Ever walked three miles with five little kids (when you weren’t out of gas or mildly hallucinating)?

B&O Railroad has been overhauling its abandoned Indiana Rail Line, transforming the old tracks into a beautifully paved community trail. The latest addition cuts just behind our neighborhood, so last night we set out on a little family adventure (with a few extra kids in tow).

The trail ends about a mile and half from our backyard, which might as well have been Albuquerque for our three-year-old tagalong. But my family doesn’t back down from a challenge (we’re the Mandelbaums of greater Indianapolis). We were finishing that trail, even if they had to chopper us back to civilization (we also have a flare for the overdramatic).

I’ve always been driven by completing tasks (unless they involve power tools). My wife is too, so our kids had no chance. It’s in the DNA. And in so many ways it’s such a gift. We like to see things through, to make them happen, to check off the list until the goal is reached and the job is done. God’s wired us that way, and He said that it is good.

But last night, I realized the old adage is true (that’s probably why it became an old adage). Our obsession with finishing may have diluted the adventure. Enjoy the journey.

Guess what was at the end of the trail we were so determined to reach?

An obscene graffiti-filled tunnel. It looked like some sadistic scene from the Lost Boys. I glanced around for remnants of animal sacrifices and used drug paraphernalia. It would have made quite the family photo op.

But back on the path….

On the path were stories of old tree forts and creeks I played in as a child.

On the path were rock skipping competitions.

On the path were opportunities for intimate conversation.

On the path were deepening relationships.

On the path were a countless number of the beautiful, little moments that make life rich.

We had a few. But I could have made more, if I would’ve just stopped pressing to get finished.

Sometimes being a finisher is exactly what is needed. Embrace it. But sometimes it’s just a ruse, allowing us to mask our fear of the vulnerability required to create the human connections we so desperately long for.

Sometimes the greatest end may be reached when we stop pressing for our finish line.

What do you think? Is this ever true for you?

I loved my high school art class. The late Mr. Larry Hurt (whose name actually seems more suited for a wrestling coach) was an impeccable educator, a finalist for the Walt Disney Teacher of the Year award, and a guy who knew how to get the best out of an amateur artist.

I still have a stash of my work in a giant folder under the stairs in our house (where it will likely remain until my kids use it’s existence as an excuse to put me in a nursing home someday).

Every Monday morning, I’d eagerly anticipate our next assignment. A table full of glass bottles and pottery bowls to be drawn in charcoal pencils. A vase of silk flowers to be captured by watercolors. A self portrait in acrylics.

But occasionally Mr. Hurt would pull the rug. Throw me a curve. Lay the “hurt” down (sorry, I couldn’t resist). Waiting anxiously for his sagely artistic guidance, some weeks he would simply look at us and say…

“Do whatever you want.”

Whatever I want? That’s not an assignment, that’s anarchy! You’re just cow-towing to those leather-wearing rebels with the eyeliner that steal my chocolate pudding in the lunchroom everyday. I need some clarification here please. Great art doesn’t just spontaneously manifest. I’m not God! I can’t just speak and have duck-billed platypuses swimming in the lap-pool. Gimme something. Anything!

And in a teenage moment of overdramatic cardiac A-Fib, I realized something that still rings true for me to this day:

There is unspeakable beauty in a blank canvas. And there is absolute terror in a blank canvas.

The blank slate initially seems freeing, but it can also trigger paralysis. We naturally assume a boundry-less existence is where we’ll create our best work.

“When I finally get out from under this crazy boss….”

“When I’m not hampered by these limited resources…”

“Some day I won’t have my idiot parents telling me what to do…”

“If I can just eliminate this whole God thing from the equation…”

But creativity explodes within limitation, an atomic energy that violently releases from the pushback of boundaries.

The first thing I had to do to successfully tackle an “anything goes” art assignment was create my own edges. What’s my medium? My subject? Paper? Canvas? Charcoal? Pencils? Acrylics? Each decision limited my scope. But each decision gave me an energized arsenal with which to create.

No parameters isn’t always an asset. And boundaries aren’t always the enemy.

So what’s your limitation? At your job. With your family. Your financial situation. Your business. At your church?

The very thing that frustrates you the most, may in fact be the fuel you need to create something beautiful. In fact, if you currently have no limits, the smartest thing thing to do may be to make some for yourself.

