Peggy developed three rules to live by (a Three Commandments to Life kind of thing):

1.     DON’T let the dogs out!!

2.     Always be ready to party!

3.     Safety third

It is by these rules that Peggy lives her life. And you know what? I think she’s on to something.

Growing up, I remember hearing those words, “Safety first boys!” from my parents, and grandparents, and teachers, and camp counselors. Pretty much every adult who could say it did say it.

So that’s how we grow up. We’re a people of safety. We minimize risk of danger or pain. We insulate ourselves. (Example: whenever churches, and especially youth groups, leave for mission trips, what happens just before getting on the van or bus? Everyone gathers around and prays. And what for? That God will keep us safe!)

But great stories rarely involve safety. God’s stories rarely involve safety. More often than not in fact, earth-shaking stories carry INCREDIBLE danger. They involve taking UNFATHOMABLE risks. They involve looking right into their fears and worries and facing them head on.

There is the story of Moses, walking straight into Egypt, where the Pharaoh wants to kill him. He was PETRIFIED, but God told him to go, so he went.

There is the story of Martin Luther King, Jr. who stood up to face of nation of hate and fight against it not with hate, but a radical love the likes of which the world only very rarely catches a quick glimpse.

There is the story of Linda Leathers, my aunt, who started to ask where God could send her. And with a little faith and a lot of conviction she left her post as the singles minster of First Baptist Church of Nashville to start The Next Door, a community committed to restoring the beauty and value of women coming out of prison.

There are thousands of stories of people listening to that nudge in their stomach telling them there is more. It’s the same nudge a ten-year-old feels when he sees a thirty-foot cliff along the edge of a lake: that could be great! The difference is a ten-year-old hasn’t been conditioned yet to think about the risks. His most important emotion is the thrill that will come in the free-fall before crashing into the water. That’s why kids have more broken bones than adults! They just DO things. They take risks. The greatness is far more exciting than the risks. Safety third!

This was who Jesus was. Somewhere we watered Jesus down to a simple command: believe in him and keep on keeping on. But that’s not the story of the gospels. Jesus told his disciples to grab on and hold on for dear life. He told them to grab their cross because their run could end at any second. There’s a great story where a rich young guy approaches Jesus and says, “I want to be your disciple. I want to follow you.” And what does Jesus say? “Come on in man. Join the ride. Just, before you do, go sell everything you have, and come on and join the party!” WHAT?!?!

Jesus needs a new P.R. guy! I wouldn’t do that! I would’ve done like the rich kid did and tucked tail and gone back to live as normal. But this was just what Jesus did. “Come on, it’s going to be quite an adventure!” He was always inviting people into this crazy story, and safety was always third.

But isn’t that who we’ve become? Haven’t we set up our lives to minimize the dangers and risks? Have we become so caught up in maintaining our status quo because there is comfort in the known and risk in the unknown? Has making it day-to-day become good enough? Have we cushioned ourselves with enough security in our education and relationships and work that we’ve eliminated the need for faith? Most days I have.

But I’m convinced that Peggy’s rules are much more in line with life to the fullest. If you’re like me, there’s a nudging in your gut that life could be GREAT! Bob Goff calls it whimsy, “that nagging idea that life could be magical; it could be special if we were only willing to take a few risks.” So what’s stopping you? What’s stopping me? What if we run after whimsy together to see how we can change the world, or maybe just add a little light to those around us? Because something tells me if we all start living a story like that, the status quo of getting through the day just won’t be good enough anymore. No one can settle for good enough once they’ve tasted great. Safety third!

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Rain...

"There's still some magic. But it gets less and less every year. Maybe by the time I have a son, I won't even remember the magic anymore." -Wide Awake

"My nephew's awe and wonder caused him to surrender to the snow by falling into it. For a few magical seconds, the danger, of the snow had given way to the wonder of snow. For a brief moment my nephew came face-to-face with life at its fullest." -Mike Yaconelli, Dangerous Wonder

A couple weeks ago here in Fort Worth, it started to rain. It wasn't an altogether earth-shattering storm really. Noah wouldn't have been impressed. And yet there was something quite magical about it.

