Evil can show up in really unexpected places.

Last weekend we took my daughter to New York City to celebrate her 13th birthday. And while it’s not hard to imagine evil in dark underbelly of Gotham City, we stumbled onto it amidst upbeat show tunes and awe struck theater patrons.

We saw Wicked on Broadway.

(Spoiler Alert).

The “Untold Story of Oz” flips the old film completely on its head. Antagonists are protagonists. Heroes are villains. (And the talent leaves you speechless–stupid good). Ends up, the green witch that antagonized Dorothy and the people of Oz was, in reality, the moral heroine.

The villain was the Wizard.

In what seemed on the surface to be quirky and innocent, the Wizard of Oz was actually clamoring for control. Of circumstances. Outcomes. Conditions. But his greatest evil emerged from trying to manipulate perceptions. He would do anything to protect the grandeur of his false projection, including destroying anyone that might threaten to shed light on his charade.

Our insecurities aren’t cute. They can kill.

This is perhaps the greatest lesson we’ve learned on our journey home. We thought God wanted our geography. Turns out He wanted to crush the greatest propensity for evil lurking deep inside. Lies we believed about ourselves. Lies we believed about Him. Projections of a false self we felt obligated to live into.

They’re not quirky and innocent. They’re dangerous.

So where does that leave us on the house? Well, I really want to paint some epic ending to this story. Something worthy of a Scorsese screenplay (or at least an after school special). But the climactic resolution just seems kind of “normal.” And we’re kind of OK with that.

We have an accepted offer on a house just up the street from where we currently live. A house much like our current one (with a basement where we can banish the kids when they get too loud). A short-sale on a model home that’s been used by the builder for the last 6 years. Still some hoops to jump through, but the lights all look green.

“You may freely eat the fruit of every tree in the garden…” (Genesis 2:16 NLT)

It’s nice. It’s us. And we feel God’s smile.

All along, we thought this journey was about sacrificing geography. Family. Space. Schools. Turns out God wanted to crucify something much more important: Our people-pleasing-God-as-a-sick-sadistic-Father-afraid-to-make-a-decision-false-projection.

Dead and buried.

Yet Jesus in us is more alive than ever. We’re getting comfortable in our own skin. Not with our sin, but with who God originally created and intended for us to be. Unashamed.

We found our way home, and it’s incredibly liberating. Have you?

All this week, I’m sharing highlights and insights from our personal journey. Perhaps you’ll find them encouraging. Or maybe a bit challenging. You might even disagree. But however it all goes down, I hope our messiness might help you find your own way home.

In my last post, I confessed our family’s visceral (and sinful) need for approval. The moment our house sold, the voices of other people’s expectations immediately began manipulating like a DC lobbyist. But even after our own version of “campaign finance reform,” there was still something eating at me. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

And then one morning it hit me: I think God is a sadist.

When faced with decisions. Choices. Alternatives. I intuitively assume God’s will is always the least desirable option. The most unappealing. The most painful.

How sick is that?

Does God call us to sacrifice? To lay down our selfish motives? To destroy our idols? Did He warn us there would be suffering, heartache, and pain? Absolutely! But if following Jesus means a life of self-flagellation and the active pursuit of misery, then we need to stop calling it The Good News. Jesus came to bring life, and life more abundantly. (John 10:10).

When God created Adam and Eve and placed them in the Garden of Eden, He gave them the following instructions:

“You can eat from any tree in the garden, except from the Tree-of-Knowledge-of-Good-and-Evil. Don’t eat from it. The moment you eat from that tree, you’re dead.” (Genesis 2:16-17 MSG)

When it came to finding a new house, we kept asking God for his moral will on the subject. Is it God’s desire for us to live here or there? Big or small? City or suburbs? The conversation went something like this:

“Where do you want us to go, God? Please, tell us.”

“You can eat from any tree in my garden, just stay away from that one.”

“No, no God. Your will. We want to be in your will. Which one do you want?”

“I’m serious, any tree in the garden. Except that good and evil one. Seek wisdom. Seek counsel. Use common sense. Lean into my sovereignty. But choose. Eat freely. Enjoy.”

“Wait God, I can’t be hearing you right. You’ve gotta tell us! We want so desperately to be surrendered. To know that we are smack dab in the middle of your will!”

“Dear Me, Erik – you are! Now please go make the call.”

The reality? We were trying to avoid the responsibility God had given to us. The responsibility to choose. Fear had given way to a false humility. A false servanthood. What we really wanted was inarguable ammo to use against all the internal voices and expectations. A supernatural trump card to justify what we did or did not do. It was about self protection, not self-sacrifice.

And God called our bluff. He set us free, and then laid squarely on our shoulders the responsibility that comes with it. We’re not assembly line machines mindlessly manufacturing the work of the Kingdom. We’re children of the King.

We thought selling our house was about geography. We were wrong.

What lies do you believe about God? Do you struggle with taking responsibility? Do you assume God’s will was the worst possible option?

When we sold our house last month, we assumed the journey God was leading us on had to do with where we live.

