The back seat of my car can morph into a movie set (they’re usually filming some sort of Lifetime drama), a competitive arcade (we have more gaming electronics than HH Gregg), an MMA cage fighting ring (yes, the pastor’s kids know how to throw down), and even a courtroom (complete with opening arguments, character witnesses, and passionate cross-examination).

And all this in the 6 minute ride from our house to school each morning.

Three kids, two miles, one back seat. As chauffeur, it’s a strange mix of irritating and entertaining. Irrirtaining? As usual, my favorite display will undoubtedly erupt from the 6 year old.

“Emma, watch me blow a snot bubble with my nose.”

“Emma, look at me!”

“Emma!”

“Arghhhhhhh…..Emma! Look back here now!!!!”

“Dad, would you make Emma look at me!”

He’s demanding. Attention. Love. Acceptance. Approval. Laughs. And when big sis doesn’t give it to him, he starts to lose his mind. “Make her give it to me, dad! Make her! Make her!”

As adults, we’re not much different. Just (well, sometimes) a bit more discreet. When someone ignores us, disagrees with us, disapproves of us, we absorb it so personally. And out of our deep insecurity we respond with indignation, shaking our fist (figuratively or perhaps at times Metta World Peace-ably) in the face of our offender…

“Love me!”

“Approve of me!”

“Respect me!”

“Agree with me!”

“Accept me!”

The only problem with this approach is that it’s both emotionally exhausting and completely ineffective. The more we demand love and respect, the less the other party desires to give it to us. It creates distance, not connection.

So here’s a little trick I learned from a good friend that’s given me immense freedom in this area of life. When someone disagrees with you, shames you, ignores you, refuses to give you what you want – don’t shake your fist and demand it.

Smile. Laugh.

Seriously, it’s simple and it’s empowering. Makes you much more comfortable with who you are, and much less likely to absorb the rejection you’re feeling inside. Sure it stings, but you can handle it. And the acceptance you’re longing for is much more likely to come if you’re respected. No one runs toward a whiny beggar.

God doesn’t demand love from us, so why should we try and demand it from others? It you have to force it (dad, make her look at me!), it’s not real anyway.

Is there someone who’s love, approval, and acceptance you long for? Are you trying to demand it?

I am directionally challenged. When God knit me together in my mother’s womb, he left out the Google Maps app. Until recently, I was embarrassed to admit it. My dad is flawless with directions (unless they require power tools), but the gene pool seemed to dry up somewhere after red hair and freckles. Need proof?

A few months ago, my wife and I were driving from Chicago back to Indy. Thanks to the little blue dot on my iPhone screen, I’d safely negotiated my way through downtown traffic and was nearing the interstate when my worst driving fear became reality:

The road split.

One choice led due south–back to the promised land. The other went to Milwaukee. (No offense Wisconsin, but not even the Bucks want to play there).

I was heading west, so surely the left lane was the right choice (right? I mean, correct?). Blinker on. I didn’t make any friends as I slowly merged through the aggressive Chicago-land traffic (those people always seem to know where they’re going and you’re always in the way), but I hit that left lane with flare and confidence…

…only to watch it dip sharply under the lane to the right, bank north, and land us on the road to cheese-town.

This is why I hate driving in unknown areas! It’s dangerous. People honk at me. I look stupid in front of my wife. And despite all the logic and tools at my disposal, I seem to make the wrong call anyway.

Unfortunately, this mindset isn’t limited to navigating city streets. I hate being incorrect. I disdain feeling stupid. I run from the disapproval (honking horns) of others. And I despise–I mean vehemently–the regret that comes from mistakenly heading in the wrong direction.

But living a life that matters might be less about negotiating the traffic itself, and more about confronting the emotions that keep us from making decisions in the first place.

We want to make an impact, but we fear looking stupid.

We want our voice to be heard, but we feel shame when others disagree.

We want freedom, but we’re terrified of regret.

Decisiveness is the currency of courage. Perfectionism is the weight of cowardice. There’s usually a turnaround exit a few miles up the road, so let’s make a few decisions today while we’re waiting for the GPS to catch up.

What’s one decision you’ve been putting off because the emotions of potential mistakes are too much to negotiate?

Twenty seconds. What if that’s all it took? Twenty ticks of the clock?

Last week, my family finally rented the Matt Damon movie We Bought a Zoo. Outside of a few choice words….

(Try keeping a straight face when your 6 year old sincerely looks you in the eye and asks, “Daddy what does b***s*** mean? I fully expect a call from his school no later than Thursday.)

…there was one line from this screenplay that’s been echoing through my spirit for the last 7 days:

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”

- Benjamin Mee (We Bought A Zoo)

I don’t know about you, but a lot of days I don’t feel very courageous. Yet over and over again in Scripture, God commands His people to “be strong and take courage.” How do I reconcile this gap?

This movie got me thinking…

Is courageous a state of being? A personality trait? A gift of high quality DNA? A breed of human being? Or can it simply be a conscious, momentary decision? Something we “take.” A choice?

20 seconds?

Maybe courageous isn’t a word people use to describe you. But if you could muster up just 20 seconds of boldness today, 20 seconds of bravery…

What would you do?