I was in a coffee shop that had once been a garage having hot chocolate with a parent of one of the teens I work with. The shop had those big commercial garage doors where cars would once have pulled in for repairs. It really is a pretty cool atmosphere to have a cup of hot chocolate with a friend, or read, or pretty much anything you'd do in a coffee shop.

And as we were talking I just happened to look out those garage doors, which are made of glass. And just above the buildings to the west was a humongous black cloud rolling in. Brad must've noticed me looking out the window as the cloud approached because he turned to look. It was truly something quite spectacular.

I'd heard of these Texas storm clouds that roll in, but this was my first live experience. As we were chatting, the black mass inched closer and closer. Slowly the wind outside picked up, and spare trash started whipping around the parking lot. And then little drops of water started falling.

Needless to say we wrapped up our conversation pretty quick to try and beat the heavy stuff back to our offices, but it was no use. Within a minute of starting the car the heavens had opened and we were in a full-blown downpour. You know the kind: when you put your wipers on full-blast but they don't quite cut it.

Well I made it back to the church and started walking to the door when something happened. I just stopped. In the pouring rain!

There was something perfect to it. So I started dancing. Dancing! There was something very Gene Kelly about it. But that was all I could do.

I started twirling and spinning in circles. In the parking lot of a church in the middle of a busy downtown of a massive city. People with umbrellas passed by. Cars slowly sped by. Their looks were somewhere between bewilderment and pity. But for just a second it didn't matter. The storm was perfect! It was beautiful! It was FUN! It was the kind of rain that MAKES you start dancing, because anything else would have been wrong.

I don't know what it was about that afternoon that made me stop. Rain happens all the time. Maybe a thousand times in my life. There wasn't anything different in this storm. But I stopped.

I wonder why we don't stop more often. Have we gotten so busy that we miss the magic all around us? HAVE I? With work, and school, and iPhones and Twitter, do we ever stop? Is it possible that as we've become more committed and more connected that we've actually become TOO busy?

I remember being about seven when we flew out to Virginia to visit our grandparents for Christmas. It's about the only Christmas of my childhood that I vividly remember. Why? Because there was a MASSIVE ice storm that knocked out power from December 23-26. Yep, right over Christmas Eve and Day. And it was the best Christmas of my life.

Instead of sitting on couches watching TV, we found some old sleds and slid down the sheet of ice that was Marquette Road. Instead of electricity, we lit the house by candles. There was something utterly magical about that Christmas. It was pure. It was magic. We played board games and sang Christmas songs.

We didn't need anything but what we had. We weren't on the clock and we weren't sitting around glued to the TV screen. I remember the way the light sparkled off the ice-covered grass. I remember the way I felt when my dad pulled me along the road in the sled.

I imagine we all have some kind of similar story. Our greatest memories are rarely those that happen in front of a computer screen or tapping our thumbs to a phone. But is it possible that our stories are SO intertwined with the busyness of our lives that we are losing the ability to stop and dance in the rain? Is it possible that we've gotten SO addicted to the busyness of our lives that to stop and soak in the beauty around is more burden than blessing?

I love that I have to drive straight east to get to work and due west to get home. I get to see the beauty of a sunrise to start the day and the majesty of a sunset to end it. Every day God is painting a tapestry around us, reminding us to stop and just rest, that He is providing what we need. He is weaving a masterpiece each second capable of mesmerizing us.

But not only that, He is reminding us how precious life is, that it is something to find joy in. Maybe this is why Jesus says the children understand the Kingdom of God better than the rest of us. You don't have to tell a kid twice to play in the mud. It's an adventure. A messy and dirty adventure, but the smile on their faces tells a much more important truth: that stopping and laughing and enjoying the life we've been given is much better. Why not go dance in the rain today!

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Unknown...

