Where the Purpose of God is Found

Fifteen years ago today, I woke up early and went for a jog.  I’m not a runner (and wasn’t then either), but it seemed to be the most logical way to unload some of the nervous energy pulsating through my veins.  After all, I was getting married in a few short hours.

It wasn’t the anxiety of losing my manly independence, or the question of whether I was committing my life to the right woman. In retrospect, I think I feared my ability to become the man she needed me to be. A husband.

I don’t know that I’ve arrived, but I do know one thing:  If I had it all to do over again, I would still choose her.

We’re far from perfect. We disagree, irritate each other, communicate poorly, act like broken humans.  All the things other married couples do.  But love is where we’ve made our home. And love miraculously devours a multitude of dysfunction and self-centeredness.

And from that love, the most beautiful things have emerged. A life, a home, three beautiful children, (a handful of irritating little dogs), and a willingness to follow the voice of God on some of the strangest and most risk-filled adventures.

After 15 years, I couldn’t love her more. Her wisdom and ingenuity.  Her faith in God (and somehow in me).  Her willingness to sit through bad action movies and (sometimes) even pretend she likes them.  Her commitment to our children.  Her ability to give up security for the sake of obedience to God’s voice.

But most of all, I’m grateful that every morning when I wake up, she still chooses to be there.

I’m the luckiest man alive.

Not just because we made it 15 years.  Because these first 15 are just a small sign of what’s yet to come.

I love you Mandy.  If I could do it all over again, I’d still choose you.

Happy anniversary.

Every two years my in-laws plan a huge family vacation. Their unmatched generosity, combined with my mother-inlaws 400,000 frequent flier miles (she travels for a living) made it possible for 11 of us to fly to Los Angeles last week for a summer getaway.

Two and half years ago my wife and I made that same cross-country flight.

Just the two of us.

In the spring of 2008, Mandy and I spent a few days at a marriage conference just north of LA, and the rest of the week exploring Hollywood, Santa Monica, Malibu, Burbank, and just enjoying one another. We ate at trendy restaurants, drove up the picturesque hills to the Griffith Observatory, even saw a taping of the Tonight Show. It was an experience we’ll never forget.

In fact, we brought those very memories with us on the plane last week (they’re one of the few things the airlines hasn’t figured out how to charge you to carry on). And for the first few days, I think we subconsciously tried to relive them. (Let’s hit that same restaurant. Do you remember that little shop? We have to go here!)

Only problem? This adventure was completely different. We stayed in Anaheim. Our kids were with us. We were a party of 11. Nothing but a few tourist stops and that circus otherwise known as Los Angeles International Airport looked anywhere near the same.

I began to realize how much of my life is spent simply trying to recreate meaningful past experiences. To regain a feeling. Recapture an emotion. Relive a memory.

It never works.

I was embodying the spirit of that old church lady that’s only willing to sing songs from the hymnal (yeah, I went there).

That’s the danger of event-driven living. We spend so much energy trying to reclaim past moments that we miss out on the new ones waiting to be created, even in the seemingly ordinary moments of everyday life. We’re oblivious to the now. Facing backwards. The future happens to us, rather than being painted with vibrant and anticipatory colors.

LA was great (thanks Dave & Candy). Both times. And this most recent visit solidified my commitment to spend my days creating new memories, not simply longing to relive past ones.

A guy emailed me this week to ask my opinion on a well-known Christian leader.  Prophet or a heretic? It was a valid question.  A discussion I’ve seen floating around emails, blogs, and internet chat rooms for years.

But as I was preparing my (obviously brilliant and insightful) answer, I paused.  Were this guy’s assumptions formulated on first hand knowledge or was he simply regurgitating the thoughts and opinions of others?  Better yet, was the answer I was preparing to fire off with reckless abandon founded on my personal convictions or a conglomeration of things I had heard others say?

The reality?  I had no idea what I was talking about.