What would you say?

Who would you call?

Where would you go?

What idea would you initiate?

Who would you reach out to?

What difficult conversation would you have?

What issue would you address?

Who would you encourage?

Who would you confront?

What would you believe?

What would you risk?

Maybe it’s not about becoming more courageous. Maybe it’s just about embracing it for 20 short seconds.

Following an April 1 motorcycle accident that uncovered a scandalous extramarital affair and potential mis-use of university funds, Arkansas football coach Bobby Petrino was fired. (No April fools).

Tiger Woods, already a polarizing personality after embarrassing infidelities surfaced in 2009, is becoming even less easy to root for after throwing clubs and swearing like he was cast in a Tarantino flick during last week’s Masters Championship.

Chicago White Sox skipper Ozzie Guillen found himself treading in hot water following an impromptu celebration of Cuba’s murderous dictator, Fidel Castro. We’ll see if he can keep his job.

All the politicians must be thrilled that the sports community is hogging the embarrassing headlines this week.

As I watch these stories unfold, there’s an innate tendency to try and find myself amidst the turmoil. Sure, these guys made some asinine and self-indulgent choices, and now they’re living into the repercussions of their decisions. You jump off a cliff, gravity takes over. It’s a fact of life.

But am I more worthy than Bobby Petrino because I’ve been faithful to my wife? I don’t know. Am I? It’s an interesting question.

“For we have all become like one who is unclean [ceremonially, like a leper], and all our righteousness (our best deeds of rightness and justice) is like filthy rags or a polluted garment; we all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away [far from God's favor, hurrying us toward destruction].”

–Isaiah 64:6 AMP

Even as a life-long follower of Christ, it’s so easy for me to define my worth by my behavior. If I’m gentle with the kids, gracious to my wife, kind to my neighbors, (not out soliciting prostitutes), and generous with my money, I feel pretty good about who I am. At least better than those who’s dirty laundry is being splashed all over the tabloids.

But as my favorite apologist (aka Christian ultra-smart guy) Ravi Zacharias likes to remind us:

“Jesus didn’t come to make bad people good but to make dead people live!”

Behavior gives us a scorecard. A point of comparison. A pedestal to elevate our pride or a hiding place to wallow in our shame. Or as Max Lucado put it in his brilliant children’s tale, our box of gray dots or yellow stars to stick gleefully or condemningly on those around us.

Grace gives us life.

Behavior isn’t unimportant (or free of consequences), but it’s not the foundation of God’s love and approval. Jesus is. Whether you’re more Bobby Petrino or Mother Theresa, you’re problem isn’t that you’re bad or good, it’s that you’re dead. Only Jesus can make us truly alive. Are you?

The grace and mercy of God. Now there’s a real scandal for you.

What do you think?

Somewhere along the line I forgot how to play. Or maybe I just decided to quit. I don’t know.

Life became serious. Important. Efficient. Practical.

I have these faint memories of endlessly skipping rocks across the neighborhood creek, shooting plastic army men with giant rubber bands, 12-inning kickball grudge matches that reluctantly ended when my dinner was cold, and building forts with couch cushions and throw blankets. But they seem silly now. Childish even.

Nothing makes that clearer than a good ol’ Griswold family vacation. I just returned from Spring Break week in sunny Destin, Florida with my wife, our 3 kids, my mom and dad, and some dear friends from Louisiana. Portions of our day probably sounded something like this:

“Daddy, come swim in the ocean!”

Uhhhhhh, that water’s freezing sweetie. And, you know, things live in there. You guys enjoy. I’m gonna sit under the umbrella and read for awhile.

“Daddy, let me bury you in the sand.”

Why don’t you bury Emma buddy, I’m gonna hit the condo gym for an hour.

“Daddy daddy, get in the pool with us!”

I’m getting a lot of sun guys. Let me finishing talking to your mom here and put on some SPF70 (aka liquid t-shirt) and then I may hop in for a bit.

Before you commandeer my dad of the year trophy, we did all these things. A lot. But my instinctual hesitancy gave me pause and made me think. Why do I naturally balk at play?

Am I selfish. Sure.

Am I lazy. Probably.

But I also think I’ve simply lost the joy of playing. Of disengaging. Of spending time recklessly. Inefficiently. Relationally. For nothing more than the fun of it.

Why?

You know I’ve never been one to cynically trash our culture, the new media, Facebook, Twitter, our 24 hour connect. But I do think it’s worth looking at how undisciplined engagement can impact the things that are most important to us. My brain is used to uninterrupted input and non-stop stimulation.

The conversation dull? Check Facebook.

The ballgame hit a lull? Click on the breaking news link.

Meeting boring? How about Words with Friends?

Even if the entertainment I’m engaged in isn’t entertaining enough, I can instantly access something more stimulating.

But I wonder if the art of play isn’t curated amongst the lulls. Painted in inefficiencies. Sculpted with the boredom that we seem to fear so much. Yes, fear.

When I play with my children, it opens their hearts to me. Gives me access to the deeper places I really want to go. Cultivates the respect I need to lead them well. The love I long for. Maybe play is the gateway for all great relationships?

How do we cultivate the art of play?