"For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you." -Acts 17:23

"Why do you find it so hard to believe?" "Why do you find it so easy?" "It's never been easy! It's a leap of faith Jack." -John Locke and Jack Shephard, Lost

Faith in God is a hard thing to come by sometimes. I'm a youth pastor at a big church in Fort Worth, Texas and I think faith can be a hard thing to find. You ever felt that way? Maybe you have believed since you could form words and play with Lincoln Logs. Maybe you have struggled with this thing called faith since you heard about the idea of God. Maybe you want nothing to do with faith in a God of any kind.

Well, you're not alone in that, whichever "that" you find yourself in.

Sometimes it's hard for people who have believed their whole lives to understand people who don't want anything to do with God. Or better yet, it's hard to fathom that there are people who believe but have questions and doubts.

I love the way the author of Hebrews describes faith. "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for." It is HARD sometimes to believe in something we can't hear, or taste, or touch, or tweet at. Heck, Thomas, a DISCIPLE, had a hard time believing Jesus was who he said he was a couple of days after Jesus had been crucified.

We are all looking for something to believe in. We all have faith in something. For some that faith lies in God. For others, it's their country. Others still, their family or their job. The point is we all have faith, the question is in what.

A lot of people today fall into the category: "spiritual but not religious." There is an inkling there is something bigger going on, but to define it in Christian, or any other religion's, terms is too strong a leap. Some call it fate. Others destiny. Still others karma. The ancient Greeks were the same way.
The Greeks were incredibly religious people with deities for all occasions. They were full of faith. When Paul came to town talking about some one God and His son it was different, and the Athenians didn't know how to handle it, so they asked him to share.

In the book of Acts Paul walks up to an altar in Athens dedicated to AN UNKNOWN GOD. So Paul decides to fill in the unknown for the Athenians. "The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands... For in him we live and move and have our very being."

The Athenians had an idea that there was more to the world than what they could see and feel. They had faith. Paul took that faith and put flesh to it. 

That can be hard though. Most of us can feel like the Athenians sometimes. Whether we call ourselves Christian or not, the idea of a God who is infinite and beyond measure just seems... unknown. It can be hard to have faith in a God like that.

But I'm thankful for people like Paul, who do have that boundless faith in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Just a few weeks ago I was talking with one of the teenagers in my youth group and he asked me a question.

"Martin," he said. "I know people are supposed to have questions and doubt. But what if I don't? What if I just believe that God has a plan for things and that He's working it out? What if I don't have any doubts God exists?"

Holy trust Batman! My response was nowhere near as perfect. "You are incredibly blessed if you can believe like that. It's a rare gift to have that faith. And it may be lonely. But that faith can inspire people and it can be a light in the world."

Not all of us have that kind of faith. Maybe what we do believe about God is just hanging by a thread. But if you do, share it. Let it inspire others who need more patience and for whom believing takes all the effort they have. And let our faith bear fruits that are so sweet that others will want to share them.

There's a great story at the end of the movie Angels in the Outfield. A teenage boy prays that God will help the team win so that his family can get back together. Well, God answers and angels start to help out. And the team starts winning. The boy, Roger, tells the manager of the team and let's him know when Angels are there to help. Afraid of looking like a loon, Coach Knox decides it's best to keep the presence of angels a secret. But of course the secret gets out.

Forced to deny the existence of angels at the games or risk being fired, a press conference is called. When the critical question is asked, Maggie, Roger's foster parent stands up. "Every kid I've ever taken care of has been looking for someone to love, an angel. You've gotta have faith. You've gotta believe. You've gotta look inside yourself. The footprints of an angel are love. And where there is love miraculous things can happen. I've seen it."

If you've found faith, don't hold it in. Let it shine. As Maggie said, let your love be the footprints of faith, the tangible evidence of a God beyond understanding. People don't need to hear A story of God. They need YOUR story of God.

And if you're looking for it, don't give up. You're not alone. It is hard, and sometimes the journey towards faith may seem hopeless. Maybe you're convinced this God thing is a big sham. But if there's an inkling in your stomach that there is something more, don't let that nudge die. If your faith is holding onto nothing more than a thread and the doubts are overwhelming, I am praying for you. Ask your questions. Name your doubts. And pray that God might bring answers, or quiet your apprehensions.

"Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." May you find it.

forever unfinished...

Don't Judge Me...

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" -Matthew 7:3-4

"When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord'-- and you forgave the guilt of my sin." -Psalm 32:3-5

"Don't judge me."

It's become the rallying cry of our culture.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? You're no better than me!"

We live in a world where we want to do what we want to do, and when people push back against that, we don't like it much. And it seems like the church has become the bulls-eye of these accusations.

The church has not lived up to who it was called to be. We have far too often stood inside our walls commenting and belittling those outside them. Our words have carried everything EXCEPT grace and love. And we have become a great place for people to come and mask their flaws and call out the brokenness in others.


You see, it's MUCH easier to find the flaws in others and hide our own. It's not a church problem. It's a people problem. "Maybe," we think, "if everyone is noticing everyone ELSE'S problems they won't have time to see mine." So we build up walls and put on faces. And we live our lives the way we want and won't listen when others tell us no. "Don't judge me!" we cry out.

But I think there is something better. Jesus has a better way. As he talks to his disciples one day, actually in his very first time meeting with them as a group, he gives them a picture of what it means to follow him. They are going to be the inner circle so to speak, the ones who most closely will get to see what it looks like to be like the rabbi. So, as Jesus often does, he uses a little metaphor.

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" It's a question we latch on to when we don't want others interfering in our business. "Don't judge me you hypocrite!" And if that verse was where the story ended, I'd completely agree. But he didn't stop there.

"You hypocrite," Jesus continued," first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." It's a story of community! It's a story of humility and a story of brokenness!

We are broken people. I am a broken person. I am flawed and I hurt others and I think of myself FAR more highly than I ought. I am selfish and arrogant and often fail to see the beauty and value of others' ideas and gifts. I say hateful, insincere and inconsiderate things and I'm lonely. I'm insecure and unsure of myself and my value. I'm afraid that people don't need me and people dismiss me. That's who I am in the core of my soul. That's who WE are.

And I'd much rather walk that walk with people walking with me. I'd much rather walk with people who are broken together, removing the planks from our own eyes and encouraging others to pull the sawdust from their own. This requires sacrifice. It means allowing others into our shame. It means allowing others to see our pain. It means allowing others to see the parts of our lives we spend our lives hiding.

I seek, as David sought in the psalms, to be known, to let go of my pain and shame and the things I hide that make me feel guilt. It is hard. It is embarrassing. It is SCARY. It goes against my nature to let people see the parts of me they might turn me away for. But the other side of that fear is better. I crave and fear being known. I desire and run from allowing others into my insecurity. But when our masks come off and our insecurities are left behind, we are able to walk through a door that leads to life and life to the fullest. It's when we see our imperfections that the endless and infinite love and grace that is God shines most brightly!

And this is what the church is called to be.

But let me know if you've heard this one before. The church is just a haven for hypocrites. It's a place of "No" and "You're not welcome" and "I hate you." The people inside the walls are no better than those outside them, but they are a LITTLE more self-righteous.

Well, if you haven't heard any of those accusations, I'd love to come play under the rock where you've been living. The sadder thing is that they are usually right. But they don't have to be.

The church is called to be a community of people proclaiming their brokenness and the grace that fills it in. We are called to be a people who take off our masks and admit our flaws. We are called to be a community who allows others to pluck the planks out of our eyes while we encourage others struggling in the same ways. We are called to give AND receive love and grace. We are called to offer a better way!

"Don't judge me."

It's not for me. I'd rather have friends around me who push me to something better when I'm settling for less. Friends who pull me up when I've fallen. Friends who are willing to tell me I am broken because I know that their deepest desire is to love me. I'd rather admit the depth of my deepest pain to see the infinite depths of God's love than mask it and never taste the fruits of his grace! May I will always be willing to see the brokenness in myself and allow others in. And may you join me in that walk...

forever unfinished...

2013...