I had never read a book, listened to a message, even viewed a tweet post of the leader in question.  Yet I was about to wax eloquence on his character and calling. The validity of His message.  I was preparing to vomit a bunch of other people’s opinions that supported my preconceived notions and validated my worldview.  Even if I had been factually right, I think I would have been terribly wrong.

The Bible is very clear in its warning to test what we hear:

“My dear friends, don’t believe everything you hear. Carefully weigh and examine what people tell you. Not everyone who talks about God comes from God. There are a lot of lying preachers loose in the world.”
-1 John 4:1 (MSG)

But I wonder how many times I’ve abdicated that responsibility?

I’m not condoning a lone-ranger lifestyle.  We need the correction and accountability that comes from solid community. I’ve had the revelations of others open my mind to incredible insights I would have never seen on my own.  But many of us are too quick to blindly adapt to a position handed to us by someone else.  Usually someone who can talk faster, think quicker, or has a nice looking blog.

Have we lost the ability to wrestle for the truth? Or maybe just the desire?  Are we afraid?  Weak?  Just give me the answer (or better yet,  post it on Facebook.  That’s more efficient).

For some, faith itself is cheap.  Lazy.  A faded copy of an old picture someone else handed to you.

I don’t want to live that way.  To lead that way.  A collection of Twitter re-tweets and Facebook shares.  I want my own encounter with the Creator of the Universe.  I want to hear Him whisper my name.  To speak to the deep places of my heart.  To know His voice.  To live with His conviction.

But don’t take my word for it.  Let Him tell you Himself.

There are a lot of arrogant, isolated, self-reliant, “I’m never wrong” jerks in this world. (I contemplated stronger language, but I think you get the picture).  You’re probably visualizing a few right now.

But honestly, I think there’s a much more dangerous epidemic.

An epidemic of self-protection. A sickness that defines itself by validation from others. A disease that stifles conviction, and forces God-given potential back into the turtle shell of self-doubt.

It’s ugly.  It’s sinful.  And it’s something I battle daily in my own life.

Below is an excerpt from my personal journal. A little butt kicking I got from God last week (He wears big shoes, but I think they’re Toms. Soft soles).  A bit of a pep talk that may mean something to you, too.

6-29-2010

Stop waiting for others to define or validate you. If you blow it, blow it BIG.  And blow it based on a deep conviction you feel in your heart.  Stop waiting for a wave to ride.  Go create a wave!

Stop mentally adjusting to criticism you haven’t really heard, but imagine or anticipate. That’s CRAZY!  Put what you think out there.  If others disagree, – listen, critique, adjust if needed – but don’t hide out of fear of rejection or criticism. You’re big enough to handle that.

Listen for God’s voice, but when you hear as much as a whisper – GO!  Run!  Stop waiting for others to give you permission. Stop trying to hedge your potential for mistakes.  Stop being a slave to opinion.  Start being a true follower of Christ.

Does any of this resonate with you?  Are you ever paralyzed by the fear of screwing things up? Of facing shame from those who may see things differently?  Are you avoiding creating, injecting, speaking, writing, asking, or starting something today because you lack the courage to face the criticism if you’re wrong?

What if we feared missing a God-0pportunity more than we feared making a mistake?

Where God guides God provides.

When God closes a door He opens a window.

God is in control.

God said it. I believe it. That settles it.

I bet you immediately thought of a few you could add to the list.  Cliches are fun.  Quippy.  They roll off the tongue.  And most importantly, they’re a “get out of jail free” card you can throw on the table when someone is sharing a complex, painful, or unexplainable story you just don’t know what to do with.

(They’ve also bred a giant, money-making, Christian knick-knack and greeting card industry.  I mean really, where would our mantles and bookshelves be without cliches?).

Cliches are very tempting.  In the last month I’ve sat across the table from people dealing with all of the following crap (in no particular order):

A spouse that had an affair and walked out on the marriage

A  7 month job search filled with hundreds of applications, a few interviews, zero offers (and a shattered sense of self-worth).