What do you think? Have you ever experienced the creative power of limitation?

I am a recovering coward. Don’t believe me? Check out the caption below my picture over there on the right. It’s true.

And some days I still fall of the wagon and find myself subconsciously living the coward’s creed:

Indecisiveness is next to godliness.

(We’ve got t-shirts, bumper stickers, even a website in the works. Well, the ideas anyway. We’re too nervous to actually launch them.)

(OK, honestly, there’s not really even a club. We couldn’t figure out where to meet).

I hate making decisions. Making decisions inevitably irritates people. Making decisions creates conflict. Conflict means people may not like you. And people not liking you is painful. We instinctively avoid pain, because pain…you know…hurts and all.

The only problem? No one said following Jesus would be painless. Just ask, well…

Jesus.

Climb back up on that wagon.

Any other recovering cowards out there? What are you afraid of? Does it ever interfere with your ability to follow Jesus?

I’d love to hear from you. Maybe even meet for coffee (if we can ever decide on a location). Until then, the comments on this post may be a safe place to start.

It’s Valentine’s Day. The Taylor Swift lyric of holidays. Sweet. Sappy. Romantic. I think I got a cavity just writing that sentence.

Watching all the Twitter @ mention and Facebook wall post love flying around this morning (you know, those online digital expressions that have officially replaced the paper Hallmark cards and handwritten notes that are so 2003) got me thinking.

I’m a ridiculously lucky man.

Today, I woke up next to my beautiful Valentine of 15 years. We’re light years from perfect (and we know it), but our undying commitment to one another has led us on quite a journey. An adventure that now includes three little valentines and more undeserved love than we know what to do with most days. Valentine’s Day reminds me to celebrate this.

But I’m not ignorant. I also know this day threatens to swallow some of you. To remind you of what you don’t have. What you fear you may never have. Or maybe something you’ve lost.

An unexpected divorce.

Your annual tax filing status (once again) checked single.

A bouquet of flowers laid on a gravestone instead displayed in a vase on the kitchen counter.

Brokenness. Pain. Whether by poor choice or no choice of your own. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Today, as everyone else celebrates with balloons, candygrams, and romantic dinners for two, you quietly mourn.

I wish I had neat, easy answers. That Rosetta Stone Scripture that could clean it all up, snap it into focus, force it to all make sense.

But I can offer hope. Our God understands our sorrow.

“He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.”
-Isaiah 53:3

So if you find Valentine’s Day more bitter than sweet, just know you’re not alone in feeling alone. Pain is far too often a real place. God didn’t design you to live there. He doesn’t want you to stay there. But if you are there today, just know that He will be right there with you.

My God is close to the brokenhearted.

This year I’m ignoring the doctor.

My friend Dr. Mike Elmore despises “read through the Bible in a year” plans. He feels they cheapen the experience of connecting with God. Turn His Word into a task to complete in a specific timeframe. A list to check off.

He’s a proponent of meditating deeply on smaller passages of Scripture, sometimes for weeks at a time. Sucking the marrow out of every nook and cranny. Forcing the Word into the context of His everyday world until He can’t help but hear the voice of the Creator speaking softly. Specifically. Clearly. To him.

I can’t argue. It’s transformational.

Few have inspired me as much as Dr. Elmore. But this year I’m blowing him off (after all, he’s a gastroenterologist and this has nothing to do with butts or guts).

Every few years I love to do a complete read through of Scripture. I need the full context. The history. The law. The poetry. The prophets. The gospels. The epistles. To breathe in how the Great Composer orchestrated the totality of His masterpiece.

So I picked up the must have YouVersion app for my iPhone (the online version is great, too), chose a plan, and got to reading.

It’s a great process. A worthwhile discipline. And the YouVersion app (and accompanying community and study notes are outstanding). But I have noticed something. Something I don’t want to admit.

The doctor isn’t an idiot (that’s why he has an M.D. after his name).

You see those check boxes to the left of those Scripture references? If I’m not careful, they can quickly become my enemy. A saboteur. An inoculation against what I’m really after: a genuine connection with my heavenly Father.

It is so easy to make a God task-list and completely miss Him in the process. To make “get through it” the goal, rather than letting it get through me.

So be intentional. Be disciplined. Be purposeful.

But always be cognizant of your tendency to drift from living relationship to little square check boxes.