(Home. Live. Seemed like a reasonable connection to me).

Little did we know, God had something much bigger in mind. Signing that purchase agreement was the equivalent of pulling our thumb out of the dyke. A back hoe moved in and began excavating some deep places in our hearts, ripping up the roots and setting them on the surface for everyone to see.

Things we knew. Things we didn’t know. Stuff we were dealing with. Stuff we thought we’d already conquered.

Over the course of this week, I’m going to share a few of these uprooted revelations with the hope you might find a bit of yourself in our messiness – your own “journey home.”

The week after we sold our house was heavy. I literally felt a weight. In my gut. On my shoulders. In my spirit. And my face registered every pound. Our realtor was showing us houses all over Indianapolis and all I wanted to see was the bathrooms.

Could I discretely vomit in here while they’re checking out the kitchen?

After a few days of soul searching, my wife and I both realized the culprit: Expectations.

As leader you always feel it, and some of it’s healthy. We lead with our lives. “Follow me as I follow Christ.” (1 Cor. 11:1) But when the weight of opinion and other people’s convictions begin to dominate your thinking, you’re no longer able to be true to yourself or listen to God.

Somewhere on my journey I learned that agreeing with others avoided conflict, and avoiding conflict eliminated embarrassment, pain, and shame. Elevating other people’s opinions above my own convictions kept me in the club.

My wife grew up under the pastor’s kid microscope. She and her brother can recall stories of self-righteous board members physically pulling chewing gum from their mouths on church property under the guise a passing motorist might think a 6 year old was chewing tobacco. (You can’t make this stuff up).

Perceptions involuntarily became important to both of us. Surrendering to the expectations of others a coping mechanism. So when a simple, little “For Sale” sign turned “Sold,” the voices of old conflicts and angry board members began ringing in our heads.

“So I guess you’re gonna….”

“Wow, it’s about time you…”

“Surely you’re not planning…”

What will people think? How will they perceive us? What do they expect? A root we were already well aware of (and thought we had dealt with) got re-exposed to the elements. Novocaine free.

People pleasing isn’t just unfortunate, it’s a sin. Elevating the accolades of others above the love of God. Surrendering to outward expectations rather than pressing into who God designed you to be. It’s a reminder we’re broken. It’s a call to repent.

Do you wrestle with the weight of pleasing others? How does it affect you? Is it ever a good thing?

Sometimes God pulls and end around. He calls a run play when you were 100% sure He was going to pass. That’s the journey we’re on here. Our journey home.

More beautifully uncomfortable revelations to come later this week.

My baby girl is 13. Thirteen.

Two years to driver’s permit.

Five years to graduation.

Zero minutes until dad has a full-on panic attack (does anyone…have…a paper…bag?).

I’m already saying those silly things your parents said when you were a kid.

Where did the time go?

How did you grow up so fast?

Why do you cost so much? (Your parents may have never said that one, but trust me, they thought it).

So today, we’re grabbing a moment. Stopping time for a few days. Making a memory we’ve been planning since the last time February had a 9th.

We’ve promised each of our kids a special trip for their 13th birthday. (Shhhhh….she thinks it’s next week). But little does she know, we’re interrupting 2nd period with a little Liza Minneli. Seriously, we’re playing this song over the intercom in her school room before we kidnap her and head to the airport for a long weekend in New York City.

Our lives are littered with these little stamps in time.

Some painful.

Some beautiful.

All shaping.

I believe the next three days will be permanently etched in Emma’s no-longer-pre-teen mind (alongside all those Justin Bieber lyrics), as we celebrate a huge milestone in her life exploring one of the coolest cities on earth.

The trip isn’t the magic. The time, the conversation, the laughter, the shared experience. That’s the magic. A root she’ll hopefully be able to draw deeply from on those days that may not be quite so bright.

Do you have any time stamps like that in your life?

Oh, and happy birthday baby girl! Now that you’re a true teenager, take it easy on mom and dad. OK? I’m asking you nicely (and publicly).

Confession. I’d really prefer for you to think….

I’m Hip.

Cutting edge.

Urban cool.

Confident.

Put together.

Open minded.

Progressive.

That I dig Adele.

Independent films.

Mumford and Sons.

That I love to risk.

And eat organic.

That I’m always a sacrificial husband.

The perfect father.

A fleshly embodiment of everything I say and write.

But in reality, I’m really much more….

Conservative.

Organized.

Structured.

Strategic.

(I’m a recovering accountant for a reason people).

Suburban.

Kelly Clarkson.

Neil Diamond.

Paul Baloche.

Pop-Rock.

Flawed.

I eat processed meats (and enjoy them).

Careful.

Introvert.

Conflicted.

(Sorry if that disappoints…wait, actually I’m not).

Living into your projections is exhausting. Morphing into other people’s perceptions is lying. Confront your sin, not your essence. Lay down your idols, not your identity.

Let Jesus heal the brokenness. Then get comfortable in your own skin. The Kingdom needs you.