A 6 year old daughter killed in a freak recreational accident

A passionate musician that has slowly lost almost all of his hearing

An 11 year old girl who’s best friend just moved 500 miles away (ok, this one’s personal)

Seriously, what am I supposed to do with this stuff?

As I engage these conversations, there is a natural sense of panic. What to say?  How to fix?  Does my understanding of God give a good explanation for these kinds of circumstances?

Somewhere in all the discomfort, these trite little sayings begin filling my mind.  Cliche Christianity. And in our over-comforted, consumerist, sitcom-solution society, I fear we’ve begun to believe a lie about God.

Christian apologist Ravi Zacharias loves to quote this powerful truth:

“Jesus did not come into this world to make bad people good. He came to make dead people live.”

In much the same way, I also don’t believe He came to make bad circumstances easy to explain.

Jesus never promised this life would be easy, He just promised to always be with us.  To never leave us.  To be our peace.  To help us live,  fully alive. In all the joy, sorrow, pleasure, and pain.  We need to embrace that truth with one another.

No cliche there.

“In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.” (John 16:33 MSG)

If God is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), then He’s certainly taken up residence in our house today.

Yesterday, our neighbors of 10 years loaded a truck and relocated 8 hours away to southern Missouri, victims of a recession-driven job loss here in Indy.  I know I know, lots of neighbors move.  But aboard that giant truck was their 13 year old daughter, who over the last decade felt like she had become ours as well.

Maddie went everywhere with us. Came in and out of the house without knocking.  And even though our families are from starkly different faith traditions, she became an older sister to my kids.  None of them remember life before Maddie.

Now she’s gone.

Skype calls and text messaging will never replace the beauty of proximity, and now an empty two-story house sits as a constant reminder that we never really were in control of this life anyway.

Holding my sobbing little girl yesterday afternoon was an all-too-real incarnation of this harsh reality:

Directly or indirectly, relationships will hurt you.

The pain is raw.  And like a candle that has been extinguished, the temptation is to let the wax get hard, to coat over and encapsulate our vulnerabilities so we never feel this way again.  To stop loving.  Because with love comes the potential for great pain.

It’s easier to stop caring. To stop entrusting.  To stop pursuing.  To stop risking.

To stop living.

When we instinctively avoid our pain, we unknowingly compress our joy.  We don’t just stop feeling the hurt, we stop feeling at all. We become calloused.  Hollow.  Lifeless.  We think it’s safer there among the “dead.” And that’s a battle I’m not willing to let my children lose.

So goodbye Maddie.  Whether our lives are separated by a wooden privacy fence or 500 miles of interstate highway, you’ll always be a part of our family.  The joy of your presence was more than worth the pain of your absence.

Today we willingly embrace them both.

I hate when people tell me about their missions trips. Like I’m supposed to share their passion. Feel what they felt. Really. Come on.

So I’m not going to tell you anymore (at least for now). I’m going to let a couple of other guys do it.

This is raw video footage from our team’s download session early this morning. One of our guys, Andy Wiseman, wrote a song from the overflow of his experiences in Honduras this week. This is just the last chorus. Oh, by the way, Andy is almost completely deaf. Yeah.

And then our resident Puerto Rican, Mike Perez, slayed us all with another of his spoken word pieces you have to hear (I have his permission). So not right Mike!

You want to listen.

Heading for the airport at 4am, and taking more home with us then we ever could have brought.

Adios Honduras. Hasta el proximo vez. Te quieres.

Today was our last at the projects. We packed up the tents, the crafts, the dulce (candy) for the last time on this Honduran adventure.

The kids cried.

We cried.

Time to head home.  But the damage has already been done. None who have walked these streets, sat in these homes, interacted with this beautiful people, will ever be able to scrape the images and encounters from our minds.  Nor do we want to.  But will this week really change us?