"and he began to teach them, saying: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.'" -Matthew 5:3-5

"Pain is temporary. It may last for a minute, or an hour, or a day, or even a year. But eventually it will subside. And something else will take it's place." -Oz Pinoy

The new year has arrived, and there is plenty to be excited about! Resolutions. Diets. Commitments. You name it. It's a chance to start over and a chance for a fresh start.

It's also a chance to look back at what the year before brought. For me it was yet another year of change. I made a huge move to Texas (the one place I was SURE I'd never live) to work with some tremendous teenagers in Fort Worth! I left an amazing church family in Berea Friendship. I left some of my dearest friends and have made new ones. I tore my OTHER ACL. I've been tested, twisted, affirmed, questioned and come out on the other side a year wiser and a year older.

Everyone has a similar story. Every year is full of the greatest joys and the deepest disappointments. Some days bring the brightest smiles. Others carry with them unbearable tears. I think that's why we all look forward to the new year! It is a complete unknown, but full of possibility and wonder.

And maybe that's why resolutions are so popular. They are our chance to make the most of the possibilities and potential in a new year.

I've never been much for resolutions. Over the break I found a file my parents have kept of all the silly things from my childhood that only a parent could appreciate. In it was a project I did in 5th grade where I made some New Years resolutions. Number one? Everyone deserved to be defended by Ben Matlock (clearly I didn't understand the idea of a New Years resolution, but a kid can dream right?) This year I don't have a resolution as much as a prayer:

"Don't be afraid to be uncomfortable or struggle. Don't be afraid to fail. Don't be afraid to have friends who challenge you and are willing to tell you no. Don't be afraid to let God be bigger than you can possibly imagine and not merely an agent for what YOU want."

I must tell you that growing up in youth group in middle school and high school, one of my favorite sayings was, "That was totally a God thing!" or "God showed up!" If you've spent any time in Christian circles you know that this roughly translates to "Something really great just happened!" I became a pro at using this language.

It works the same way when we talk about blessings. We always say God has blessed us when great things happen, when unexpected successes arrive at our doors. When things are great it must be that God is showing up and blessing us.

But a funny thing happened the other day. I was reading through Matthew 5-7 (the Sermon on the Mount) and I was reminded of something unmistakeable. The very first thing Jesus says to his disciples once they are all together, his very first words to them as a group, are these: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."

He TOTALLY flips it upside down! The LAST people we'd assume to be blessed are the FIRST Jesus talks about: the poor, the meek, the merciful, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Is it possible that what we think of as blessing the poor may in fact be the poor blessing us with their presence?

And when he's done listing these blessed people, he tells these disciples (who must be a little nervous they signed up for the wrong gig at this point), "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me."

WHAT?!?!?!

This isn't exactly the picture I had in mind from that picture bible I received in third grade. It's also not the standard picture of blessings I have, nor would most of us claim to be blessed in persecution.

Yet here we are. Jesus's first words to his disciples? "My path is not an easy one. It is a road filled with discomfort and pain. It won't always be safe. And in that you will be blessed with joy unimaginable and peace eternal."

Is it possible that we have limited the places "God shows up" to the places and times we are happy and content? Is it possible that we have completely misunderstood what it means to be blessed all these years? Is it possible that the truth of God's blessing is that he is with us in the eye of the storm and the depths of our despair?

My prayer for 2013 is that I would begin to glimpse this picture of who God is and who He blesses his children. I've searched and can't find where God promises he will bless us with a comfortable life full of smiles. No, I've come to think that the truth of God's love is found in the depths of our existence, in the promise of each day, in the joys and the tears. I'm convinced that the Father shows up in our greatest joys to celebrate with us and in our darkest hours to comfort us.

I've become convinced that EACH and EVERY moment is a "God moment." What I've come to believe is that our clearest glimpses of God's love and comfort come when we have nothing else to rely on. 2013 will surely be blessed. Every day I wake up to see the sun and breathe in the air it will be blessed. Hopefully I'll learn not to define the ways God can bless me.

May we all be blessed this year. But more than that, may we all learn to see the blessings that are already hear.

forever unfinished...