I guess that remains to be seen.

Love can’t be an event. Not something we block out for a week on our busy calendars.  Not something that stays here in Honduras as we head back to our real lives in the United States.

But that will be the temptation.  The direction the current will naturally try to take us as the intensity and focus of this controlled, planned experience abruptly morphs back into the comfort and familiarity of home.

That’s why trips like this can’t simply be something we do. Time moves on.  The trip comes and goes.

These experiences have to be about what we become.

Tomorrow we have a day to relax and process together before heading for home.  A day to drive these encounters into our DNA.  To make sure this act of worship called Honduras 2010 wasn’t just a self-righteous photo-op.

As we loaded the bus this evening, almost too surreal to believe, a rainbow appeared in the rain clouds engulfing the mountains that look down on Las Delicious.  Coincidence? Maybe.  Cliché?  Could be.

Or was God actually trying to remind us that there is hope?

Hope for all of us.

Fix You isn’t only an epic song by the band Coldplay.  When you come to a developing country like Honduras, it becomes a constant battle you fight.  And lose.

Today we visited another impoverished neighborhood in La Ceiba, home to 13 children sponsored by people from City Community Church.  The kids were energetic.  Grateful.  Full of joy.

But the conditions were what you’d expect in a neighborhood slum.

Enter the dilemma.

I can’t fix what I see here in La Ceiba, Honduras. I want to.  I want to bulldoze these wooden shacks and their pitiful dirt floors.  I want to build suitable structures to house human beings.  I want to make sure every child has two parents, and every parent has a respectable paying job.  I want to stop people from living this way.

I want to.  I really want to.

But I can’t.

So many layers to any mess that creates this kind of poverty. Corrupt politicians.  Socio-economic injustice.  Drug cartels and gangs.  And no ability to imagine a different future.

Poverty cycles.  And then recycles.  You can’t unwind it in 7 days.  You can’t just make a few phone calls, call a town hall meeting, give them the Eliminating Poverty for Dummies book, and fix the system.

But you can help one.

Mandy and I can help Jorge.  The LaGranges can help Anna.  Bill can help Caroline, and the Browns can help Jose.  Andy can help Angel.  Lindsey can help Kenneth.  Mike can help Isis.  And CityCom can walk alongside a little block-wall church called Lilly of the Valley in the outskirts of an impoverished Honduran neighborhood.

But maybe more importantly they can help us, too. Help us lose our self absorption.  Help us separate our understanding of God’s Kingdom from our American way of life.  Help us find Jesus living here among the least of these.

Some days I wonder if those aren’t actually the things that need the most fixing.

I know just enough Spanish to be dangerous. And the longer I spend here in Honduras, the more confident I get.  That is, until I say something stupid.  Really stupid.

For the last two days, I’ve asked countless children to smile for the camera. The Spanish word is sonrisa, however somewhere in the (evidently small) portion of my brain that stores Hispanic vocabulary, I pulled the word sangria from the filing cabinet. Innocent enough, right?

Except sangria just happens to be the Spanish word for bleeding. I must have sounded like some kind of horror-flick-loving American psychopath.  “Look at the camera kids.  OK, now bleed!“  Oops.

Glad I didn’t say that to the crazy guy carrying the machete.

But the ultimate slip of the Spanish tongue came while visiting our sponsor child Jorge yesterday morning.  When we first arrived, he was incredibly quiet.  Shy.  You might even say embarrassed.

And in my attempt to address the issue, I did what all intelligent Americans do when butchering the Spanish language:  I added an “o” to the end of the word.

That usually works, right?  Hungry-o.  Tired-o.  Bathroom-o.

“Jorge, tu estas embarazado.”

Thinking I had so smoothly told young Jorge he was acting embarassed, I was a little surprised when he and his brothers couldn’t stop laughing.

Embarazado = Pregnant

Gringo estupido.